Something About Alex
1086 Words
Chapter 2: Something About Alex
The next morning, Emilia didn’t wake up to her alarm.
She just opened her eyes, slowly. It was already bright outside, the kind of brightness that made her squint before she even sat up. Her phone was lying beside her pillow with the screen turned face-down.
She picked it up, checked the time. 9:47 AM.
Late.
She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and unlocked her phone. The first thing that popped up was a new message.
> ALEX WRIGHT:
“Morning. Just sent the story. Hope you like it :)”
Her heart did a little jump. She hadn’t expected him to send it so early.
She tapped on the email below the message. The subject line said:
“The Colour Boy — Draft 1”
The Colour Boy?
She blinked. For a second, she didn’t open the file. She just stared at the name and the title, like she was reading it for clues.
Then, curiousity finally won.
She opened it.
Alex's story was just under ten pages. Not long.
The opening line read:
> “The world used to be grey until the day he saw blue in her eyes.”
Emilia smiled. She didn’t even realise she was smiling until she felt her cheeks push up.
She read the first paragraph again, slower this time. There was something about it.
The words were kinda rough in places, like they hadn't been fully edited yet. A few missing commas here and there, a sentence that trailed off — but it made it feel more real. Like she was being trusted with something raw.
She read on.
The story followed a boy who could see colours differently from everyone else. Not just how they looked, but how they felt.
When he was sad, the world turned grey. When he was angry, everything looked red. And when he met her — a girl who laughed like sunlight and painted like she was made of colour — he saw things he’d never seen before.
It’s kinda... him, she thought.
The boy in the story was quiet. A bit guarded. A bit sad. But he was trying. Trying to feel again. Trying to see brightness again.
That made Emilia pause for a bit.
Maybe it wasn’t just a story.
By the time she finished the last page, she’d totally forgotten about breakfast. Her stomach growled suddenly, and she laughed at herself, shaking her head.
She typed back a message.
> EMILIA:
“Alex. I just read it. I don’t even know what to say rn. It’s... wow. I love it. It feels so personal.”
Then she quickly followed it with another message:
> “I have so many ideas for the illustrations already. Especially the part where he first sees blue in her eyes omg.”
She pressed send. A minute later, he replied.
> ALEX:
“Haha. Thought you might like that part. I actually wrote that scene while I was sitting in the library. Kinda based on you lol.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Literally skipped.
She stared at the message, trying not to overthink it.
> Based on you...
She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she got up, brushed her teeth, pulled on a hoodie, and made a quick cup of tea.
Then she came back, sat in front of her easel, and pulled out a blank canvas.
Usually, it took her hours to even know where to start. But today?
She already knew the first stroke.
Sky Blue.
Right in the middle.
She dipped her brush, paused, and then began to paint — soft and slow. It felt good.
Like something inside her had finally started breathing again.
She didn’t stop for nearly an hour.
The painting began to form itself without her even thinking too much. Just instinct, colour, and feeling.
She started with soft blue in the centre, then added deeper shades around it, like shadows of something she couldn’t quite name. Then came a touch of yellow. Not bright, but soft and warm — like sunlight that sneaks in through a half-closed curtain.
There wasn’t a full plan.
Just emotion.
By the time she paused, her fingers were covered in paint and her brush was trembling slightly between her fingers. She took a step back and looked at what she had done.
It wasn’t perfect.
But something about it felt right.
The boy she had painted had his eyes closed.
And the girl in front of him — barely visible in the background — seemed to shine in the way she held her colours.
Emilia let out a small breath.
She hadn't felt that kind of clarity in a long time.
Later that afternoon, she packed the painting carefully and took it down to the little gallery space near the centre of town. It wasn’t fancy, but it was cozy — run by a woman named Auntie Joyce, who had known Emilia since she was a child.
The doorbell jingled as she stepped in.
Auntie Joyce looked up from behind the counter and broke into a wide smile.
"Ah, Emilia. You look like you’ve seen heaven."
Emilia laughed.
"Just painted something. Thought maybe you’d want to see it."
Auntie Joyce walked around the counter, wiping her hands on her apron.
"Of course I want to see. Come on, bring it here."
Emilia pulled off the cloth that covered the canvas.
Joyce tilted her head, studying the painting slowly. Then she looked up at Emilia with a small smile in the corner of her mouth.
"Hmm," she said, gently. "This one came from somewhere deep. I can feel it."
Emilia nodded, quietly.
She didn’t really want to explain it. Not yet.
Some things didn’t need words.
Joyce stepped back and said,
"Leave it here. I’ll hang it by the front window. People need to see this kind of honesty."
That word stuck with Emilia.
Honesty.
She wasn’t even sure she had painted honestly. It had just... come out of her.
As she walked back home, the sky had turned a little cloudy. The wind was softer now, brushing against her cheek. The kind of wind that made her miss people she hadn’t even met yet.
She reached for her phone.
She didn’t want to text. She just wanted to hear his voice.
Her thumb hovered over Alex’s number.
She almost pressed call.
But then, something stopped her.
Not fear exactly, but maybe something close.
She put the phone back in her bag and kept walking .
- Writer
