Chapter 7: The Art
800 Words
The next morning, students were directed to the school hall for club registration. Different teachers stood at separate corners with sign-up sheets, each representing a different club.
“Choose wisely,” one of the teachers announced. “You’ll be with your club for the rest of the term.”
The hall was noisy with students moving from table to table, trying to decide where they wanted to belong.
Damson stood quietly among them, unsure of where to go. His eyes moved slowly across the hall until they landed on the Art Club table. There were paintings and drawings displayed on the table — some finished, some still in progress. The sight of the brushes and canvases made something in his chest tighten.
He hadn’t drawn or painted in years. Not since the incident. The memory tried to push its way into his mind, but he quickly pushed it back down before it could settle.
Still… something about the table kept pulling him.
Without thinking too much about it, Damson walked over and picked up the pen to sign his name.
“Damson? You’re choosing art?” Jade asked as she walked past with Jackson.
“Yeah,” Damson replied quietly.
Jade shrugged. “Science Club for me and Jackson.”
Jackson gave Damson a small nod before following Jade to the Science Club table.
Just as Damson was about to move away, Jake appeared beside him and picked up the pen without saying a word.
Damson blinked. “You’re choosing art too?”
Jake shrugged, a small smile on his face. “Yeah. Why not?”
Damson didn’t say anything, but he felt something warm settle quietly in his chest.
Later that afternoon, the Art Club members were given free time to create whatever they wanted. The art room smelled of paint and paper. Sunlight poured in through the windows, lighting up the wooden tables and the scattered drawings around the room.
Damson sat at the far end of the room, staring at a blank sheet of paper in front of him. His hand hovered over it, but he couldn’t bring himself to draw anything. His fingers felt stiff. Heavy.
He hadn’t touched a pencil or paintbrush since the incident. Not since that day when everything changed. The memory sat at the back of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t completely shake off.
He quickly shook his head, trying to push it away.
Jake sat a few seats away, quietly sketching something in his own book. After a while, he glanced at Damson and noticed he hadn’t started yet.
Jake stood up and walked over, pulling out the chair beside him.
“You’re not drawing?” he asked gently.
Damson shook his head. “I… don’t really know what to draw.”
Jake was quiet for a moment, then said, “You don’t have to draw anything perfect. Just… whatever’s in your head. Even if it’s small.”
Damson stared at the blank paper. His throat felt tight.
“I used to draw a lot,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. “But I stopped.”
Jake didn’t ask why. He just nodded and rested his arms on the table, his voice soft.
“Maybe it’s okay to start again. Even if it’s just a little at first.”
Damson looked at him. Jake’s eyes were calm and patient, not pushing, not asking for more than Damson could give. Just… there.
Something about that made Damson’s chest loosen a little.
He slowly picked up the pencil.
His first lines were shaky and unsure. But slowly, the pencil began to move — soft strokes forming the simple shape of a window, sunlight falling through it, and a quiet room. It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Jake didn’t say anything big or dramatic. He just stayed beside him, quietly working on his own drawing, occasionally glancing at Damson’s paper with a small, gentle smile.
For the first time in a long while, Damson didn’t feel completely alone with the weight he had been carrying.
When the club period ended, Jake walked beside him as they left the art room.
“You were really focused in there,” Jake said with a small grin. “It looked like you were enjoying it.”
Damson gave a small nod. “Yeah… I think I was.”
Jake’s smile grew a little wider, but he didn’t say anything else. He just walked with Damson down the hallway, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they made their way out of the school building.
- Writer
