I Love A Girl Named Tree

Chapter One

         Lights from cameras flickered like stars on a moonless night, akin to unruly supernovas. Adam squinted against the onslaught of flashing lights, faster than a wink. Was all this really necessary? He pondered silently.

Yes, it was necessary. Without this publicity, he wouldn't be able to sell his paintings - his cherished works of art. Seated before an audience representing the press, Adam observed them hunched over in their seats, scribbling notes feverishly and adjusting camera lenses. Restlessness mirrored in his own gaze as he surveyed the room.

"Mr. Ocampo," a reporter inquired, "How do you feel about parting with your paintings? You've previously likened them to pieces of your heart shared with the world. Is it difficult for you?"

"I do feel a twinge of sadness," Adam admitted, "but knowing they'll be cherished by their new owners brings comfort. I trust they'll find good homes."

Another reporter, a woman, raised her hand. Adam nodded in acknowledgment, granting her permission to speak. "The auction featured six paintings, yet the expected total was seven. What happened to the missing piece?"

That painting. Adam hesitated before responding. "It was one I never thought I could part with," he finally admitted.

"But during the auction," the reporter pressed, "bidders were vying for it. Why risk significant profit loss by refusing to sell it at the last moment?"

A faint smile played on Adam's lips. "Some things are worth more than money," he said cryptically. There were depths he couldn't share with this inquisitive bunch; some truths were best kept hidden. "I believe that's all for this afternoon," he concluded, rising from his seat. The cacophony of camera clicks and flashing lights grew louder as he made his exit. He'd had enough of the circus.

"Why leave so soon? It's only been thirty minutes," Amara, his art agent, fell into step beside him as they departed.

"I just don't feel like discussing 'The Sonnet' with the entire press corps," Adam confessed. "You know how I feel when they pry into matters so personal."

Amara sighed, halting her steps. "I understand. There's still that guarded part of you from two decades ago. I'll back off."

Adam paused, his hand on the car door. "I'm sorry, Amara. But at least the other paintings sold well, didn't they? You got your profits, and I got by. Just let me quietly keep that one painting."

"Agreed. Just keep painting, and I'll manage. And please, no more sudden exits like today."

"Okay."

Before parting ways, Amara queried, "What do you plan to do with that painting?"

Adam pondered for a moment. "Display it in my favorite spot at the gallery, where I can always see it."

"Understood. I'll arrange it today," Amara said, reaching for her phone to make the necessary arrangements.

"Thank you." Adam slid into his car, the summer breeze providing solace as he navigated the freeway. Memories flooded back, drawing him to a pivotal decision he'd made twenty-one years ago. The painting had prompted his return to the city; a search for something - or someone.

Will I ever find what I'm looking for? Adam wondered as the red traffic light beckoned contemplation. It blinked at him, as if questioning his resolve.

This is my only chance. He steeled himself. I won't back down now. With the green light, his car surged forward, carrying him from fame to the remnants of his past.

The streets transformed, familiar landmarks emerging. Excitement mingled with apprehension as he approached his old university. Was he truly prepared for the judgment of his former peers?

There it is, he thought, recognizing the iconic signboard. He drove closer, greeted warmly by the security guard. How did he know I'd returned? Adam wondered, humbled by the recognition.

As he traversed the campus, memories flooded back. The hustle of students, the rustle of leaves - all achingly familiar. Parking across from the administrative building, Adam hesitated, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. What awaited him beyond the car door?

Stepping out, he surveyed the campus that had shaped him. Unbelievably, he was greeted warmly, a stark contrast to his past encounters.

"It's good to see you again," Greg Porter, the university president, embraced him. Adam smiled, grateful for the unexpected warmth.

"So, what do you think of the campus? Feels good to be back?" Greg's kindness struck Adam, a far cry from their interactions years ago.

"Yeah, it does," Adam replied, though doubts lingered. Yet, he resolved to embrace this second chance, determined to confront his past.

As Greg outlined the day's events, anticipation swelled within Adam. She might be there.