The First Sitting
795 Words
7:00 p.m. arrived too quickly.
Arin knew it would.
The day had passed in fragments-half-finished thoughts, abandoned distractions, the constant awareness of time narrowing toward something she had already agreed to without fully agreeing.
Now, there was no more space left to pretend.
She stood in front of the mirror, arms at her sides.
Still.
Evaluating.
"Something honest," she muttered.
Her reflection didn't answer.
It never did.
The oversized shirt hung loose on her frame, soft with wear, familiar in a way that felt almost defensive. Safe.
Which meant No.
She exhaled sharply and pulled it off, tossing it onto the bed.
For a moment, she just stood there in silence, the air cooler against her skin.
Exposed.
Not for him.
For herself.
That mattered.
It had to.
Her gaze dropped to the chair where a darker outfit lay something structured, fitted, intentional. Not new. But deliberate.
Not hiding.
She put it on slowly.
Each movement is precise.
Controlled.
By the time she stepped back, the girl in the mirror looked different.
Not softer.
Sharper.
"Fine," she said quietly.
Then she turned.
The camera waited.
Unchanged.
Unbothered.
Arin walked to the centre of the room and dragged the chair into position in front of the easel. The legs scraped lightly against the floor.
She didn't rush.
Didn't hesitate either.
She sat.
Her phone buzzed immediately.
> Good.
Her jaw tightened.
"Don't narrate," she said under her breath.
> You're more intentional tonight.
Her fingers curled slightly against her knees.
"I'm always intentional."
> No.
A pause.
> You're usually careful.
The distinction landed.
She didn't respond.
Instead, she leaned back slightly, testing the posture, adjusting her shoulders until it felt-
Right.
"Now what?" she asked.
> Stay exactly like that.
Arin rolled her eyes.
"Groundbreaking direction."
> You're deflecting.
She smiled slightly.
"Obviously."
A pause.
> Pick up the brush.
Her gaze flicked to the easel.
To the blank canvas she had set there earlier.
Waiting.
She reached for the brush.
The familiar weight settled into her hand, grounding her instantly.
"Now?" she asked.
> Now you begin.
Arin stared at the canvas.
Blank.
Expectant.
Her reflection is faintly visible in its surface.
"You said I'd understand," she said.
> You will.
Her grip tightened slightly.
"Then stop speaking in riddles."
Silence.
> Paint what you see.
She let out a breath.
"That's the problem."
> No.
A beat.
> It's the solution.
Arin's jaw tightened.
She lifted the brush.
Paused.
Then made the first stroke.
It wasn't him.
It couldn't be.
There was no face.
No reference.
Nothing to anchor to.
So she painted-
Lines.
Movement.
Structure.
The way tension sat in a body.
The way silence felt in a room.
The way presence could exist without form.
Her strokes grew steadier.
Sharper.
More deliberate.
Time blurred.
Minutes, or maybe longer, passed without either of them speaking.
Until her phone buzzed.
> Stop.
Her hand froze mid-air.
Annoyance flared instantly. "Excuse me?"
> Step back.
"I'm not done."
> You are.
Arin scoffed, but she stepped back anyway.
More out of curiosity than obedience.
Her eyes lifted to the canvas.
And she stilled.
It wasn't abstract.
Not entirely.
There was a figure.
Not clear.
Not defined.
But right there, a presence shaped from shadow and tension and absence.
It felt wrong.
Or maybe too right.
Her chest tightened slightly.
"I didn't mean to-" she started.
> You didn't need to.
Her fingers lowered slowly.
"That doesn't make sense."
> Look closer.
She did.
Her breath caught.
There, along the edge.
Barely visible.
A detail she didn't remember painting.
A line.
Too precise.
Too intentional.
Her pulse ticked upward.
"I didn't do that."
Silence.
> No.
Her stomach dropped.
Arin turned slowly.
Very slowly.
Toward the camera.
"You can't" she started.
> I didn't touch the canvas.
Her voice sharpened. "Then how is that there?"
A pause.
Long.
Measured.
> Because you're not the only one painting.
The room went still.
Completely.
Arin stared at the camera.
At the small, black lens.
Her heartbeat slowed.
Not from calm.
From focus.
"That's not possible."
> It already happened.
Her gaze snapped back to the canvas.
To the line that didn't belong to her.
Didn't feel like her.
And yet fit too well.
Her throat went dry.
"What are you doing?" she asked quietly.
No answer.
Not immediately.
> I told you.
A pause.
> I want to be seen.
The lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Arin froze.
"Not funny," she said, sharper now.
Silence.
No fan.
No outside noise.
Nothing.
Her breath came slower.
Controlled.
Her phone lit up.
The only light in the room.
One message.
> Don't move.
Her pulse spiked.
"No."
Another message.
> He's behind you.
- Writer
