Brushstrokes glided across the canvas, each stroke deliberate and steady until a sudden knock at the door broke the rhythm. The jolt sent her hand skidding, a streak of red spilling across the painting.
"Ah shit! "Hange groaned as she tried to wipe the spilled paint, smudging it into a wider, messier stain with every frantic swipe.
"Hange...? "Her mother called, "You haven't been out of your room for a while, so I brought you lunch."
"Yes, yes. Come in! " Hange called frantically, wiping her hands on her paint-stained apron as she tried to fix the smudge.
The door slowly creaked open, and her mother stepped inside, balancing a tray of food in her hands. The soft clatter of porcelain against the wood made a quiet thump as she set it down on the desk.
Hange's mother approached closer, glancing over the scattered brushes and paint. "You've been at it for hours again." She leaned in close, placing her hands on Hange's shoulders.
"And your room reeks of paint. Don't you feel lightheaded from it? " she added as she walked toward the windows to let in some air. The hinges groaned softly as she pushed the door open, a muted glow falling across the cluttered desk.
"Yes, Mom. I'm used to the smell of paint." Hange's voice softened.
"And who's this you're painting? " Her mother arched a brow. "Looks like one of your friends? " she added.
Hange squinted, trying to visualize who her mother thought it was. She was right—the painting did resemble one of her friends: a man with dark hair and sharp features, though she still struggled to capture the curve of his nose just right.
That wasn't her intention at all. She just painted mindlessly, seeing where her creativity would take her.
"By the way," her mother called softly, leaning against the doorframe. "You should start packing up for tomorrow. Your father and I will drop you off at your dorm—we've got a meeting afterward, so it's easier if we take you ourselves."
Hange muttered, "Hn... alright." She set her brush down. Her mother smiled softly before stepping out, the sound of her fading footsteps echoing briefly through the hallway before the house sank back into silence.
Hange leaned back against her chair, eyes lingering on her old paintings stacked carelessly against the wall. Most of them were half-finished, buried beneath random notes, paint tubes, and brushes she swore she'd clean later.
The sound of a duffel bag's zipper echoed through the room as she shoved everything she thought she'd need into the dorm. Somehow, despite telling herself to pack light, the bag ended up stuffed with more books than clothes.
It was a struggle to close, but after practically sitting on the bag and forcing the zipper shut inch by inch, she managed.
Morning came quickly. Hange rushed downstairs while her parents waited outside the house, already by the car with the engine idling.
The brunette slipped into the back seat, the door closing with a soft thud. Her father adjusted the rearview mirror until her reflection came into view, meeting her eyes briefly in the glass before he spoke. "Forgot anything? " he asked, one hand already resting on the gear shift.
Hange shook her head. Her father gave a quiet hum and shifted the car into drive. The rest of the drive passed in a quiet blur until they stopped at the dorm drop-off.
Before she could reach for her bag, her mother immediately turned in her seat, reminding her of a list of things, repeated instructions, and the usual "don't forgets." Hange had already half-registered.
