Love doesn't Demand

CHAPTER 1

It was late at night when I finished my artwork. I'm the type of person that once started a sketch, I won't stop until I'm satisfied with my work, but the problem is I'm still not pleased with the outcome after all the efforts I had put up and just decided to say it's finished for the sake of time being.

It's summer break and I have decided to give it a try on my passion. Drawing has always been my hobby from the age of 5 up until now that I'm 18. I still remember the times I would ask my parents to buy me a set of color pencils or even a dozen of markers. I used to say that if I have that kind of pencil, that brand of color materials, I will become better at art, but that's where I'm mistaken because even if a pen and a paper is the only thing you have, you can create a masterpiece.

I tend to envy artists who're good at art and have discovered their art style. I believed they were born naturally with talent, but I was just rather lazy to come up with that conclusion. My art style is not consistent and I've been striving so hard to uncover one if I even have any.

Just this week I decided to take art classes to determine what I wanted to be before my parents register me to an academy in college this year. I don't exactly know what my 'calling' in life is, if not, confused as to what course I shall take. It's funny how far art courses are from what my parents want me to become - a police officer.

I snapped back to reality when I heard my art teacher arranging canvas in the corner. I looked at the clock displayed at the center of the studio. It's 7 o'clock already, and I was the only one left from the art members.

"Julia," he called, "you can head straight home. It's already late at night."

"It's fine. I'll help you," I insisted.

I stood up and helped him clean up. I stumbled upon his works painted on a canvas and I was amazed. I travel my eyes to the walls of this art studio and it's indeed beautiful. From the color variation, highlights of images, the depiction of contrast and brightness, I can certainly say that he's one of those excessively talented artists.

"Did you paint this alone?" I asked.

"I did."

How great!

I didn't have the chance to gaze at the wall paintings for too long and appreciate the art lately, because of the crowd, but now that I can see it crystal clear before my eyes, I salute this artist.

"It's beautiful," I said.

"Thanks."

It's been natural to me to admire paintings, sketches, or whatever form of art, but at the same time, I always feel insecure about it. Just how do they do this? How could they be so creative when I always ran out of creative juices? I wouldn't say that life is unfair, instead, I just wish and hope for my art to be better like any other great artist.

I look back at Marco from behind and my heart throbs rapidly when I see him staring at my canvas with his uncertain face.

Oh no.

I hurriedly ran in front of my canvas and tried to cover it from him.

"I know I'm not good at art. I'm still trying and practicing. So please, just ignore this canvas," I said.

It's such a shame to let him see this artwork. It was far from worse to describe it as a whole. I'm even too sensitive to receive criticisms yet I decided to attend an art class.

I sighed.

What am I doing with my life?

"Your art has improved over the years, I can tell."

So he does remember me!

Marco is my former classmate during junior high school and I didn't expect to see him here as my art teacher. Though, we're just the same age. I heard he dropped out in senior high school and we're not even close for me to know why.

"Really? You can give me an honest review, it won't hurt," I said as I prepared my sensitive heart.

"Well... it lacks highlights, proper choice of color and shading, and the blending isn't smooth for a flower."

I gulped.

Every detail he mentions stabs my imaginary perfect artist self. As this was the first session, we were tasked to create any kind of design we want and I drew a simple rose.

"Noted. I'll keep that in mind."

I barely survive his criticisms. But it's okay, he's my art teacher plus he gives professional criticisms unlike some random person who just wants to downgrade my work without proper knowledge, I should be honored instead.

"But overall it's good," he added.

Did he just compliment my work to relieve myself somehow, or should I start saying that my art has potential after all? Nah, he definitely complimented my work to relieve myself. But still, I thank him.

Now that I'm in front of him, I should say sorry. It's because I didn't even greet him this morning and just entered the art studio like I know no one in here.

"Marco, I'm sorry if I acted like I didn't know you. I just didn't know how to approach you nor to react in what way or so-"

He cut me off.

"It's okay. I'm sorry too."

"So friends?" I offered him my hand, and he smiled. I was shocked to see his dimples appear, I didn't know he had those.

"Friends," he said.

We shake hands and his hands feel rough. So should I make my hands rough first to be a better artist? I'm kidding. I know this is just one of many of the results of hardship. But does my soft hand mean I'm not working hard enough? Ugh. I should really stop procrastinating.

I waited for Marco to lock the door of the art studio. He said it would be better if we walk together rather than walking alone in a dark alley. He finished up and we walked in the same direction.

I noticed the papers he was holding against his chest. I was curious to take a look at it and so I peek in closer.

"May I see?" I asked.

He was rather startled by how I stare at the papers. I took a glimpse of it and saw a sketch of a person. His hands tighten closer to his chest, not wanting any uninvited guest to enter nor see what was inside.

"Uhm..."

"Nevermind, it's okay," I said after seeing how uncomfortable he was.

He was looking on the other side and avoiding any form of communication from me. Did I seem rude? Did I do something wrong that made him feel uneasy? I kept my eyes straight to ease out the awkward atmosphere building up between us.

From the verge of the pavement, I saw a guy running contrariwise to Marco until their body bumped into each other and his papers scattered all over the ground. The guy didn't stop at all to say sorry at least. What a rude person.

"Hey!" I shouted to the guy. He didn't even look back. My attention then proceeded to Marco who seemed troubled by the sudden commotion so I helped him pick his things up.

After picking up paper after paper, I stumbled upon the sketch paper I was curious about previously. Looking at it closely, my eyes widened.

It was a sketch of me. All my facial features, details, aspects, he perfectly captured it. The blending of my long black hair, the details in my almond-shaped eyes, the highlights on my short turned-up tip nose, and the shading of my thin lips are precise as it is in reality! It's like a photo of me, I can't believe it, this is TALENT.

My self-esteem boosts like crazy. Why would he draw me? And did he just try to hide the sketch from me? I could feel the inside of my stomach being tickled by that thought.

"I-I was p-planning to give it to y-you. It wasn't my intention to keep it! Plus, I was using you as a reference! I'm not some sort of a creep, believe me."

He became as red as a tomato and I held my laughter before I even burst out in the air.

"Okay, I believe you," I teased.

He lends me the portrait he drew and I joyfully accept it. It's free art! Besides, it was made by Marco himself, but that does mean he kept staring at me while I was struggling with my canvas? Omg. I'm more worried about the faces I made!

"Y-You can keep it, b-bye!" he said before walking away. He looks like he was in a hurry and I can't help but be flattered by his sketch.

"See you tomorrow," I yelled, waving my hand until he disappeared before my eyes.

I went home and headed straight up to my bedroom. I snatched a tape and displayed the portrait of myself beside the aesthetic flowers in my room. I bit my lower lip and I just can't stop smiling like an i***t.