Anna surprises Purity with an invitation to visit a local art gallery an escape into colors, stories, and quiet voices.
Anna didn't take no for an answer.
Anna didn't give me much choice. One minute I was drowning in silence and shadows, the next she was dragging me by the arm toward the city's art gallery like it was salvation itself.
Come on, Purity. Just for a few hours. No talks about school, no dramas. Just art. Trust me.
I wanted to say no. Wanted to stay in the safe gray haze I'd wrapped myself in. But Anna's smile was stubborn, and I gave in.
The gallery was quieter than I expected. Walls dressed in color and chaos, but the room itself soaked in a calm so thick you could almost breathe it in.
We wandered slowly, taking in the strokes of paint, the shapes carved out of stone. There was a story behind every piece a pain, a joy, a moment caught forever.
And for a little while, I let those stories bury mine.
Anna pointed out a painting a wild splash of red and black. It's like fire trapped in glass, she said.
I nodded. Like a scar no one sees.
She smiled softly. Exactly.
We didn't talk much after that. The silence wasn't heavy. It was easy.
The moment I tried to settle into my usual weekend routine quiet, alone, with my paintbrush and canvas Anna showed up at my door like a whirlwind.
After the gallery, we found a small café nearby. The kind where the air smells like coffee and old books. We sat across from each other, sipping warm drinks and letting the world fade to the hum behind our words.
For the another time in weeks, I laughed without pretending. Without the ghost of last night clawing at my skin.
Purity, come on! we're going somewhere else, you're not going back home right now, you need a break from your brushes and your silence, she said, eyes sparkling with that stubborn hope I secretly admired.
I sighed, but before I could even think twice, she grabbed my hand and pulled me outside, her grip warm and unyielding.
We walked through the small park near our neighborhood. The sun was dipping low, casting long, golden shadows that danced with the gentle sway of the trees. The air was crisp, carrying the subtle scent of wet earth and blooming flowers, a fragrant balm to my restless thoughts.
As we meandered past a cluster of people gathered around an easel, Anna's face lit up with excitement. Look! They're having a painting competition. You have to try," she urged, her voice bubbling with infectious energy.
My heart clenched with doubt. I'm not ready for that… I just want to paint quietly, I murmured, my fingers twitching with nervousness.
Anna laughed a clear, fearless sound that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. Purity, this is perfect. No pressure. Just paint. Let your colors tell your story.
Her words were a lifeline, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of a blank canvas, brush trembling in hand. The crowd's murmurs blurred into the background as I dipped my brush into thick, wet paint. The texture felt alive between my fingers cool, slick, promising.
Anna stayed close, whispering little cheers, her steady presence anchoring me. You got this. Just breathe, and let the colors speak.
The first round began, and my brush hesitated. The strokes were unsure, jagged, like tentative whispers on the canvas. The colors soft blues and grays mirrored my unsettled heart. But Anna's smile never wavered. She clapped softly, her eyes gleaming with pride. "That's your start. Beautiful.
The second round pushed me further. I mixed colors boldly fiery reds blending into deep purples and with every stroke, the canvas bloomed with passion and pain. The crowd grew quieter, watching. For a moment, I felt seen, not as a girl with scars, but as an artist creating her own truth.
By the third round, something inside me shifted. The brush moved with purpose and fluidity, painting curves and shadows that whispered secrets I hadn't dared voice aloud. The vibrant oranges and golds seemed to catch the fading sunlight, glowing with a quiet defiance. My breath steadied; my heart opened.
The sun had dipped low by the time they announced the results.
Purity stood beside Anna, clutching her paper like it was something fragile. When her name was called not once, not twice, but three times she didn't move at first. She thought maybe she imagined it.
But Anna screamed.
Purity! You did it!" she yelled, shaking her shoulders.
Others clapped, some unfamiliar faces nodded in admiration. Purity walked forward, her steps light but unsure. She didn't win first, but she didn't care. Being seen was enough. Her paintings were placed under a tent marked 'Expressions of the Self.'
POV: Sometimes, joy isn't loud. It's a steady heartbeat that says you're finally becoming who you were meant to be.
On the way home, she held her certificate close to her chest. Anna wouldn't stop talking, her voice bubbling with pride. And for once, Purity didn't mind the noise.
Anna jumped up and down beside me, pulling me into a tight hug. Third place! You did it! You're incredible!
I smiled, warmth blooming deep inside me like the first crack of light after a long night.
For the first time in a long time, I wasn't just surviving. I was living.
That evening, as I walked home with paint-stained fingers and a soft ache in my muscles, a quiet joy settled over me. Healing wasn't about erasing the past it was about finding moments that made the pain easier to carry.
Anna squeezed my hand gently. See? Fresh air, paint, and good company sometimes, that's all you need.
I looked up at the darkening sky, stars beginning to blink awake, and for the first time, I believed in tomorrow
Later that night, alone in her room, she stared at her hands the same hands that once trembled in silence now covered in color and paint.
She smiled to herself.
She was still winning even in unexplained situation
But for now, tonight, she allowed herself something simple.
Happiness.