Holding On To You

Chapter 4: Art as Therapy

The hospital had an activity room that no one used much—just a few plastic chairs, a beat-up couch, and a long table cluttered with forgotten supplies: watercolor sets, blank notebooks, colored pencils dulled to the wood. Most patients either didn't have the energy or didn’t care.

But today, Elena asked for it.

“I want to paint,” she told Dr. Bennett, surprising even herself.

Maya smiled. “I think that’s a great idea. I’ll have the nurses open it up for you.”

Within half an hour, Elena stood alone in the activity room, a blank canvas propped in front of her, sunlight filtering through dusty blinds. She was already out of breath from the short walk and the weight of the oxygen tube tucked against her nose, but she didn’t care.

She dipped her brush in water and dragged it through blue paint, then hesitated.

It had been months since she created anything real. Since she let herself go beyond sketches and doodles. Her hand trembled slightly as she made the first stroke—an arching swirl of sky that bled into the canvas like breath itself.

The door creaked open behind her.

“I was told there’s a rogue artist on the loose,” Liam said, grinning as he leaned against the doorframe.

Elena glanced over her shoulder, smiling. “Guilty.”

He stepped inside, careful not to startle her. “Mind if I watch?”

She dipped her brush again. “Only if you don’t try to ‘accidentally’ rhyme while I’m working.”

“No promises,” he said, sitting on the edge of a table nearby. “Is it weird that I’m kind of jealous?”

“Jealous?”

“You can make something from nothing,” he said. “You take what’s inside and give it form. That’s… powerful.”

Elena didn’t answer right away. She painted in silence, adding hints of purple and gold to the sky, streaks of warmth cutting through the blue.

Then she said, “Painting gives me control. When everything else is falling apart—my body, my future—this is the one thing that listens.”

Liam’s face softened. “I get that.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn notebook. He flipped it open and placed it beside her.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“My poetry journal. You let me into your world. Only fair I let you into mine.”

Elena picked it up carefully. The first page was titled "Words for No One." Her heart clenched.

She didn’t read it right away. She wanted to, but she also wanted to deserve it.

Instead, she pointed to the canvas. “Want to help?”

Liam blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Grab a brush.”

He laughed. “I haven’t painted since kindergarten. I drew a cat once and it looked like a melted potato.”

“That’s perfect,” she said. “I’m painting emotions, not realism. A potato cat might be exactly what we need.”

So Liam dipped a brush and made a lopsided star.

And they laughed.

For a few minutes, it wasn’t a hospital. It wasn’t a battle. It was just two people sharing color and silence and something they couldn’t quite name yet.