He didn't notice how far he'd travelled, only realising when he found himself standing behind a stone statue. Acheron couldn't help but freeze, his eyes widening.
How did I get here? He glanced back toward the bench; it seemed much farther away than he remembered. A tiny flush crept across his cheeks, but he quickly looked back at the girl again.
He looked at the girl again; fortunately, she still hadn't noticed him. Acheron slowly crouched behind the statue, peeking around its side, leaving only his small head visible.
I must look ridiculous.
But he couldn't bring himself to care, especially not when she was doing something so interesting. Now that he was closer, he could see just how much clay had found its way onto her. There was a smear across one cheek, another streak disappeared beneath her jaw, and small pieces had landed on her shirt and trousers, adding to the colourful collection of stains already covering them. There was even a little blob stuck near her sleeve.
Well, that explained the clothes. Acheron's lips twitched.
Acheron's gaze returned to the sculpture, trying to figure out what she was making. Her hands moved quickly and confidently. Pressing and pulled the clay in different directions. She pinched one section thinner before adding more material to another. She would stop for barely a second before changing her grip and continuing. Without any hesitation and not a single wasted movement.
Acheron was fascinated; his eyes followed her fingers as the move.
What is that? He tilted his head.
Are those branches? There were several long, twisted shapes curling around one another. But then again, maybe hands?
Acheron narrowed his eyes. Or not. It looked truly strange and unique. He leaned slightly farther around the statue. The sculpture seemed to change every time she touched it; what had looked like branches a moment ago then resembled fingers, but now more like roots. Acheron frowned; he couldn't make sense of it.
Which only made him even more curious.
Acheron took another step, quickly followed by another. His sketchbook hung loosely from one hand because his entire attention was focused on the girl's technique. The pressure of her fingers, the angle of the tools and the way she supported one section while shaping another.
He wanted to understand how she could look at a shapeless lump of clay and somehow already know what it was supposed to become. Once again, Acheron took another step closer.
He was so close now that he could see the tiny indentations left behind by her fingertips, but didn't notice the distance between them disappearing or how her hands had stopped moving, and certainly didn't notice her watching him.
The girl sat completely still, one hand resting against the unfinished sculpture. Her headphones remained over her ears, but she had paused her music. She looked at the strange little figure standing only a few steps away.
Silver hair. Beautiful emerald eyes and a sketchbook clutched in one hand. His head tilted slightly to one side as he studied her work with such intense concentration that he seemed completely unaware of everything else.
He is cute.
Not in the polished, carefully put-together way of some of the students who passed through campus. There is something much more genuine about him. Especially the way his brows knitted together whenever he couldn't figure something out, the tiny movement of his lips when he seemed to be silently asking himself a question and when he kept leaning closer despite clearly trying not to intrude.
She found herself watching him just as closely as he had been watching her.
Finally, she lifted one clay-covered hand; Acheron's eyes immediately followed the movement.
She waved, and he froze, eyes widening. For several seconds, neither of them moved. With tiny, slow movements, Acheron looked behind himself, only to find no one else there. He whipped his head back and looked at her; his expression seemed to ask a clear question.
Me?
The girl laughed, pointing directly at him. Causing Acheron's cheeks to turn pink, he raised his hand and pointed at himself.
The girl nodded.
He had been caught.
"You can join me." She kicked an extra chair out from beneath the table with the side of her shoe.
The sudden movement startled Acheron; he took an instinctive step backwards, clutching his sketchbook a little tighter. For a moment, he simply stared at the chair.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Acheron finally nodded.
"O-okay."
He moved quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in his hurry to sit down. Once settled, he placed his sketchbook carefully on the table and looked toward her... sculpture. Neither of them spoke, each returning to their previous tasks. She went back to moulding, and he went back to watching.
Her fingers pressed into the clay, reshaping one of the strange branching structures before smoothing the edges with her thumb. Acheron's eyes followed every movement, occasionally leaning closer. His attention shifted between her hands and the sculpture, trying to understand the choices she was making.
Fortunately, the girl didn't seem bothered by his staring.
For a while, the silence was comfortable or at least for Acheron. Not for the young girl, however; the quiet stretched for a little too long. She glanced sideways at him, noticing that he was still staring at her sculpture. Finally, she decided that she couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm Mira, by the way. I'm part of the sculpting department."
