She loved to paint the sunrise.
She didn't really know why. She just did.
Maybe it's the way the different colors pop out every time the sun decides to make an appearance. Maybe it's the way the whole sky is painted a dark blue and then all of a sudden--sudden but gradual, light bursts away, seeping its way through the darkness and out of the depths. That's why she always went to school at 4:30 a.m., just to be able to watch the sun rise. She sat by the window of room 238--the perfect place to view it, eagerly watching and waiting for the sun just like how she did the first time she laid her eyes on it. Red, orange, yellow, white, blue and purple. Those were the colors of the sky every time the sun rises or sets. She has them memorized ever since she saw the view from her classroom window. She had to go to school early that time just to finish a project on Van Gogh due later on that day. And luckily for her, that was the day she caught the sun rise.
She always brought her sketchpad with her, always willing to paint the majestic sunrise every single time. All the pages consisted of the perfect picture--some just different versions of it. It was always the same old colors: Red, orange, yellow, white, blue and purple. She was sure there was a hint of pink here and there or maybe even a little green but she knew those colors stood out well. She could never really explain how she felt about the sunrise...that was until October 23, a Tuesday morning.
She was extra early that day since she recently bought herself a new set of acrylic paint. She did her morning routine: wake up at 4, open the front doors, greet Chad (the janitor), open the window, set up the materials and lastly, paint. It was what she always did every single time.
She was in the middle of painting the rays of the sun (yellow and white) when the door suddenly opened with a loud bang. A loud scream broke through the peaceful morning, probably waking some neighboring houses or the nuns at the church just beside their school. Her face resembled a deer caught in headlights and it would have been a very funny sight if it didn't look like as if she was about to cry. The door swung back and forth for a few moments before a hand stopped it, revealing a young man wearing a white polo and a red tie. The man saw the horrified expression on her face and he instantly let go of the door, "Oh my," he said, "Is this room 238?"
"Yes," she said, her voice trembling a bit. At least she managed to say without messing up her words. The man instantly smiled and shot her an apologetic look, "Sorry for surprising you like that," he chuckled. The man had long black hair that went down just above his shoulders. She was pretty sure he dyed it since the color was a bit unnatural and it was pretty rare to see people around here with natural black hair. He had a round face with big hazel eyes to match it and a slightly turned up, button nose. In short, he had a very pretty face.
"What are you doing here so early?" he asked, taking a bunch of papers out of his brief case and sprawling it across his desk. He looked up at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the stacks of paper in his hands. "Um, painting," she muttered.
"Oh, you're in my art class as well. How wonderful," he said, standing up with his back to her. He took a small chalk from his desk and started writing words she couldn't make out in the dark.
She grew uncomfortable every time he attempted to make small talk. She didn't know this man and well, he was very attractive. Though dressed formally, he had a slight edge on him that she couldn't seem to understand. "Not to be rude," she said once she found her voice, "But who are you?"
He stopped writing and stood still for a moment. She wondered if she said anything offensive but then he spun around from the black board with a huge smile plastered on his face, "Didn't Mr. Walsh tell you?" his grin grew bigger, "I'm the new art teacher." He turned back to his work on the board and she instantly felt her cheeks grew hot.
She didn't paint at all that day. She just sat there, talking to the new art teacher. She watched her walk around the class room, trying to get everything in order while he talked and talked and she listened and listened.
There she was in uniform, looking at the art teacher. She was just a girl then; never have she loved since then.