The room was too quiet. Adrian could hear the clock on Bexley's desk marking each second, like a hammer striking iron.
"Four months," Bexley said, his voice firm but calm, as if he'd already decided Adrian's fate. "Four months to bring me work that proves you understand the theme. Not a finished masterpiece—just proof that you can hold the weight of 'intimacy' without breaking. If what you show me is hollow, I'll strike your name from the ledger. But if you succeed, you earn the right to complete your final submission by summer."
Adrian nodded, throat tight. "I… I understand, sir."
Bexley's eyes lingered on him—sharp, measuring. He tilted his head, as though studying not Adrian's face, but the uncertainty written beneath it. "You've talent," he said after a pause, "but you work like a man who doesn't trust his own hand. I've seen your works."
Adrian stiffened. "You've seen them?"
"I've seen everything " Bexley replied. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "There's structure. But no heart. You may express what you feel, but do others understand it. We are artists only when someone can draw meaning from what we make. If you want to survive this place, you'll have to bleed on the canvas."
He turned."Selene Hawthorne. You've already completed your conditional term, haven't you?"
Selene nodded once, her storm-grey eyes unreadable.
"Then you'll help him."
Adrian's cheeks burned. He wanted to argue, to tell Bexley he didn't need anyone's pity. But the words died on his tongue. Maybe Bexley was right. Maybe he did need help.
Selene's expression softened at his expression, oblivious of his thoughts, though only slightly. "It doesn't affect the rules, if that's what you're worried about. Students are allowed to exchange critiques, collaborate. Some of the best submissions have come from shared inspiration. But…" she let the word linger, "if you fail, it's your failure. Not mine. I'm not here to paint for you."
Adrian remained silent.
Bexley's cleared his throat, sharp, deliberate warning. "Both of you, go and get acquainted. Selene, you're excused from my clerical work for the next four months. Spend that time making sure Mr. Vale doesn't drown."
They turned to leave.
"Mr. Vale," Bexley called.
Adrian froze, hand on the knob. "Yes, sir?" His voice came out hoarse.
"I expect something from you before those four months are up. Remember: a good work needn't be precise, but its audience must recognize the feeling. That's why we assign compulsory themes, to force you to render what you've never lived. Learn to see beyond yourself." He lowered his gaze back to his papers. "That will be all. Do not waste her time or mine."
"Thank you, sir," Adrian said, shaky. Bexley waved him off without looking up.
----
Outside the office, the hallway felt less grand than before. The portraits of past masters seemed to glare down at him like silent judges. Adrian's thoughts spun, tripping over themselves.
Selene Hawthorne walked beside him, her steps unhurried, as though she carried no doubts, no fear. She glanced at him briefly. "You look like someone on trial for murder."
Adrian gave a humorous breath. "Who wouldn't, after speaking with Professor Bexley?"
"No," she corrected, "he doesn't think you are hopeless. He thinks you are stuck. There's a difference. Stuck means there's still hope if you're willing to work."
Her words lingered, firm but not unkind, as they walked down from Bexely office.
"You've already finished your piece?" Adrian asked, unable to hide his admiration.
"Two weeks ago," Selene said casually, as if it were nothing. "The sooner you submit, the sooner the board reviews your work. It means I'll start my first official term in the spring, months before everyone else."
Adrian stopped mid-step. "Wait, so if I finish early, I can start sooner?"
She turned to face him, brow raised. "You didn't know?"
He shook his head.
Selene sighed, the kind of sigh reserved for people who have just realized they've taken on a much bigger job than expected.
"Then you're even further behind than I thought. Four months isn't long, Mr Vale. Not when you don't even know what you want to say."
Her bluntness stung, but he couldn't deny the truth of it. "I… I don't even know where to start," he admitted quietly.
Selene studied him for a moment, then offered something that almost resembled a smile. "Then that's where we'll start. Tomorrow, west studio. By mid morning. Don't be late. Don't forget to give me the answer of love in your words."
Before Adrian could reply, she turned and walked down the hall, her footsteps soft against the polished wood. For a moment, Adrian stood frozen, staring after her. Something about her unsettled him, like she was both a challenge and an answer he wasn't ready to face.
The brass clock's tick echoed in his memory. The clock was already ticking.