Acheron tried to suppress a yawn, but it escaped anyway. He quickly covered his mouth with one hand, his eyes watering slightly from the effort. He glanced around as though someone might have witnessed it before taking another sip of his milk tea. He had gone to bed far too late the previous night.
The spontaneous shopping trip yesterday had been unexpectedly enjoyable. What had started as an attempt to find inspiration had somehow turned into several hours of wandering through shops, browsing art supplies, trying on clothes, and eventually settling down with a cup of coffee while watching the sunset.
It had been relaxing. Maybe even too relaxing, because once Acheron had finally returned home and climbed into bed, his mind had decided that was the perfect time to become exceptionally productive.
Except it hadn't produced anything useful.
Ideas had appeared and disappeared. He had even filled several pages of his sketchbook with tiny rough drawings, but nothing felt right. Every idea seemed either too simple, too complicated, too familiar, or simply... wrong.
Instead of sleeping, Acheron had spent most of the night staring at his ceiling and thinking.
By the time he finally drifted off, the sky outside his bedroom window had already begun to lighten. He had regretted every single one of those thoughts the moment his alarm went off.
Acheron took another sip of his milk tea, his fingers tightened around the cup.
It didn't help that half of his classmates had already started putting together their final portfolios. The class group chat had become increasingly active over the past few weeks. Filled with rough sketches, concept boards and colour palettes. Some students asked for opinions, and others offered up suggestions. Someone had even posted an entire page of preliminary designs at six in the morning yesterday.
Normally, Acheron enjoyed seeing everyone's work; he liked watching ideas develop. Sometimes another person's drawing would spark something in his own mind, sending him rushing for his sketchbook.
Today, however, every new notification made his stomach twist.
Everyone else is already doing something.
His thumb moved restlessly along the side of his cup.
What am I doing?
Nothing. And that was exactly the problem. He had pages and pages of drawings, but none of them felt like the idea.
Acheron puffed out his cheeks, holding the expression for several seconds before slowly releasing the breath.
"Think..." He whispered the word under his breath; his eyes wandered toward the campus entrance. That was exactly why he had come to university on a Saturday. Of course there were no classes today, and of course he could have stayed at home, wrapped himself in a blanket with Nimbus and spent the morning pretending his final project didn't exist.
Instead, he had decided that being surrounded by other people might help.
The campus was surprisingly busy for a weekend; students occupied nearly every corner. Some sat in the library with laptops and stacks of books spread across tables, already preparing for upcoming examinations. Others had claimed patches of the beautifully manicured lawns, sitting in circles while working on group assignments or simply enjoying the warm weather.
The familiar sounds of university life surrounded him. Laughter, conversations and the occasional shout from somewhere across the lawn. All of it strangely comforting.
Acheron slowed as he walked, his gaze moving from one thing to another. He had decided to visit the small gallery today.
The university had a modest exhibition space tucked between the arts building and the library. It displayed selected final projects from former students, allowing current students to see what had been created before them.
He had visited it several times. Usually, he loved it.
As he walked, he took another sip of his drink through the wide straw, the tapioca pearls bumping against the bottom of the cup as he drank.
The milk tea shop had only opened recently, tucked into one of the streets bordering the university. The owner had clearly done their homework. Within days of opening, the small shop had become so popular that a line regularly stretched out the door. Two months later, the novelty still hadn't worn off.
Fortunately, Acheron rarely had to wait long when he arrived early. One of the greatest benefits of getting out of bed before the sun had fully risen.
Acheron wandered along the edge of campus, occasionally taking another sip of his drink as he searched for somewhere quiet to sit. A cluster of flowers beside a stone bench caught his attention. He stopped to admire the petals, which were a deep shade of purple, their edges curling slightly beneath the afternoon sun.
He decided this would be a perfect place. He settled onto the bench, placing his milk tea carefully beside him before pulling his sketchbook from his bag.
For a while, he didn't draw.
He simply watched.
Students wandered leisurely across campus, some alone and others in small groups. A few snippets of conversation drifted toward him, but none lasted long enough to form a complete story.
"...told him I wasn't going to..."
"...the exam is going to kill me..."
"...did you see that video?..."
