He extended the flowers toward me. “These are for you. Brian loves your classes, and this is a small token of appreciation.”
I glanced briefly at the bouquet, then nodded, my tone as cool as ever. “I don’t accept gifts.”
He seemed taken aback, his smile faltering, but quickly recovered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know about your rule.”
“It’s fine,” I replied, already turning back toward the easel. “Just don’t bring anything next time.”
He didn’t argue, just left quietly after Brian’s lesson.
But after that day, he always came with something else–fruit, snacks.
“Brian likes these,” he’d say with a gentle smile, though I knew better. Those gifts weren’t really for the boy.
Still, I never accepted them.
Over time, I noticed that his persistence wasn’t pushy–it was patient. He didn’t try to talk to me much, content to sit and watch his nephew draw. Occasionally, he’d stand behind me, observing silently as I guided the children.
1/2
Chapter 6
“Your work is amazing,” he said one day, his voice breaking the usual quiet. His tone carried an unmistakable sincerity.
I paused mid–stroke, turning to him. “Why do you say that?”
“I’ve never seen anyone paint like you,” he answered. “I can feel the emotion in every line you
draw.”
I didn’t respond, turning back to my lesson. But his words rippled through me, like a pebble dropped into still water.
Not long after, I stumbled upon an article online. It claimed Dennis planned to leave the city and live in isolation in the
countryside.
+15 Bonus
The piece included a photo of him, standing by the sea with a haggard expression, looking more like a lost spirit than a man.
I stared at that image for a long time, but it stirred no anger, no satisfaction–only a strange, quiet calm.
Perhaps his regret was real, but what did it matter?
I was no longer his burden, nor would I be his salvation.
“Teacher, I’m here!” Brian’s cheerful voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I turned to him with a smile, ruffling his hair. “Why are you late today?”
“Uncle Jay was looking for something! It took forever!”
My gaze shifted to Jay, standing off to the side.
He stepped forward and handed me a folder–contest registration forms.
“I’m not interested,” I said coldly, cutting him off before he could speak. “Why do you keep pushing me to enter these
competitions?”
“Because you shouldn’t bury your talent,” he replied evenly. “Don’t let the past hold you back.”
I said nothing.
He sighed, his tone softening. “Painting is your passion, isn’t it? The people from your past can’t destroy that love–only you
can, by giving it
up.”
P
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