A Watercolor Life

Things happened for a reason. People used that phrase more often than please or thank you. It was this drug everyone desperately clung to, waiting and expecting the best surprise from life to just leap into their lives. It didn’t work that way. Za knew it. She always thought that in life, things happened for a reason. Yet, some did and some didn’t, so she thought it was very objective. And yet, here she was, clawing at that little belief, hoping for all that was holy, that she missed out on best kiss of her life for a greater reason. But as the days and hours and minutes rushed by, she started to feel her chest start to cave in.

There was no reason.

She was doing paper cranes now. She remembered reading that they were lucky. So far, she had ten, with more to come. Different colors, different positions, their stiff and blank posture reassuring and comforting. Those little paper cranes weren’t going to judge her, or call her stupid, or a failure. In fact, they were the proud declamation of her skill. And fold after fold, she felt all her wrongs transfer to the little bird beneath her fingertips. It was beautiful.

“Hey, Lary- Oh, sorry, I should’ve knocked.”

“You don’t really sound sorry.” She looked up nervously, grinning for all it was worth and folding the last crease. Much to her disappointment, she folded it incorrectly and ruined it. She wasn’t that surprised. “So, lindura, how can I help you?” She had taken up as a personal challenge to nickname him. No matter how hard she tried, only pretty adjectives popped into her mind, so she opted the safer path. The unjust game of languages.

He neared the desk. They finally gave her a proper place to work, a place she could officially mark as her own and litter with absolutely no shame. She even taped pretty looking gum wrappers to the desk and awesome looking coupons. Her chuckle was masked as a cough when he tripped over something. So maybe she over did it with the whole liberty of messing up the place, but who could blame her? She was, after all, an artist.

“Just, checking up on you.” Her heart swelled and she felt her fingers flutter over the paper cranes, silently giving them a pat on the back for their effortless good luck. She started to do the twelfth.

“Oh, I’m just absolutely cheeky.” She smiled. “And the cover is coming on perfectly. In fact, here, take a look.” She reached over to her right, dramatically pulling off a paint stained sheet that covered a half-way done canvas. It was pretty big and detailed, most of the faces already colored; well, all but one.

“Hey, why aren’t I colored yet?”

“Lo mejor para el final, lindura.” He gave her a perplexed stare and pouted, telling her how unfair it was whenever she tossed in Spanish. He even confessed feeling nervous because he didn’t know what she was saying.

“See? Told you I was feeling cheeky.”

- -

“I think you should take a break.”

He was standing there, like a hawk, so observant, so still, so elegant and poised, it was unnerving. It was slightly comforting, even. She knew it was time to leave, to go home, to sleep, to eat, to continue on with her daily routine in life. But she was too ashamed to confess not having a life outside the walls of that studio. And even if it wouldn’t last forever, she tried to keep it that way.

“A break? Never heard of that word.” She dipped the brush and traced the paper smile that looked up at her. “I’m almost done, anyway.” Her smile had never been so fleeting, hesitant or dubious- a lie. He was nearing her now, but he wasn’t a hawk anymore. He was a curious puppy that was staring into a mirror for the first time. She thought it was a shame she never took up the sport for kicking puppies.

His hand moved over her desk, the tips of his fingers pushing some of the collateral damage her creativity caused. She mused over his thoughtful expression for a moment, before looking down and stroking his paper cheek with a hue of pink. She was too concentrated to notice his hovering head; in fact, she barely reacted when she looked up, only to hear a light grunt and a pair of retracing steps.

“Seung- ohmygod, I’m so sorry!” she stood up and threw the chair back, almost climbing over her chaotic desk to reach a withering Seungho. Her foot hooked around the foot of her desk, and she shamelessly tripped, regaining her balance only by sheer will and concern. Had she forever marred his incomparable beauty? She was breathing harder now. What if he was bleeding? She didn’t know if her scalp was sharp, or if he had super sensitive skin. In fact, she had never-

“I’m sorry!” She was fluttering her hands around him, not knowing where to grab, what to pat, or where to fuss over. She was very hard in the head, and this was a testimony to that. She herself started to whimper and fuss even more than he was. He was lightly rubbing his chin, while she quite certainly had a mental breakdown. She kept gushing about apologize and Adonis, her head ducking and bobbing as she continued fretting over the imaginary wound.

He laughed.

She stopped fussing and fretting and apologizing and ducking and stuttering. She wouldn’t be surprised if she even stopped breathing, because it felt that way. It felt like the world stopped watching, stopped judging, stopped moving, and she was the only one allowed to bask under this moment. This tiny moment that would forever be hers. Her chest tingled, and she felt everything go mute. She saw how his full lips parted, and his pearl white teeth brightened up the room around her. She felt like a little girl, reaching up to the sky, crying at her momma how beautiful the clouds were. Because nothing compared to this. How she felt her chest expand and retract, her fingers stiff and unmoving, yet detached and quaking.

She laughed, too.

A hush fell after, and she stared at him, this placid and quiet mutual understanding surging between them. She felt a grin split her face in half, it was a wonder her cheeks functioned at all. She slowly reached forward, momentarily ignoring the deep blush that tainted her cheeks. Her index finger finally tapped the once-thought-wound, and that’s when her grin collapsed into a marvelous smirk.

“Drama queen!” She poked his chin and pulled away, turning towards the desk and hastily tidied up, putting her painting on the easel to dry, and her brushes to clean. She was humming softly to herself, saying out loud a word or two in Spanish. For some reason, she knew Seungho was still behind her, and she did feel rather terrible for smashing his perfectly shaped chin…

“Hey, Seungho?” She rarely spoke in Korean when she knew most of the boys knew English, but she felt it was appropriate. “Want to go grab something to eat?” She didn’t need to turn around to feel the energy that seemed to explode from his single persona. Stifling her giggle would’ve been pointless.

“I swear, you’re like a five year old when it comes down to food.” She finally turned around to face him. Much to her astonishment, he wasn’t as giddy as she expected him to me. It stung. But then she noticed that what he lacked in enthusiasm, he made up with anticipation. She was Lary, and she generally had a good idea what anticipation looked like. She had seen many faces brightening up with anticipation. But staring at such a beautiful face light up with anticipation was different. It made her feel special.

“How does taco sounds? Well, not like you have an option.” She grinned in that sneaky way that wasn’t really sneaky, but more teasing than anything. He smiled right back at her, yet it lacked something. Something was amiss. But she didn’t think over it, too ecstatic in going to lunch with the only boy that was capable of bursting her heart with a single laugh. When she exited the office and started to talk about difficulties of cooking with Seungho, she reached into her large hand bag to touch the paper crane inside. She didn’t know why, but she felt like this was going to be her lucky day. She couldn’t get the words out of her mouth fast enough.

They were both smiling, perfectly mirroring each other’s expression, and neither would know why.