June’s POV
I seriously don’t know why I agreed to do this with Mia.
Like, I really don’t. One second we’re talking about helping Aika feel better, and the next thing I know, I’m holding three paper bags full of paintbrushes, sketchpads, some random fruit juice Mia insisted was “for the vibe,” and three kinds of crackers she said Aika might like. Oh, and don’t forget the plastic unicorn cup she threw into the cart like a psycho.
“You do realize we’re not throwing a birthday party,” I said, struggling to balance the stuff in my arms while she happily skipped ahead with only two small bags.
“It’s not a party,” Mia said, with that annoying grin she gets when she’s excited. “It’s an emotional refreshment station.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Neither do emotions!”
I stared at her. She winked. I considered leaving her in the middle of the art supply store.
“Also,” I said while scanning the receipt, “why did you buy purple glitter paint?”
“It’s shiny.”
“We’re not decorating a birthday card, Mia!”
“Says you.”
I wanted to scream.
After about twenty more minutes of her touching everything in the store, sniffing scented markers, and asking if we should get a tiny canvas for Aika’s “pain-filled emotions,” we finally got out of there. I dumped all the bags into the car and slumped into the passenger seat.
“I need a nap,” I groaned.
Mia buckled her seatbelt and laughed. “June, you need to live a little.”
“I am living. Barely. Thanks to you.”
She just kept smiling and started driving toward the university.
---
We parked a little far from the east wing since most of the university was packed, as usual. Carrying the bags through the hallway was a workout itself, especially since Mia kept getting distracted by posters and random students she waved to like she was running for class president.
“Mia, focus!” I hissed.
“Sorry,” she whispered. “I saw a cute guy with dimples.”
“WE HAVE A MISSION.”
“I know. But like, dimples, June. Dimples.”
I had to close my eyes for a second to stop myself from committing a crime.
When we finally reached the art garden room—which, yes, was just as dusty and forgotten as I remembered—Mia kicked the door open like she owned the place.
“Welcome to paradise,” she announced dramatically.
Dust flew everywhere.
I coughed. “More like asthma central.”
She dropped the bags on a wooden table that looked like it hadn’t been touched since 2010. Sunlight streamed through the cracked windows, lighting up the vines crawling on the walls. It really did have a strange charm.
Okay. Maybe she had a point.
We set everything up: sketchpads stacked neatly, brushes and paint organized by color (because I’m not a savage like her), snacks placed in a circle like we were doing some snack ritual, and three chairs facing the window.
Then Mia held up the unicorn cup.
“This stays.”
“Fine,” I muttered.
She took out her phone and typed something fast, then showed it to me.
Text to Aika:
"Hey. Garden room. East wing. We’re waiting. Bring your heart. We brought the snacks. And glitter. Just come, okay? No pressure."
I stared at her. “You text like you’re writing a novel.”
She shrugged. “It’s better than just saying ‘yo come over.’ I want her to know we mean this.”
I sighed. “Okay. I get it.”
We both sat down, the silence wrapping around us softly this time. It wasn’t heavy. It was calm. A waiting kind of silence.
“Do you think she’ll come?” Mia asked after a few minutes.
I nodded. “Yeah. I think she needs this.”
Mia leaned back on the chair, eyes closed. “She deserves this. After everything.”
I glanced at her. Her voice had dropped a little. Not goofy. Not playful. Just… sincere.
She was still smiling, but it was that kind of small, tired smile. The kind you give when your heart is full but your brain is tired of feeling too much.
And I realized, maybe she needed this too.
So I didn’t say anything else.
I just sat with her. And waited.
For Aika.
For a little peace.
The room was finally quiet. Too quiet.
I looked over at Mia, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the picnic blanket we laid earlier. She was already munching on the second pack of chips.
“You're not seriously eating again, are you?” I raised a brow.
Mia looked up with a chip halfway to her mouth. “I need to check if it's still fresh!”
“It was sealed. Of course it's fresh,” I deadpanned.
She popped it in her mouth anyway. “Taste testing is serious art, June. Don't question the expert.”
I groaned and shook my head as I laid the brushes neatly beside the small canvas. We’ve been setting this up for a while now, making the university’s quiet art garden room into something… warm. Peaceful. Aika needed that. After all that’s happened, this was the least we could do.
