Three weeks later, I'm elbow-deep in paint and regret.
The canvas in front of me is supposed to be the centerpiece of my midterm portfolio- a triptych exploring the concept of distance and connection. Professor Chen loved the concept when I pitched it two weeks ago. Now, staring at the muddy mess of colors that refuses to cooperate, I'm wondering if I've bitten off more than I can chew.
My phone buzzes on the table beside me. I glance at it, see Zeke's name, and my chest tightens with guilt. I've been ignoring his texts for the past three hours, too deep in my own head to form coherent responses.
**Zeke:** *Hey, you okay? Haven't heard from you today.*
**Zeke:** *I know you're working. Just want to make sure you're eating.*
**Zeke:** *Kota?*
I wipe my paint-stained hands on my jeans
