Vanilla Dusk ✓

Half Part 5

It was a late summer afternoon, scorching hot, and he was alone in the Art Studio working on his canvas with a broken air-conditioner. Emir curled a strand of his wet pale hair behind his left ear as he added radiant strokes onto his landscape painting. His instructor, Mr. Esposito, was nowhere in sight, but then again, he was always late to class, if not caught flirting with the German café owner down the street. His students had got accustomed to arriving at least 15 minutes later than the scheduled time but Emir would always be there early, to perfect his work.

When he got too queasy because of the heat, he left the room to get himself a carton of cold juice from the vending machine in the corridor. He went to the toilet afterwards, to splash cold water onto his face. When he returned to the room, a boy around his age was perching on his bar stool, a flat brush in one hand. He gave Emir's painting of the autumn park a rough swipe of reddish-yellow. Emir gasped and skidded towards the boy, seizing hold of the brush in a flash.

'What do you think you're doing?' rasped Emir, as he glared at the boy with dark hair and a smug smile.

'Oh, is this your work?'

Emir had never seen someone presumptuous enough to ruin another person's artwork. The boy stood up. He was around Emir's height but his ego was twice larger.

'Yes, and why would you do that?' Emir gaped at the stroke that shot across the sky. It simply came out of nowhere and didn't fit in the painting at all.

'Me?' The boy raised his brows and smirked. 'You don't know me?'

'Who do you think you are?' Emir grunted, hands on his hip. The boy burst into laughter and Emir suppressed the urge to strike him with his brush.

'I just added some shades to the sky. Thought you're painting dusk.'

'Shades?' growled Emir. 'They look like ridiculous strokes to me.'

'I actually think these strokes are pretty powerful,' said a cheerful voice with a thick accent. Emir turned around to meet his instructor, Mr. Esposito, who was wearing a loose dress shirt and black skinny jeans. It wasn't hard to see that he had applied lots of concealer to his face to hide the freckles and he had traced his hazel eyes with dark eyeliners. 'Wild and unique. Love them!'

The Italian artist clapped his hands and he waltzed into the room, giving Emir's back a pat.

'Don't get so irritated,' said Mr. Esposito.

'Seriously?' Emir, still seething with fury, turned away from two men and pouted.

'Oh, come on, Emir, it isn't a big deal.' The Italian laughed. 'I was thinking of adding you marks. But then again, Shane, touching somebody's work without their consent isn't so friendly either.'

'Sorry,' said Shane with a chuckle.

'You shouldn't be here,' said Mr. Esposito, beaming at Shane with his droopy eyes. 'Shouldn't you be shooting on the next floor? Your instructors have been looking for you.'

'I took a break to admire your students' work,' said Shane, peeking at Emir. 'Thought they might want a genuine opinion or two, but guess they don't appreciate it much.'

'Hey, you,' yelled Emir. 'You didn't give me an opinion – you simply –'

'Beautified your painting.' Shane winked at him, earning a louder growl from Emir. Mr. Esposito laughed.

Before Emir could hurl a paintbrush at Shane, he had fled to the door.

'See you later, grumpy boy.'

'Don't ever let me bump into you,' warned Emir as he raised his fist. Mr. Esposito held him back with a giggle. 'Don't get violent here. By the way, why are you here today, Emir? The Studio is closed because the air-conditioner needs to be fixed.'