Nhu Ha tore her gaze away from the painting, an inexplicable unease lingering in her chest whenever her eyes lingered upon it.

Above, the canvas was heaven—resplendent and tender, a goddess painted in romantic innocence.
Below, it was earth—harsh, cruel, yet full of a dark seduction.

But to Bach My, the work was a source of pure pride. After all, it was her teacher's masterpiece, the one that had claimed a grand prize at the national fine arts competition.

"Beautiful, isn't it? Teacher said it embodies the beauty suspended between the romance of dreams and the cruel reality of love."

"It is... truly beautiful."

Nhu Ha turned, meeting Bach My's dramatically animated expression. She nodded in agreement. She wanted to say that yes, the painting was magnificent, but wasn't hanging it in the center of the studio wall just a little too much? Yet, seeing her friend's radiant eyes and the way her lips had been arched in delight the whole time, Nhu Ha swallowed her doubts.

She could sense how deeply Bach My admired her teacher—there was not just respect in her words, but the devotion of a fan gazing up at a distant, shining idol.

After wandering through the rooms, the two girls returned to the main studio.

Bach My pulled out a low plastic chair for Nhu Ha to sit beside her, allowing her to watch as she painted. Every now and then, she offered tips and explanations with an almost professional air.

Bach My had been learning to paint since the beginning of tenth grade. She had sketched countless plaster busts, and now her focus was on mastering color blending. Small jars of pigments, arranged from darkest to lightest, lined the table like a rainbow carefully tamed.

"So many colors?" Nhu Ha asked, her curiosity piqued.

With a bright-eyed smile, Bach My pointed proudly at the little jars she had painstakingly prepared.

"Yep. These are pre-mixed shades."

Như Hạ gasped softly.
"I always thought there were only twelve basic colors—the ones sold at bookstores."

She picked up a jar of pale pink, holding it up against the light. The glass shimmered, scattering vivid hues that danced across her fingertips. To her amusement, she realized it was nothing more than an empty yogurt cup from the sidewalk shop near their school—reborn now into something magical, storing fragments of color instead of sweetness.

At the next table, a slightly plump girl mixing her own paints noticed the newcomer's curiosity and kindly explained:

"Mixing colors beforehand saves you so much time during exams. Last year, I didn't know a thing—walked into the exam hall and everyone already had their neat little palettes ready, while I was fumbling to mix on the spot. It wasted time, made me nervous, and the colors didn't turn out well either."

A bespectacled girl sketching a bust nearby turned and chimed in:

"Exactly! So before the exam, it's best to prepare a whole set of shades in advance. That way, you can switch tones as easily as you like during the test."

Bach My nodded vigorously, wagging her finger with a mock-serious air.
"Right, right! These seniors suffered the hard way, so we'd better not follow in their footsteps."

"You brat," the plump girl pouted in playful offense, "you should say thank you to your seniors for passing down their hard-earned wisdom!"

Bach My stuck out her tongue cheekily, making everyone laugh.

Nhu Ha felt the warmth of the room settle around her. The atmosphere was lively, friendly—so much more inspiring than sitting alone at home, clumsily doodling.

After a round of laughter, each student drifted back to their own easel.

Beside her, Nhu Ha quietly watched as Bach My scraped pigments with her palette knife, blending them into delicate shades. She didn't feel bored at all. Suddenly, Bach My lifted her head, and her twin braids bounced up, nearly brushing Nhu Ha's nose.

Following her gaze, Nhu Ha saw her friend dart out into the courtyard, unfastening the latch of the gate. The teacher must be back, she thought, rising from her chair to follow.

From the way Bach My had described her mentor—so professional, so immensely talented—Nhu Ha had imagined an older man, a seasoned master with years of experience etched into his face.

But the man who entered was nothing like what she expected. He was young, perhaps only in his thirties. His white shirt accentuated a tall, slender frame, his appearance neat and composed. Behind his glasses, his features held a calm gentleness, nothing like the disheveled, eccentric artists people often described.

In truth, he was a handsome, kind-looking man. And yet, for such a mild presence to have painted that bold, breathtaking nude—it was strangely compelling.

Before Nhu Ha could process further, her wrist was seized by Bach My, who eagerly pulled her forward, blurting introductions to the teacher.

Caught off guard, Nhu Ha looked up nervously. And in that moment, the man's gaze met hers. Behind the lenses of his glasses, a spark flickered—like sunlight caught in glass.

She couldn't quite place it, only that his eyes curved slightly, his face softened into a smile, and at the corner of his lips, the faintest upward curve appeared.

But unlike the easy warmth she had felt among the students earlier, this smile sent a strange shiver across her skin, as if invisible needles pricked at her.

Does he study every new student this carefully? she wondered uneasily. Didn't Bach My already tell him I was coming?