Three Years Later | ✓

07 | The Project

AS I STEPPED into my Intro to Art class, my elective for the semester, I spotted Milo sitting near the window as he waited for class to start, watching the clouds lazily go by. Instead of taking my usual seat on the opposite side of the room, I made my way to Milo and occupied the seat beside him.

"Hey," I announced with an amiable smile, tearing his gaze away from the window. He greeted me with the same phrase and grinned. Not knowing what to say next, I asked, "How was your weekend?"

"It was alright, didn't get much sleep though. I had to finish writing a script for Cinematography," he shrugged. The bell rang just as the professor entered, immediately getting down to business.

After listening about the different concepts of color and techniques for oil paintings, the professor handed out a sketchbook to everyone in the class.

"For our first project, you're going to paint someone or something that had a meaningful impact on you during your life," Professor Hyatt, made elegant gestures with her hands as she spoke. "First, you'll sketch out some things, but I expect to see some rough drafts by Friday." She scanned the room before clapping her hands together, "Okay, get started."

Immediately, people began sketching whereas I, on the other hand, was stuck and had absolutely nothing in mind. I turned over to Milo and saw that he also seemed to be having the same problem as he stared at the piece of paper in front of him, eyebrows furrowed, tapping the end of his pencil against the table. His jaw was clenched as he was deep in thought, accentuating his sharp jawline.

"Have any ideas?" I whispered. His facial muscles eased a bit as he looked in my direction.

"Not really," he stated, shaking his head. He studied my face for a moment and gazed at me with such intensity that made me feel transparent, like he could see right into my soul.

"What is it?" I asked, barely keeping it together under his intense gaze.

"Nothing," he stated nonchalantly, clearing his throat. He turned back to face the front of the class and resumed tapping the desk with the tip of his eraser. I attempted to peek over his shoulder when Milo began sketching in his sketchbook, but his wrist concealed most of the sketch.

For the remainder of class, I sat there hopelessly, racking through my brain for ideas. But much to my dismay, the bell rang and my paper was still a blank canvas.

Everyone quickly filed out of class like the air was infected by a plague, and I was the last one to leave, defeatedly packing up my things.

"Still don't have anything?" I heard from above. Milo sported a soft grin as he looked down at me, clutching his bag strap. I shook my head, my lips pressed tightly together in a line.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll figure something out." God, I sure hope so.

When we walked out of the building, I inhaled a deep breath of fresh air, getting a tiny whiff of Milo's lavender scent in the process. Although I began to feel more relaxed as we silently walked across the quad, a tight pressure welled within my chest as I smiled internally.

Still curious to figure out what happened over the past three years, I nervously glanced at Milo, gaining his attention.

"So, have you talked to James recently?" I asked curiously. He silently shook his head and stared ahead, lips pressed together into a line. "Why not?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. I guess there's just not much to talk about anymore."

Seriously? I thought. 'Not much to talk about anymore' my ass.