The late afternoon sun cast long golden rays across the Sun residence as Hai Lin arrived, her sketchbook hugged tightly to her chest. The front yard buzzed quietly with a handful of students already gathered with pencils, brushes, and canvases spread before them.
As she stepped inside, the murmurs began.
Whispers floated behind her.
"Is she really here to learn art?"
"She doesn't even look like the artsy type."
"She's not even pretty…"
Hai Lin felt every word press against her skin like invisible thorns. Her clothes were simple, her figure not exactly the "ideal" kind praised by society, and her drawing skills… well, even she had to admit they were nothing special. But she clenched her jaw and walked to her assigned seat.
Her hands trembled slightly as she picked up her pencil. It's okay, she told herself. I'm not here for them. I'm here to learn.
Hai Lin began sketching the fruit basket in front of her, each curve and shadow awkward but earnest. She erased and redrew countless times, brows furrowed, heart poured into each line. Her strokes were messy, unsure—but filled with effort.
Then, suddenly, she felt a presence behind her.
She turned—and there he was.
Sun Shian.
Her breath caught.
He stood tall and poised, eyes calm but observant as he peered at her sketch. The room seemed to blur behind him.
"What are you drawing?" he asked casually, eyes fixed on her work.
Hai Lin's mind blanked for a second.
"I… I'm drawing the fruit basket," she stammered.
There was a pause. She expected him to laugh, or to point out her crooked lines. But instead, he looked thoughtful.
"It's okay," he said finally, his voice gentle. "I was like this too when I started. You'll definitely improve if you work hard."
And then—he smiled at her.
Hai Lin stared in disbelief. Her ears buzzed faintly.
He was like this too? Her heart gave a strange flutter.
Before she could say anything, his father, Mr. Sun Weiming, stepped outside with a proud grin.
"Oh, I see you've met my son already!" he said to the class. "This is Sun Shian. He is a school topper and a natural in the arts. Truly a gift."
The students clapped lightly, admiration echoing in their expressions. Sun Shian smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as his father held up a sketch he had done—perfect, graceful, filled with life.
Hai Lin blinked.
Wait... he said he was bad at first.
She looked at him again. Sun Shian was already glancing her way with an embarrassed look, avoiding her eyes.
Did he lie… just to make me feel better?
Her chest squeezed a little. A strange mix of disappointment and warmth settled in.
So now he knows I have no talent whatsoever, she thought, cheeks burning. What now? Pity? Kindness?
Still, something about the way he stood there, trying not to meet her gaze, made her lips curl into the faintest smile.
Even if he said it to comfort me… it worked.