Paints were opened. Water cups beside them. Clean brushes laid perfectly like soldiers ready for battle. A cute mini speaker played soft music in the background. I even brought that flower-scented oil diffuser Mia found annoying. But whatever. The vibe was perfect.
“I think I used too much yellow on that side,” Mia suddenly said, frowning at the painting of a weird banana with arms she’d been working on for no reason.
“It’s not even supposed to be a banana!” I snapped, throwing a small pillow at her. “It’s a sun, you crazy nut!”
Mia caught the pillow, giggling like a five-year-old. “Well, the sun’s hungry. Let it be a banana.”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. This girl was going to ruin the whole zen atmosphere I was trying so hard to create.
Before I could complain more, the door creaked open.
I turned.
There she was.
Aika.
She stepped into the room slowly, the sunlight from behind her making her glow for a second. Her blue cardigan hung softly on her shoulders, matched with a long white skirt that fluttered lightly around her legs. She was holding a mini fan in one hand, blowing it slightly at her neck, and in the other, a small cream-colored sling bag.
Mia stood up, dramatically gasping. “OHHH FASHIONISTA ENTERS! Look at you, queen. You came straight from heaven, didn't you?”
Aika didn’t smile. Just blinked slowly and sat down with us without saying anything.
I gave Mia a warning look.
“Hey, you made it,” I said softly, patting the spot beside me. “We were beginning to think you ghosted us.”
“I almost did,” Aika said, her voice low. “But I had nothing better to do.”
Ouch. That kinda stung. But understandable.
Mia shoved a sandwich into her hands. “Eat. No sad girl art session starts without food. That’s like, illegal.”
Aika held the sandwich for a second like she wasn’t sure what to do with it, then took a bite without looking at either of us.
We all sat there, the silence heavy but not painful. More like... quiet company.
Then Mia picked up her brush again. “Alright. Time for therapy via colors. I’m painting a dog this time. And not just any dog. The most beautiful dog I’ve never owned.”
“It already looks like a melted slipper,” I muttered, smirking.
“I HEARD THAT.”
“You were supposed to.”
Aika let out a tiny laugh. Barely. Almost like a puff of air through her nose. But it was something. We both noticed. And we didn’t say a word about it because if we did, she might shut down again.
Instead, I dipped my brush into light blue and started stroking lines on my canvas. “Aika, do you still remember that ugly art project we did back in high school? The one that looked like… moldy pizza?”
Mia gasped. “I do! Wasn’t that supposed to be a field of tulips?!”
Aika blinked, her lips twitching just a little. “We got a C minus.”
“More like a pity C minus,” I said.
“Because the teacher said—and I quote—‘there’s effort… somewhere.’” Mia added with a dramatic hand wave.
Another tiny smile. This time on Aika’s lips. Still small. Still faint. But there.
Progress.
“Wanna try?” I asked her gently, sliding a blank canvas toward her. “You don’t need to paint anything good. Just throw some colors around. It helps.”
Aika stared at the canvas like it might bite her.
Then… slowly, she reached out and picked up a brush. Dipped it in soft pink.
She made one small stroke. Then another. Still quiet. Still that look in her eyes, the one filled with too much… too much pain she refused to cry about.
But it was okay.
We were here.
And sometimes, company doesn’t need words.
“Oh my god,” Mia said suddenly. “Aika. Don’t copy my banana sun idea.”
“I’m not.”
“That looks too similar.”
“It’s literally just pink lines,” Aika said, the tiniest smirk on her face.
I nearly dropped my brush.
Mia gasped dramatically. “SHE SMIRKED. OH GOD. STOP EVERYTHING. WE’RE WITNESSING A MIRACLE.”
I burst into laughter. Aika looked away quickly, covering her face with her hand, like she didn’t want us to see it. But we did. And we won’t forget.
Mia leaned over and whispered, “Hey, you okay?”
Aika didn’t answer. But she didn’t pull away either.
That was enough.
For now.
And so, the three of us painted in the quiet art garden room. Not as students, not as broken pieces, not as girls trying to hold things together but as friends.