Suci's POV
I don't know how long I stood there, staring at the painting.
Me, captured mid-spin in my debut gown, frozen in the same magical moment I had tried to forget—and secretly longed to remember.
The colors were soft, dreamy. The kind of palette that reminded me of lullabies and endings that didn't hurt.
And his note...
> "I'm not asking for your heart. Just your patience. Let's start with a song, a story, a friendship. Let me earn the next moment with you—not steal it.
– A"
I read it three times before tucking it into my notebook like it was something sacred.
I didn't know if I was forgiving him.
But I knew one thing for sure.
That painting? That note?
They made my heart soften, even just a little.
---
The next day, I saw him.
Not by accident. Not by fate.
It was at the music room, after my rehearsal.
He was waiting by the door, hands in his hoodie pocket, eyes flicking nervously toward mine like he wasn't sure if he was welcome.
I didn't speak.
I just walked past him into the rehearsal room.
He followed.
Silence sat between us like a shy third wheel.
Finally, I broke it.
> "So... you paint too?"
> "Yeah," he said. "It calms me. Sometimes I paint when words don't feel enough."
I nodded.
I knew that feeling.
> "Thank you," I said, surprising even myself.
He blinked. "For what?"
> "The painting. The note. You didn't have to... but you did. It helped."
> "I'm glad," he said, his voice low, unsure. "I just wanted you to know I meant what I said. I'm not rushing anything. I'd like to start from zero, if that's okay."
> "Like... friends?"
He smiled faintly. "Friends who maybe have a strange, complicated past and a mysterious connection from childhood they never realized?"
I cracked a grin despite myself. "That kind of friend."
He offered his hand.
> "Hi. I'm Artum. Twenty. Music and art professor. Hopeless at apologies but decent at painting and overthinking."
I stared at it for a second before shaking.
> "I'm Suci. Eighteen. Birthday girl with a very confusing week. Plays guitar. Thinks too much. May or may not forgive you."
We both laughed.
And just like that, the walls didn't come crashing down—but a window opened.
---
Two weeks later
Something strange started happening.
We actually became friends.
Not the fake kind where both sides are waiting for romance to pop out like a surprise ending—but the kind where we sent memes, shared playlists, and talked about absolutely everything without fear of judgment.
I found out he loved poetry.
He found out I was a sucker for sad anime endings.
He sent me a voice note once of him humming a song he composed, and I nearly cried because it felt like it was written straight from his heart.
One afternoon, he showed up at my house with a box.
Inside: watercolor paints, brushes, and a blank canvas.
> "I want to paint something together," he said. "But only if you want to."
I did.
We sat outside under the mango tree, painting without pressure or direction. Just colors. Blends. Brushstrokes.
At some point, my hand brushed against his and I didn't pull away immediately.
He noticed.
But didn't say a word.
And that made me like him more.
---
Later that week – School Announcement
> "This year's National Music & Arts Collegiate Festival will be accepting duo performances for the first time ever. Categories include vocal duets, original compositions, and live painting with live accompaniment…"
The poster went up in the bulletin board like a beacon.
My friends were already buzzing about it.
> "Suci, you HAVE to join!" my bandmate Lea said. "You're literally the perfect candidate."
> "With who?" I asked. "Everyone in our band is already pairing up."
> "Why not Artum?" she smirked. "Come on, it's practically fate."
I blushed so hard I had to fan myself with my folder.
> "We're just friends," I muttered.
But the thought had already taken root.
Me and Artum.
On stage.
Music. Art. Us.
---
That night, I messaged him.
> SUCI: Hey. You free Saturday?
> ARTUM: For you? Always. What's up?
> SUCI: There's this music and arts festival… I want to join. But it's a duo category. Think you'd wanna be my partner?
> ARTUM: …Wait. Like on stage? Together?
> SUCI: Yep. Unless you're scared.
> ARTUM: Oh, challenge accepted. I'm in. Let's blow their minds.
---
Saturday – First Practice
We met at an open-air studio he booked.
He set up a huge canvas while I tuned my guitar.
> "I was thinking," he said, "you play and sing. I paint live. The final piece will match the song."
> "So you're painting based on what you feel through the music?" I asked.
> "Exactly. It's spontaneous. Real. No rehearsed strokes. Just art flowing with your voice."
I strummed a chord.
Something warm lit up inside me.
> "Let's try it," I said.
I began singing—a soft original I'd been writing for weeks without even realizing it was about him.
> ♪ "There was a dance I never asked for
A kiss I never planned
But somehow in the quiet
You still reached for my hand…" ♪
As my fingers moved across the strings, I watched in awe as his brush danced across the canvas, swirling emotions into color.
By the time the last chord faded, I was almost afraid to breathe.
The painting was breathtaking.
A blurry, luminous image of two figures dancing under stars, half-formed but glowing.
Me and him.
Even without faces, it was undeniably us.
---
The Week Before the Festival
Rehearsals continued daily.
We grew closer in the in-between moments.
We laughed harder.
Shared more secrets.
And though we didn't define whatever we were becoming... the bond was there.
One evening after rehearsal, as we packed up, I turned to him.
> "Can I ask you something?"
> "Always," he replied.
> "When did you fall for me?"
He froze. His brush mid-air.
> "Honestly?" he said. "The first time I heard your voice on that old video. You were thirteen. Singing with your dad."
> "That long ago?" I blinked.
> "I didn't know it then. But yeah. The moment never left."
I sat beside him.
> "I still don't know what this is between us."
> "You don't have to," he said gently. "Not yet. We're still writing the first song."
---
Festival Night
The auditorium was packed.
Lights, cameras, judges.
Our canvas stood tall.
My guitar rested on my lap, trembling slightly in my hands.
Artum gave me a reassuring smile.
> "We've got this," he whispered.
I took a deep breath and began.
> ♪ "Maybe love starts with silence
A stare across the room
A brushstroke on a canvas
A slowly blooming tune…" ♪
As I sang, he painted. The audience was silent, completely drawn in.
His strokes matched my heartbeat.
His colors mirrored my voice.
It was like we were speaking a secret language no one else could hear.
By the final note, the crowd was on their feet.
Applause thundered. Cameras flashed.
We had done it.
---
Backstage, I turned to him, tears in my eyes.
> "That was…"
> "Magic," he whispered.
And then he held my hand.
Just held it.
No kiss.
No pressure.
Just presence.
And it was perfect.
---
Later That Night
As I stared at our trophy—yes, we won—my phone buzzed.
A message from Artum.
> ARTUM:
"I still don't want your heart.
Not yet.
But I think we just wrote the first verse.
Can't wait for the chorus." 🎵
I smiled, hugging my pillow to my chest.
Maybe love wasn't a lightning bolt.
Maybe it was a slow crescendo.
A friendship. A song. A shared silence.
And I was okay with that.
---
To Be Continued...