Watching You |

Chapter 6

"I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious."
- Albert Einstein

Amelia's POV:-

I felt a wave of calm come over me as I walked inside the studio.

My heaven.

This is the area where I am most exposed. Vulnerable.

I can feel safe and free in the presence of art. I can't possibly maintain my sanity any other way.

Two long tables made of solid mahogany and two high chairs positioned close to the walls make up my tiny studio. My grandmother painted a few pieces of art on the walls, which are mostly white and gray in color.

She used to paint, sing, dance, and just be herself here. Her studio.

On the table to the right of the room are a few of my unfinished sculptures. Several of them are finished and resting on the table in front of me.

It was now sunset, as shown by a few rays of sunshine peeking through the window.

I set my bag down on the table, turned on the music, and revealed the statue I had been working on lately.
With Life in Technicolor by Coldplay playing in the background, I put my hair in a sloppy bun and put on an apron.

I feel at home here because of the colors and the scent of clay. With a groan, I eyed the metal rings, cutting wires, forks, and measuring capillaries strewn across the table, reminding me that the workshop needed cleaning.

I filled a water sprayer and sprayed my almost-finished statue. I corrected the lines using a paring knife. in the cheekbones and nose.

My body began to come alive with new intensity with each cut and stroke. I feel like I'm cut off from the outside world every time I enter the studio. Each drop of clay-infused water that splattered on my body enhanced my beauty.

"People without passion are dead," as my grandma used to say.
But I'm not.
Well, not in this place, anyway.

Spending time with my grandmother was never something my mother approved of. She believed that her optimism was excessive.

Never fail to see the positive side of anything negative. I didn't realize what she was getting at at the moment.

I get it now, though.

Grandma loved her till the end, even though mother never gave her a tender glance. Her personality was artistic. Aesthetic.

Hidden from my mother, we went to the art gallery. Every second I spent with her brought back memories of my carefree, naive youth.

So joyful.

So excited.

So animated.

"Always remember Ami. With all of her heart, this elderly woman loved you," were her final words to me.

I wish she could be with me. It only makes me miss her more.

For me to know,
"It's alright, my angel. Pause, take a breath, and run once again."

I finally let a tear fall down my cheek and onto the table, saying, "I miss you, grandma."
I spent the whole evening going over my grandmother's memories while I watched the sun sink into the sea.

I walk into the living room and scan the area to see if my mother is there.
I truly hope not to see her before I absolutely have to. We meet twice a day on average.
Dinner and breakfast.
Hehe. It may seem ironic, but that is the reality.

I head upstairs with light steps.
"Where have you been?" The harsh voice makes me wince.
shit.
It's gotten past eight already. Usually, I get home by 7:30.
I became so engrossed in the studio today that I forgot the time. I turn around and watch as she enters the kitchen while glancing at her phone.

"I was in the studio. lost all sense of time."I spoke while clearing my throat.
She rolls her eyes at me without meeting my gaze.
I know what's going to happen.

"You're not going to change. Are you?"

Never, huh!

"I told you to break your sculpture habit." I can feel the disappointment in her eyes as she shook her head.

"Anyhow. Your final year of high school is this one. I selected a few reputable law schools for you."

"I already--,"

"Tell me which one you would like to apply for after making your choice. I'll email the file to you later." She interrupts me rudely and says, not quite directly, that it's decided.

I scramble to my room, fisting my hands.
She's always so controlling and demanding. I follow her decision-making.
Not any longer.
I'll do whatever the hell I want.
I'll carry out my grandmother's wishes.

Leaping onto the study table in the left corner of the room, I drop my bag on the bed.

My room is modest, featuring walls painted in soft white and green, a cozy bed covered in  gray sheets, a study table, and a tiny closet to the right.
On the side table by the bed is a picture frame that Grandma took of me with her lips planted on my cheeks, taken the day we went to see the art film without telling Mother.

We seem content.

I search for Royal College of Arts, London on my computer.
Whatever my mother says, I'm going there for sure.
I fill applicability form. After submitting the application, I closed the computer.

I shift my gaze to the frame of Grandma and I
"Grandma, this is what keeps me alive." With tears stuck in my eyes and a raspy voice, I say.

"I hope my mother will get it."
I sincerely hope.