THE COLOUR OF LOVE

Chapter 1: A Quiet Life in Colour Emilia Thompson woke up to the soft glow of sunlight slipping through the curtains. The warmth kissed her face as she lay there for a moment, letting it soak in. Her small house on Elm Street half-hidden behind trees and wildflowers always felt more like a dream than a place. After toast and tea (nothing fancy), she padded into her art studio, a cramped garage space filled with canvases, paint tubes, and the quiet hum of yesterday’s ideas. But today... nothing. She stared at a blank canvas like it had insulted her. Usually, she'd just look at her favourite colour — Sky Blue — and feel something spark. It reminded her of soft oceans, sleepy skies, quiet peace. But this morning, the spark refused to come. Emilia sighed, dragging her fingers through her messy curls. "Great. Another day of staring at walls," she muttered. Maybe what she needed wasn’t in the studio at all. Maybe it was at the library. She tossed a few things into her bag and stepped outside. The air was warm, the breeze light, birds doing their usual morning concert. It helped, a little. The library stood at the end of her street, a small brick building with ivy crawling up the side and the faint smell of old books and coffee always in the air. When she walked in, that familiar quiet wrapped around her like a blanket. Rows of books. Gentle lighting. A few scattered people hunched over laptops or curled in chairs. This was her second home. She wandered toward the art section, fingers trailing across spines. Colour theory. Modern painting. Brushwork. Maybe something in here would wake her brain up. At the front desk, Mrs. Johnson — round glasses, always smiling — looked up and gave a nod. “Morning, Emilia. Looking for inspiration again?” Emilia shrugged, lifting her sketchpad in a half-wave. “Trying to un-stick my brain.” Mrs. Johnson chuckled softly. “We just got a shipment from Paris last week some beautiful stuff. Come on, I’ll show you.” They walked over to a low shelf near the back. Mrs. Johnson pulled out three books, flipping through them to reveal stunning pages — swirls of colour, pencil sketches, wild brushstrokes. Emilia’s eyes lit up. “This is... wow,” she whispered. “Thought you might like it,” Mrs. Johnson said. “The window seat’s free if you wanna take a look.” But as Emilia turned, she saw someone already there, a guy, half-buried in a book, legs curled up on the plush armchair. His hair was a dark mess, and his old sneakers were worn down like he walked too much. She paused. Then smiled politely and said, “I’ll sit by the window instead. More light over there anyway.” Mrs. Johnson handed over the books. “Suit yourself, dear.” Emilia sank into the seat by the tall window. The sun filtered in, landing on the pages like gold dust. She opened one of the books, flipping slowly, letting the colours pull her into their world. Time disappeared. The library was still, except for turning pages and someone’s pen tapping now and then. Then she felt it — that weird feeling, like someone was standing near her. She glanced up. No one. Just her pile of books... except one had fallen to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, hair tumbling over her face. As she sat back up, she noticed the shoes first — scuffed black with then jeans. Then a boy’s face — kind, curious, a little surprised. “Hey,” he said, his voice low. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Emilia blinked, her mouth dry for a second. “No, it’s fine. I just didn’t see you there.” “I’m Alex,” he said, offering a small smile. “That’s my spot, usually. But you look like you’ve claimed it fair and square.” Emilia smiled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m Emilia. Didn’t realize this was your throne.” Alex chuckled. “Only during exam season. I hide here from life.” “Art block,” she said, lifting her sketchpad like a white flag. “Trying to remember why I paint.” Alex raised an eyebrow. “You’re an artist?” “Trying to be.” He glanced at the open art book. “These are incredible.” “They are,” she nodded. “Way better than what I’m doing.” Alex leaned in slightly. “So, what are you working on?” Emilia hesitated, then smiled. “It’s kind of weird... I’m painting emotions. Like, how colours make people feel. Sky Blue calms me. Red’s too loud. Yellow’s... I dunno. Depends on the day.” Alex's eyes lit up. “That's brilliant. My Literature professor talks about that — how words and colours create mood. Makes total sense.” They both paused. Something warm hung in the space between them. Then Alex said, “Actually... I have a short story. It's about a kid who falls into a world made of colours. It’s a bit rough, but... maybe you’d wanna see it?” Emilia blinked. “You’re a writer?” “Trying to be,” he echoed. She smiled, already knowing the answer. “Send it to me. I’d love to try illustrating it.” Alex looked stunned, then relieved. “Seriously? That would be amazing.” They exchanged phones. He typed in his number, then sent a quick text. “Looking forward to sharing my story :) — Alex” She smiled, typing back: “Can’t wait to bring it to life — Emilia” They sat for a few minutes longer, but then Alex stood up. “Gotta run. I’ve got a 2 o’clock meltdown waiting for me.” “Psychology?” she guessed. He laughed. “And literature. Double doom.” He waved as he walked out. Emilia watched him go, feeling a little light-headed — in the good way. On the walk home, colours looked a bit brighter again.