Jay stood at his desk still dressed in his pajamas, eating cereals.

Leaning his head on his hand, he turned the magazine pages, his gaze drifting lazily back and forth between the pictures. His fingers slid over the cold, glossy paper. One page at a time. Slowly, a nagging feeling crept in. Every detail was useless. Every painting was dull.

Portraits, rural landscapes, and a few still-life pieces. The painting section ended. Nothing caught his attention. The pictures in the magazine were large, but Jay barely noticed them. He couldn't see beyond the geometric shapes, splashes of color, and parallel lines.

Nothing. Jay had been reading articles for the past fifteen minutes, and nothing stayed in his mind. Just the crunch of the cornflakes. Sitting with one foot on the chair, he glanced at the magazine. It made him feel as if he were back in high school. Distracted and unmotivated. However, he remembered an article beside a photo with a young woman completely covered in white paint, from her gray sweater and baggy jeans to her face. She suggested that if you want to overcome creative block, you must start with... uhm, what was that again? He put down his bowl and skipped through the pages until he reached the photo. Then, with narrowed eyes, he read, "to step back and take a break."

Bullshit.

Jay sighed, tossing the magazine aside.

He already tried it.

He got up, pushing the chair back under the desk.

The dorm room was compact, with identical beds and desks on each side. The shelves held stacks of books, art supplies, and some superhero figurines on the roommate's side. A kitchenette ran along the wall at the entrance, and they had a toilet and a shower, which was more than enough.

While getting dressed, he noticed Mason's key in the door's lock. When he left in the morning, he must have forgotten to take it out. To Jay's dissatisfaction, he also forgot to lock it. As he thought about it, he felt as if he had slept bare-naked on the streets. Idiot.

Jay picked up his backpack, and just before leaving, he noticed a book on Mason's desk. The title caught his eye. Architecture Details. He reached for it. It looked neat from afar, but up close, he observed the uneven, faded text, the rough edges, and the harsh scratches on the cover. He leafed through it, seeing the yellow pages and some notes. When it gave off a musty smell, Jay quickly closed it and put it back in the same spot.

What does he need that for? He asked himself as he closed the door.

*

In the classroom, the air was thick with the strong smell of paint and the scent of rain drifting in through the window.

The professor's heels clacked incessantly, creating an irksome noise.

Tara Carter, the professor, was hectic—a whirlwind. She darted around the classroom, flitting from one student to another. She started a discussion but didn't finish it. After remembering something else, she moved to the next one. She got bored quickly, and although she encouraged her students to ask her anything, she got annoyed when they did. "Didn't you read about this in the book?"

Tara Carter, the person, was easier to talk to, even if she interrupted when she thought she understood—just to save time. But she at least offered advice. That was the only positive thing about her. She was a professional in her field, and her students knew they could rely on that. But it was harder to reach her. She wouldn't talk to others outside of classes.

She was slender, and always dressed elegantly, with hand-painted puffed skirts in bright colors and various models. A nonconformist. She dyed her hair ash gray after noticing her first white strands, curious how she would look as she aged.

She wore cat-eye glasses, slightly larger for her face. The fine lines around her chin pulled her mouth down, making her look unimpressed. Never smiling made it worse. Her jokes fall flat.

"How's the piece going?" she asked Jay.

"Uhm, let's say I've started working on it."

"What does that mean?"

"I haven't decided what I want it to be about yet, so I wrote some ideas I have on paper."

Tara raised an eyebrow slightly. "Are you planning to become a writer?"

Jay sensed the irony in her voice. "So that I don't forget them."

"Why don't you sketch instead of writing?" she asked.

"I don't really like sketching."

"They don't have to be perfect, just to do some quick sketches on a paper, which you can use later for the final project," she said. "You know how it works."

"Yeah, I know, but—"

"You start directly with color, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll need to step out of your comfort zone for that," she said. "Opportunities like this exhibition don't come around often."

Great.

Jay let out a deep sigh, tilting his head slightly downward. "I'm going to do my best."

"When do you plan to start?"

"I still have plenty of time."

"But I want to see something that takes shape by next week, okay?"

Jay didn't say much, so Tara Carter repeated.

"Don't worry, I chose you, okay?" she also added.

Jay nodded without saying anything else. He wasn't sure about a lot of things at that moment, but one thing became clear now: Tara Carter was a notorious narcissist.

His shoulders relaxed as she walked away.

Jay imagined it so vividly that he almost felt this with all his senses. His heart was beating fast. The opportunity was indeed grand. He knew that. He felt important. Out of so many students, Tara Carter chose him to make a special piece for the end-of-year exhibition. How can he not be proud of that?

He stood in front of his artwork, surrounded by influential people, answering their questions and requests. But a few moments later, Jay realized that those around him did not appreciate his work. They were pointing at him, laughing. His legs were shaking like jelly, and his once-impressive painting was nothing more than a large, blank canvas. The people around him walked away, looking at him with pity, leaving him alone—utterly alone.

*

When he finally raised his eyes from the ground while walking out of the classroom, he bumped into Mason. Their bodies pressed briefly together, and Mason instinctively reached out, grasping Jay's arm to steady him. Surprised, Jay's pulse quickened. The light touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary. Now they looked at each other, one more surprised than the other. Neither moved and for a heartbeat longer, they stood there, caught in silence. Jay noticed the warmth of Mason's hand before he let go, stepping back quickly.

"What are you doing?" Jay asked.

"I was waiting for classes to end to talk to the prof."

Jay raised an eyebrow.

Mason glanced at the door. "Is she in a good mood?"

Jay shrugged. "She has only one mood."

"Okay," Mason said, heading to the classroom. "Wish me luck."

"I put the key under the yellow armchair at the end of the hallway."

Mason halted as it took him a moment to realize what Jay meant. His eyes widened as he patted himself down. "Oh, my keys? I forgot them again, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

Tara was coming out of the classroom when she noticed Mason.

"Oh, you've arrived. Come on, let's talk," she said, gesturing for him to come in.

"Thanks, man. I owe you a meal for that."

How strange.

And what does he need to discuss in private with her?

Mason has been acting strange lately. That was what Jay had noticed. He had changed his schedule. Previously a late sleeper, he now woke up early but often returned late and sometimes skipped classes. Like today.

But he had no idea where he actually went.

Probably at work—who knows?

Jay could still feel the sensation of his hand on his arm. His hand felt warm.

Jay stopped walking at the end of the hallway and turned around.

They stopped in front of the door too. They were talking, and Tara touched him on the shoulder. She nodded as Mason said something to her. She smiled... What the hell? Tara Carter never smiled. And now they went inside.

Mason had had some problems with his grades last year in some subjects, but there was still a bit of an age gap between him and Carter. Still, who knew what's happening there.

Not even this can surprise him today.

But Jay also knew that's none of his business.