Acheron's attention shifted from one voice to another before eventually returning to the people themselves. He watched the way they walked, how some students moved quickly while others seemed to have nowhere in particular to be. He noticed someone repeatedly pushing their glasses back up their nose.
He focused on all of these tiny movements and on ordinary things.
His fingers began tapping lightly against the edge of his sketchbook.
Still nothing.
He wasn't expecting some grand revelation. Just a simple spark, something small enough to catch. His gaze wandered away from the page and toward the trees surrounding the lawn. If inspiration wasn't going to come from people, maybe studying the branches on the bushes next to him would.
Some grew upward in elegant, twisting patterns, while others bent low beneath their own weight. He traced their shapes with his eyes, imagining how they might look translated into charcoal or ink.
Then he noticed the bark, the rough texture and the uneven layers. He leaned forward slightly, fascinated by the tiny cracks running through the surface. His gaze moved lower, noticing a ladybug. Acheron's eyes widened leaning even closer, and he noticed three more sitting on a single leaf.
The tiny insects moved slowly across the green surface, their little black legs almost invisible against the leaf.
Acheron smiled; he reached for his sketchbook. He opened to a fresh page and began making a few quick lines. The first attempt looked more like a badly shaped bean.
Acheron frowned, erasing it immediately
The second attempt was slightly better, but he erased it too.
"Too... round." He whispered to himself. He tried once again, but the ladybug crawled toward the edge of the leaf. Acheron's pencil stopped.
"No, no, wait..." He leaned closer as though the tiny creature might actually listen, but of course it didn't. It walked straight over the edge.
Acheron puffed his cheeks in disappointment. He stared at the empty space where it had disappeared. Then laughed quietly at himself; his sketchbook remained open on his lap.
He looked around again; everything fascinated him. Especially the way the sunlight filtered between the branches. There were endless things to draw. Yet none of them gave him that familiar spark of inspiration. Not even a little tingling sensation that told him he'd found something worth pursuing.
Acheron took a sip of his milk tea and sighed.
He knew he was trying too hard. With a big sigh leaned back against the bench; a gust of wind swept across the lawn. The branches of the bushes beside him rustled violently, their purple flowers shaking as the leaves were pushed apart. Acheron instinctively reached out to keep his sketchbook from being blown closed.
That's when he saw her.
Between the shifting branches was a girl; she wore old clothes covered in colourful stains. Some stains were faded from repeated washing, while others looked fresh enough that Acheron suspected they had been made that morning. She was carrying a wooden desk across the lawn. Acheron watched as she carefully dragged it into a patch of grass and positioned it exactly where she wanted it.
Nobody paid attention. A few students glanced in her direction, but most simply continued whatever they were doing. Perhaps they'd seen her do this before. The girl seemed completely unconcerned with the people around her; she crouched beside a plastic bag and pulled out a large lump of clay.
Acheron's interest immediately sharpened.
She placed the clay on the desk, then began arranging her tools. A wooden knife, several sculpting tools, a small container of water and a cloth. Everything had its place.
Once she was satisfied, she slipped a pair of headphones over her ears.
The outside world disappeared.
Or, at least, it seemed to.
She didn't look around. Didn't even acknowledge the students walking past or notice the wind catching her hair. Her entire attention belonged to the lump of clay sitting before her.
Acheron watched in fascination.
The girl picked up a tool, pressed it gently into the clay. Causing small pieces to fall away, she took a pause to study the result. Then, before beginning again, she adjusted her grip.
Completely oblivious to the world around her.
Acheron understood the state she was in. It was the very thing he had been craving for almost a year. That complete and consuming focus where the rest of the world simply... disappeared.
He could remember what it had once felt like. Hours passing without him noticing, pencil or paintbrush moving almost on its own. The world narrowing down to nothing more than a blank page and the image forming beneath his hands.
Lately, he had been able to hone his skills. He could still sit for hours and draw. He could still lose himself for a little while. But it wasn't the same; there was always something lurking at the edges of his mind. To remember something he had been trying not to think about.
But this girl...
She had disappeared completely into her work.
Acheron watched her hands move, his fingers tightened around the edge of his sketchbook. Before he even realised what he was doing, he had already stood. He left his bag beside the bench and slowly made his way across the grass.
One step at a time.