Before eight in the morning, the studio was at full speed.
Three canvases leaned against the wall.
The drying rack was half-full.
The deadline was this evening. ⏳
Anisa was by the window, examining a mock-up, when an unfamiliar, ominous silence fell behind her. The kind of silence that's wrong.
In the next moment;
Crrrshhh. 💥
A canvas hit the floor.
Paint splattered,a blue line bleeding across the white tiles.
The intern; the newest one,clumsy-handed stood frozen, speechless.
"I'm…I'm sorry." 😥
No one in the studio even breathed.
That canvas was the client-approved final piece.
Anisa turned and looked.
Everyone expected a shout.
But her face held not anger, but a decision.
She bent down, 🙍
picked up the canvas,
and touched the spilled paint with two fingers.
"This isn't ruined,"
she said in a soft voice.
"It's just changed."
The intern looked up,eyes wide with disbelief.
"You,"Anisa said,
"clean the floor. 🗣
Then come back.
We'll fix this together."
The studio seemed to take a collective breath.
Brushes began to move again. 🖌
Anisa placed the canvas back on the easel.
The blue spill
slowly blended,
becoming part of the design's new flow.
By noon, the intern was still thinking about how to fix it. In the end, Anisa took responsibility. She couldn't let the business start losing again. She closed the door to her office. 🚪
Outside,the sounds of interns talking, brushes swishing,
everything faded away.
Anisa stepped into the adjacent storeroom.
A small room.
Canvas rolls,empty frames, paint tins. 🎨
She stood alone behind the door.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
Three missed calls.
A message from the client;
"We're running out of patience." 😡
Time was running out to deliver the painting.
She locked the screen.
All morning,confident, composed.
She handled the mistake. 😖
She calmed the team.
But here,
in this room with no one else,
the mask fell.
She took a breath.
Deep.Unsteady.
What if I can't fix this? 😓
What if today is the day everything slips?
She picked up a frame from a shelf.
An old painting inside.
The signature;Zayan,from years ago. 🖋
This wasn't commercial art.
Not a client brief.
No deadline.
She closed her eyes. 😔
For a few seconds.
A single,quiet tear traced a path down her cheek.
She wiped it away.Quickly.
She stood up and walked to a small mirror by the door.
Eyes red.
But posture straight.
"Pull it together,"
she whispered to herself. 💪
"They need you."
She gave herself a final,firm nod in the reflection, a promise to deliver the corrected piece by the end of the day, no matter what. The moment of private fragility was over; the leader had to step back into the light. 💡