The Portrait
475 Words
Art class was supposed to calm her nerves. For Ava Morgan, painting had always been her escape — a quiet space where thoughts could take shape in color.
But that morning, her hands trembled slightly as she sketched. Every shadow she drew seemed to remind her of the boy across the hall.
“Interesting,” her instructor murmured, stopping behind her. “Your portraits carry emotion — this one especially. Who is he?”
Ava blinked. She hadn’t realized who she’d painted until that moment.
The sharp jawline, the calm but haunted eyes — Ethan Reid.
She flushed. “It’s… just a random face,” she lied.
When class ended, she packed her things quickly. The last thing she wanted was anyone asking about him.
Back in the dorm, the air felt heavy. Lila was out, so Ava had the room to herself. She placed her sketchbook on the desk and sighed.
A knock came at the door.
When she opened it, Ethan stood there.
Up close, he looked even more composed — neat, quiet, the type of person who never said more than necessary.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You dropped this earlier.”
He held out a small pencil — hers. She must have left it in the hallway that morning.
“Thanks,” Ava said, forcing a smile. “You’re… an artist too?”
Ethan tilted his head slightly. “No. Why?”
Her chest tightened. “Nothing. Just curious.”
His gaze drifted past her shoulder — straight to the sketchbook lying open on her desk.
Ava’s stomach twisted. She moved instinctively to block it, but he’d already seen.
“That’s me,” he said quietly.
She froze. “It’s just a study sketch,” she said quickly.
Ethan didn’t respond. He stepped closer, eyes unreadable. “Why did you draw me like that?”
“Like what?” she asked.
“Like I’m hiding something.”
Ava’s throat went dry. “You tell me.”
He stared at her for a moment longer, then gave a small, sad smile. “You really shouldn’t stay in this dorm.”
Before she could speak, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading down the hallway.
Ava shut the door slowly, her pulse racing. She turned toward the desk — and froze.
A folded note now sat on her sketchbook. She hadn’t seen him place it there.
Hands shaking, she opened it.
“She drew me too.”
Her heart skipped. The words were written in the same neat handwriting as before.
Ava dropped the paper and backed away.
On the desk, her painting — the one of Ethan — now seemed different. In the reflection of his gray eyes, faint and almost invisible, was the outline of another face.
A girl smiling.
And she looked exactly like Ava.
- Writer