Acheron's head lifted. For the first time, he really looked at her, not just her hands or the clay, but her. She had long auburn hair tied high in a ponytail, with a few loose strands falling around her face. A pair of delicate butterfly earrings peeked through her hair whenever she moved. Across her nose and cheeks was a galaxy of freckles.
Acheron's eyes lingered for a second longer than he intended.
Pretty.
"Acheron." His voice cracked; his eyes widened.
Mira's lips twitched.
Acheron cleared his throat and tried again.
"Acheron. Oil painting department." That was slightly better, mostly.
"It's nice to meet you." Mira smiled.
"You too." Acheron nodded.
His fingers began crinkling the edge of a page in his sketchbook.
Mira returned her attention to the clay. After a moment, she asked, "Are you also aiming for the Newfound Showcase?"
Acheron's eyes moved toward her. "I think it would be silly not to at least try." His voice still carried a trace of nervousness.
"Exactly." Mira nodded. She held the sculpture up slightly, turning it so she could examine it from another angle.
"What are you working on?"
Acheron went still, his gaze dropped to his sketchbook. He considered several answers: he is still experimenting, he has several ideas or that he is working on finding the right concept. All of these sounded better than the truth.
He hadn't figured anything out.
"I..." He paused, his fingers lightly tapping against the cover of his sketchbook. "I haven't figured anything out."
Mira stared at him, then started laughing.
"Good." She placed the sculpture back on the table. "Neither have I."
Acheron stared at her. "But you've already started."
"So?"
She gestured toward the half-formed sculpture. "This is just clay."
"I have no idea what it's going to become."
Acheron's gaze dropped to the sculpture again, trying to look at it differently this time. He still saw the strange branches, looking almost finger-like. The twisting shapes seemed to become something new depending on which angle he viewed them from.
"You don't know?" He asked in wonder.
"Nope."
"I'm just playing around until something feels right." Mira picked up another piece of clay.
Is that even possible?
The question practically appeared across his face. His eyebrows had drawn together into a deep frown, his lips pressed into a small pout as he stared at the sculpture.
Mira laughed softly. "I know that sounds strange."
"A little."
She smiled. "I understand it's an unconventional method, but sometimes I don't think you need to know what you're making before you start." She picked up another small piece of clay and pressed it against one of the branches.
"Sometimes you just need to make something." Her fingers smoothed the new piece into place.
"Then you look at it." She tilted her head. "And you make another choice."
Acheron watched her hands. "You really don't have a plan?"
"Really." Mira shrugged again.
"I have a feeling."
"A feeling?"
"That there's something here." She tapped the clay. "I just don't know what it is yet."
Acheron's eyes returned to the sculpture.
It was strange-looking, still unfinished and completely messy. Yet there was something beautiful about it. Every section seemed to grow naturally from the one before it.
"I've worked like this on almost every project I've ever done," Mira continued. "I just start. Eventually, the clay tells me where it wants to go."
Acheron's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"The clay tells you?"
"Okay, maybe that sounds a little crazy." Mira laughed.
"It does."
She grinned. "But it works."
She returned to shaping the sculpture. "So far, it hasn't failed me."
Acheron leaned back in his chair. His gaze drifted toward his sketchbook; the blank pages no longer seemed quite as intimidating.
For months, he'd been trying to force an idea into existence. He had been searching for the perfect concept before allowing himself to begin.
Every sketch needed a purpose.
Every line needed to mean something.
Every idea needed to be good enough to become his final project.
Maybe that was the problem.
He had been trying so hard to find the answer that he had forgotten he was allowed to search for it. A small sense of clarity began to settle over him.
Not a complete idea.
Not even close.
Acheron slowly turned his pencil between his fingers. Maybe he didn't need to know what he wanted to create. He simply needed to start.
His lips curved into the faintest smile.
Mira glanced at him.
"You look like you just figured something out."
Acheron looked at her. "I think..."
He glanced down at his blank page.
"I might have."
"Then start drawing." Mira smiled.
Acheron looked at the paper again. For once, he didn't feel the need to know what the first line would become. He simply lowered his pencil.
Then he drew a line; it was crooked.
Acheron frowned at it.
Mira glanced over. "Don't erase it."
Acheron froze. "Why?"
"Because you don't know what it is yet."
He stared at the line. Slowly, his lips curved upward.
"Right."