PAST STROKES
The morning sunlight streamed through the window of Max's small but cozy apartment. The gentle hum of his computer's fan filled the room as Max stretched in his chair, letting out a sigh of relief. He had just wrapped up a video conference with a client, his work as a virtual assistant offering him the freedom to spend more time at home while managing his projects.
He glanced at the clock—still a couple of hours before Kota would be out of school. The quietness of the apartment felt almost foreign after the whirlwind mornings filled with Kota's endless energy.
*What do I do with this free time? Video games? Nah. Cleaning? Pass. Maybe I should try something new… or something old.*
Max's gaze fell on the empty canvas leaning against the corner of the room, a faint smile creeping onto his face. It had been years since he'd picked up a paintbrush. Back then, he painted to escape the noise of life, pouring his emotions onto the canvas. Maybe it was time to revisit that part of himself.
Max found himself wandering through an art supply store, the faint smell of paper and paint filling the air. He carefully browsed through the aisles, picking out brushes, tubes of acrylic paint, and a sturdy palette. His fingers lingered on a deep shade of blue, one that reminded him of late-night skies and quiet moments.
Nearby, a woman stood in the aisle, browsing through sketchbooks. Her long black hair fell neatly down her back, and her tailored outfit gave her an air of quiet sophistication. She flipped through the pages of a notebook absentmindedly before placing it back on the shelf.
Max didn't notice her. His focus remained on his cart, debating whether he had enough paint.
The woman, Saki, moved further down the aisle, pausing briefly as though in thought before shaking her head. She left the store quietly, blending into the background as Max paid for his supplies and headed home.
Back home, Max set up his makeshift studio in the corner of the living room. The canvas stood on the easel, blank and full of possibilities. He poured a small amount of paint onto the palette and picked up the brush.
The first stroke was hesitant, a line of deep blue across the white. Slowly, more colors joined—a gentle blend of warm yellows, calming greens, and bold reds.
As he painted, memories started to resurface. Images of Kota's laughter, Noriko's quiet smiles, and fleeting moments of uncertainty filled his mind. The painting began to take shape—a vibrant depiction of a tree standing tall in a meadow, its branches reaching for the sky as sunlight filtered through its leaves. It wasn't perfect, but it felt alive.
*Almost there. Just a few more details…*
The shrill sound of his phone's alarm jolted Max out of his focus. He glanced at the clock and realized it was time to pick Kota up from school.
"Already?" he muttered, setting the brush down.
He stepped back to look at the painting. It wasn't finished, but it was close. The tree seemed to radiate warmth, a testament to the emotions Max had poured into it.
He smiled faintly and wiped his hands on a rag before grabbing his car keys.
"Hang tight, Kota," he said to himself. "Your dad's coming."
With that, he headed out, leaving the painting as a quiet witness to the emotions he had revisited and the ones he was still untangling.
CHAPTER END 🫠