Diego

Diego slipped into the art room before the bell rang, the quiet space greeting him like an old friend. The walls smelled faintly of acrylics and wood polish, and the scattered morning light made the room feel softer than usual. He set his sketchbook down and opened it to the portrait he’d been obsessing over. The shadows still weren’t lying the way he wanted. It irritated him, but perfectionism rarely gave him a break.

As other students began filing in, their voices filled the room—loud, clumsy, full of energy he didn’t have the patience for. Diego kept his gaze on the page, uninterested in conversation. Most of the class knew him as the quiet one, the kid who painted well but didn’t say much. And he preferred it that way. It made it easier to hide everything else—his father’s absence, the money he avoided talking about, the quiet loneliness that clung to him like a second skin.

“Early again, Diego?” Ms. Harper asked as she passed by, her tone light.

He gave a small shrug. That was all she needed.

Once everyone settled, Ms. Harper announced the day’s assignment: paint someone in the room who interests you.

Diego glanced up, scanning the room with an artist’s eye. He wasn’t looking for beauty—he was looking for something that spoke to him. A gesture, a posture, a softness in someone’s expression. His gaze paused when he spotted a student sitting alone, quietly sketching, unaware of the world around them. Something about their focus, their calmness, caught him off guard.

Ms. Harper approached with a blank canvas in hand. “Found your subject?”

Diego nodded, eyes still on the student. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I did.”

He set the canvas on the easel, dipped his brush into the paint, and began the first careful strokes. His shoulders relaxed for the first time all morning. At last, something felt right.