Chapter 7: The Email That Changes Everything.
My body was tired, and my legs felt heavy from standing all day and my fingertips still carried faint traces of ink from handling prints at the shop, my shoulders ached from work the same way It always did.
As I walked through the dim-lit streets,past the closed shops and flickering signboard but tonight every step felt twice as long. When I finally reached home, I barely had the energy to untie my shoelaces. Still my mind refused to rest.
The paint prime assessment had ended but it kept replaying the morning, the room, the judges, the quiet way they watched me like they were measuring things I didn't know how to show.
The assessment was over. Done, out of my hands.
But the memory sat on my chest like something I swallowed wrong.
I lay on my mattress, staring at the ceiling fan spinning its weak little circles, making little clicking sounds like it's struggling to keep up with itself. It's familiar, but also irritating tonight.
The room is dim, the bulb outside my window flickered like it's breathing unevenly.
Everything feels tight. Like I'm waiting for something I can't name.
After a long minute, I sat up again. My body moved before my mind catched up. I reached for my phone, flipped it over, checked the screen.
Nothing.
No call from PaintPrime. No update. No new message.
And still nothing from Wynford Corporation.
I shouldn't be hoping. They're too high up. Too big. Too far from my world.
But hope is a stubborn thing. Even when it hurts.
I set the phone face-down on the blanket and breathe out slowly.
Maybe I should shower. Wash off the day. Wash off the worry. Wash off the tightness that's been clinging to my ribcage since morning.
The water ran cold at first, then warm. The steam curls around me, softening the edges of my thoughts. My fingers trace the faint paint stains on my wrist, I forgot to scrub them off. They look like tiny ghosts of colors I didn't finish using.
When I stepped out, I felt a little lighter.
I tied my hair up, pulled on a fresh shirt, and moved to the small table near the window.
My sketchboard waited there, opened to a blank page I abandoned last night.
I sat.
The page stared back at me. Quiet. Empty. Expectant.
I picked up a brush stroke and started drawing-nothing planned, nothing shaped, just lines moving until they find something that feels real. My hand loosened slowly. My breathing steadied.
This is the only place where my thoughts didn't chase me. The only place where I never felt behind.
I don't know how long I had drawn. Maybe minutes or an hour.
But when I stopped, my hand hurts and the page is no longer empty. A girl stands there-soft lines, tired eyes, shoulders braced like she's holding up her own sky.
She looked familiar. Too familiar.
I closed the sketchbook gently.
It's late. The kind of late that made the air felt heavy, like the night has finally settled on everything it touched.
I leaned back in my chair, stretched a little, and let my eyes drifted toward my phone again.
Still face-down, Still empty.
I stood, switched off the light, and crawled into bed. This time, the exhaustion catched up fully. My body sank into the mattress like it's been waiting all along.
I was almost asleep when the phone vibrated .
Just once. A single sharp buzz.
My eyes snapped open.
I stayed still. Not moving.
Maybe it's a glitch Or my bank reminding me I have nothing left to spend
I reached for the phone slowly, like it might disappear if I moved too fast.
New Email -Wynford Corporation
My heart slammed so hard that it hurts.
For a second, I couldn't even open it. My finger hovered above the screen, shaking slightly. I blinked twice, like I'm checking if this is real.
Then I tapped.
The email opened.
At first, all I saw was the header-clean, sharp font, their official signature stamped underneath like a seal of something higher than my world.
Then the words settled into focus.
"Dear Miss Eva, Our team recently reviewed your portfolio submitted during the PaintPrime assessment…"
Of course, PaintPrime wasn't just an art test; they worked with partnered companies who searched for new talent through the assessment entries.
Wynford Corporation was one of their biggest silent partners, the kind that didn't announce their involvement publicly. They only requested the portfolios that scored the highest in emotional range and narrative style.
So Wynford didn't pick me randomly.
My PaintPrime submission had been forwarded to them and they chose me.
"…and we would like to commission you for a special project under Wynford Corporation's Creative Development Initiative."
"Commission" They offered me a commission.
Not a trial, not a test.
"A commission!"
My hand fled to my mouth. I continued reading again just to make sure I didn't imagine it.
"…your work demonstrated emotional depth, narrative clarity, and a unique use of light. These qualities align with the vision for our upcoming campaign."
Emotional depth? Narrative clarity? Unique use of light?
My chest tightened as something warm stired inside me. Something I haven't felt in a long time.
Pride. Real pride.
I kept reading.
"We are requesting a portrait-style piece centered on memory and connection. You will receive full project details and compensation outline upon confirmation."
Portrait-style. Memory, and Connection.
I became so excited and shooked as well because those words… They sounded like the painting I made for PaintPrime. The one they asked me to explain. The one I poured my whole self into without realizing it.
My hands trembled around the phone.
There's more...
"Due to the sensitive nature of the project, we are handling our selection discreetly. Kindly respond within 48 hours to accept or decline the commission."
I pressed the phone to my chest and closed my eyes.
For a long moment, I just sat there quiet, still, suspended between disbelief and relief.
All day, I kept telling myself not to expect anything.
All month, I had been living on paychecks that didn't stretched far enough, eating meals that barely counted, working hours that swallowed parts of me I couldn't afford to lose.
And now this..
"Wynford Corporation" one of the biggest names in the entire industry wants me. My art, my hands, and way of seeing the world.
I breathe out slowly, and shaky.
It felt unreal. Like standing at the edge of something big. Something that could change everything if I take the step.
I lowered the phone and stared at the email again, as if the words might vanish if I looked away too long.
A part of me wanted to jump up and scream. Another part wanted to cry, and another wanted to curl up and hold this moment carefully so it doesn't spill.
Instead, I whispered "Thank you."
To who? I didn't know. Life maybe, Or the pieces of myself I kept alive even when everything felt impossible.
Or maybe the story itself, the one I had been chasing, the one that has been chasing me.
I scrolled down to the bottom of the email. There's a name.
"Wynford Creative Director, Wynford Corporation"
"Wynford!" "As in, Adrian Wynford!"
The billionaire who owns the company. The man everyone talks about. The man whose reputation feels ten mountains away from my world.
Why would he see my work? Why would he choose me? Why this commission?
The questions crowded in, but not in the painful way I'm used to, these ones felt electric. Alive.
I fell back onto my pillow slowly, still clutching the phone.
I didn't respond yet. I couldn't, not until I can trust my hands to type without shaking.
The ceiling looked different now. The shadows felt different too. Like something in the room shifted the moment the email arrived.
I closed my eyes again but sleep didn't come. Not because I'm worried, but because for the first time in a long time, I felt something opening inside me. Something bright, and brave.
Wynford Corporation wants a portrait about memory, and connection.
And they want me to paint it.
My lips curved into a gentle smile.
My pulse pounds as I typed the words with trembling fingers:
"I accept the commission. Thank you for this opportunity."
I stared at the message once more, inhaled, and hit send.
I didn't hesitated to reply because maybe, this commission could be my dream come true.