Beautiful chaos.
1064 Words
Aaira:Can I show you my room? The real one.
Elias hesitates. Then nods.
The Armstrong house had many rooms. Big rooms. Quiet rooms. Rooms filled with furniture no one ever really sat on.
But Aaira's favorite room was the smallest one at the end of the hallway.
She called it her room, even though her bedroom was elsewhere.
This room smelled like crayons, paper, and something faintly metallicold clock parts her father once gave her to play with. The floor was splattered with paint stains that never came off, no matter
how many times Milli scrubbed them. The walls were covered too. Not neatly. Not evenly. Paintings overlapped each other. Some were framed. Most weren't. Some were taped, some pinned, and some just... leaned against the wall like they got tired of standing.
Chaos.
Beautiful chaos.
Aaira stood in front of the door, rocking slightly on her heels. Elias was behind her, hands in his coat pockets, posture straight as ever.
This is my room, Aaira said, very seriously.
My special room.
Elias glanced at the door. Plain. Wooden. Nothing special.
Alright, he said. You wanted to show me something?
Aaira nodded quickly. Yes. But you have to be nice.
I'm always nice, Elias replied flatly.
Aaira squinted at him. You're... quiet nice. Not smile nice.
That made Elias pause.
...I'll try, he said.
Aaira smiled, satisfied, and pushed the door open.
Elias stopped walking.
He didn't mean to. His body just... refused to move. The walls exploded with color. Not pretty landscapes. Not neat portraits. These weren't paintings meant to impress anyone. They were raw. Loud. Emotional in a way Elias wasn't used to.
Swirls of red crashing into blue. Sharp black lines cutting through soft yellows. Faces without mouths. Eyes too big. Clocks melting into flowers. Watches cracked open, gears spilling out like hearts.
Some paintings were angry. Some were joyful. Some made Elias's chest tighten for reasons he couldn't explain.
Aaira stepped inside barefoot, like she was entering a sacred place.
This one is when I was happy, she said, pointing to a painting filled with bright greens and pinks.
And this one is when people shouted, she added, pointing to another dark, sharp, jagged.
Elias slowly walked further in.
He had been in art galleries across the world. He'd bought paintings worth more than houses.
None of them had ever made him feel like this. This...Elias said carefully, ...is a lot.
Aaira beamed. Yes! My head is loud.
That sentence hit harder than it should have.
Aaira sat down on the floor, legs crossed, pulling out a sketchbook. Elias noticed her fingers steady, confident. Not clumsy. Not unsure.
You draw every day? Elias asked
You draw every day? Elias asked.
Every day, Aaira nodded.
When I don't draw, my chest feels funny. She tapped her heart
People say my brain is broken, Aaira said suddenly, like she was talking about the weather.
But when I paint... it feels whole.
The room went very quiet.
Elias felt something crack inside him. Not break. Crack.
He crouched down slowly in front of Aaira, bringing himself to his level.
He crouched down slowly in front of Aaira, bringing himself to his level
Who told you your brain is broken? Elias asked.
Aaira shrugged. Doctors. People. Sometimes teachers. But Daddy said broken things can still be beautiful.
Elias swallowed.
Aaira, he said, voice lower, softer than it had ever been.
Your brain isn't broken.
Aaira looked up, wide-eyed.
It's not?
No, Elias said firmly.
It's just... unique. Different. Like these paintings.
Aaira considered that. Long pause.
...Unique is good? she asked.
Elias nodded. Unique is powerful
Aaira smiled then slow, genuine, dimpled.
That smile did something dangerous to Elias's carefully controlled heart
Aaira flipped to a blank page in her sketchbook.
I want to draw something, she announced.
Elias watched silently as Aaira picked a pencil, then another. Her hand moved fast. Confident. Purposeful.
Elias didn't realize what she was drawing until the shape became clear.
Her watch.
Every detail. Every curve. The placement of the crown. The tiny engraving on the back Elias himself sometimes forgot was there.
Aaira... Elias murmured.
I like time hearts, Aaira said while drawing.
They beat even when people don't.
Elias's breath caught.
When Aaira finished, she held the sketchbook up proudly.
Look! I didn't forget anything.
Elias took the book gently.
It was perfect.
Not just accurate intimate. Like Aaira had seen the watch the way Elias had never allowed anyone else to.
This is... incredible, Elias said honestly.
Aaira giggled. I told you I'm smart in pictures.
Elias smiled.
A real smile.
Not polite. Not professional.
Real.
Aaira froze
Aaira froze.
You smiled, she whispered.
Yes, Elias said, not even trying to hide it. I did.
Aaira laughed, clapping her hands. I like when you do that.
Later, as Elias prepared to leave, he paused at the door.
May I keep the drawing? He asked.
Aaira nodded immediately. Yes. But you have to take care of it.
I will, Elias promised.
And he meant it.
Aaira what if I want talk you
Elias you can come office
Aaira what if you I miss you at nighty nighty like last time
Elias then you can call me let me write my number
Aaira I already know your number 1....0
Elias shock how
I just remember your number from papa phone when he talk that tight on papa's phone you Elias write no she point head
Elias feels so much happy his heart bloom that how much the girl feel safe with in one glance she remember her number
Let me message you then you save mine she show how she save her number with Watch Prince safe Elias feel full in heart
then Elias save her number with Aaira and heart show her Aaira feel happy then Elias said buy to Aaira and her parents that night Aaira is so happy she sleep without forcing her parents bed time story
That night, in his Mansion in study room Elias opened his drawer the one no one else was allowed to touch.
He placed Aaira's drawing inside carefully. Then he closed the drawer.
And for the first time in a very long time,
Elias Chankimha lay awake thinking not about business, or control, or power But about a girl with paint-stained hands who made broken things look whole.
- Writer
