Wednesdays are different.
After my class ends, I take my time walking home, cutting through the smaller side streets where ivy climbs stubbornly up the walls and the pavement is cracked with age. The air smells faintly of rain from earlier this morning—that clean, damp earth smell that always makes me feel a little more grounded. Spring in Laudeith is usually wet because it rains the same as in summer.
Laudeith is a small town full of students of Laudeith Academy of Arts. Placed in near beach, this town is a perfect place for artists who usually wants peace to find inspiration for their arts. My escape. The place where I started everything from the beginning—that's just me and myself.
And maybe that's the way I like it.
I kick my shoes off by the door, toss my bag on the couch, and immediately pad barefoot into the tiny kitchen. Tea first, commissions after—that's the rule on Wednesdays.
Julia will be home at 4 PM, if she doesn't have any other plans. So, at least I own this apartment more than 7 hours. While the water boils, I glance around at the little pieces of life I've built here.
A few scattered art supplies clutter the dining table.
Prints and sketches hang loosely on the walls — some mine, some from artists I admire. I'm glad Julia never made a fuss about it and she even hangs her collections too.
The kitchen isn't that small, but me and Julia rarely use it for cooking. Both of us are busy, me with my commissions, Julia ... to be honest she can't cook. I can't let her burn down our kitchen.
The kettle whistles, and I pour myself a cup, cradling it in both hands as I wander over to my desk.
This is my Wednesday ritual:
- Check commission requests.
- Sort priorities.
- Sketch until my fingers ache, or my brain begs for mercy.
It's not glamorous. It's not the most exciting thing to do. It's tiring. But it's mine. A therapy for me. Because whenever I draw, I put my focus on it, not other things I wish to forget.
I boot up my laptop and pull out my sketchpad, feeling that familiar little thrill bubble up. I love it—getting lost in someone else's idea for a few hours, spinning a blank page into something alive. Most of my commissions lately are for character designs or cover illustrations for web novels. It pays just enough to help with rent and groceries when the scholarship checks run dry.
Settling into the chair, I tuck my knees up against my chest and sip at my tea, glancing over the new requests for my commission. Nothing too crazy today; a fantasy knight illustration, a set of emotes for a streamer, a logo sketch. Manageable. Should be done today.
I lose track of time the way I always do, slipping into that strange half-world where nothing exists but the page, the lines, the hum of my laptop fan. I also turn on lo-fi music because I don't like deadly silence. Hours pass without me noticing, the afternoon light shifting slowly across the room until it grows golden and lazy.
It's not until my wrist cramps up that I lean back, stretching with a soft groan. My tea has long since gone cold. I am kinda hungry, but I still can push myself. For a moment, I just sit there, letting the stillness wrap around me.
It's not a bad or lonely life. This is better than ... how my life had been before. I sigh. Sometimes, when the world goes quiet like this, the memories have a way of creeping in.
I run my fingers absently over the pendant I always wear. A small, unremarkable thing on a thin chain around my neck. It looks like cheap costume jewelry, and maybe that's why no one ever asks about it. They don't know it's the only thing I have from before.
Before the adoption papers, before the long years bouncing from place to place, before I learned that people don't always stay the way they are. People really change.
I shake my head, forcing the old memories back into their box. No use digging them up now. I'm living my best life. Something better than I've ever gotten. A new life for me. A life where I'm not just an orphan who got left behind and never wanted by everyone.
The sudden buzz of my phone snaps me out of it. I blink, fumbling for it on the desk. A text.
| What r u doing tonight, Stray Cat?
I laugh quietly under my breath, thumb tapping out a quick reply.
| Working. Being a responsible adult. Unlike some people
He answers almost immediately.
| Boring. Come cause trouble with me ;)
I just shake my head. He's always so carefree. I wonder if he is ever thinking about the future ahead.
| Nope, I need a rent to pay :D
There's a pause, maybe one minute, before he replies.
| Aight, I'll steal u another day
| Don't forget to eat ur lunch!
| Text me again when u're bored lol
I smile, tucking the phone away. Somehow, without me noticing, my life has started filling up with people again. Messy, chaotic, infuriating people. But this time, it doesn't feel so bad.
I look around my tiny apartment, still half-lit by the warm light spilling through the windows, the smell of charcoal and tea hanging in the air.
This is my life. Small, quiet, simple. And still, somehow, more full than it's ever been before. I close my laptop, grab my sketchbook instead, and curl up on the couch. Maybe I'll doodle something just for me tonight. I've done two commissions already anyway.
Just me, the pencil, and the faint pulse of a future waiting somewhere beyond the edges of my quiet little world. In times like this, inspiration floods in my mind. Art is the only way I can express myself freely, since everyone took it from me the past few years. I'm taking back what's mine: my freedom of expressing things.