The canvas and the architect

Chapter 1: The Canvas and the Architect

​Feli hated the first day of school. The fluorescent lights of the art room hummed like an angry beehive, and the sterile white walls felt less like a blank canvas and more like a prison. She had spent the last two years dreaming of this—her first job as a high school art teacher—yet here she was, clutching a coffee mug and feeling completely out of place. Her predecessor, a woman who had taught for thirty years, had left the room in a state of meticulous disarray: organized stacks of paper, labeled jars of paintbrushes, and an almost sacred order that Feli didn't dare disrupt.

​She tried to be optimistic, to see the potential in the faces staring back at her. Some were bored, a few were eager, but most were just... there, ticking off a required course on their schedules.

​Then her eyes landed on her. Sangsangi.

​She was sitting in the back corner, almost hidden behind an easel. While the other students were filling out their information sheets, Sangsangi was sketching in a small, worn sketchbook. Her fingers moved with a deliberate grace, and her long hair fell over her face, shielding her from the world. Feli couldn’t see the drawing, but she could sense the intensity of the girl’s focus.

​"Alright, everyone," Feli said, her voice a little too loud in the quiet room. "Let's start with a simple exercise. I want you to draw the person sitting across from you. Don't worry about it being perfect. Just draw what you see."

​A collective groan rippled through the room. Feli saw a few students exchange amused glances, but Sangsangi didn't even look up. She simply flipped a page in her sketchbook and began to draw something new. Feli walked over, a polite smile on her face.

​"Sangsangi, right?" Feli asked gently. "Could you try the assignment?"

​Sangsangi finally looked up. Her eyes, a dark, rich brown, met Feli's. They were deep and a little guarded, like a forest at dusk. She didn't say anything, just gestured with her chin toward the easel. On the stand was a half-finished watercolor, a swirling tempest of deep blues and vibrant reds. It was beautiful and chaotic and spoke of a profound emotion that Feli couldn't place. It wasn't what was in front of her; it was what was inside her.

​"I don't draw what I see," Sangsangi said, her voice a soft murmur. "I draw what I feel."

​Feli felt a jolt of something akin to recognition. It was as if Sangsangi had just articulated the very reason Feli had become an artist herself. The words were a quiet rebellion against the structured, rigid world of the classroom. Feli found herself smiling, a genuine smile this time.

​"I see," Feli said, stepping back from the easel. "Well, in that case, Sangsangi... you're excused from the assignment."

​The other students looked at Feli in confusion. But Feli didn't care. She had found something real in the humming, sterile room. She had found a kindred spirit in the girl who drew feelings instead of faces. And for the first time that day, the art room felt less like a prison and more like a canvas.

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