Painting A Lost Heart novel Chapter 6

I closed my eyes as the stereo played Beethoven Symphony No. 7, one of my mom's favorite piece. I remember clear as day how it made me fall asleep without fail at night despite the excessive sounds of the brass and the percussion instruments. The melody had always calmed my senses. Listening to this kind of music after a stressful month of cramming and sleepless nights of finishing assignments, it made me feel more relaxed.

There goes my first year. Three more years of torturous hell in university and I'm done!

"Oh my goodness gracious, have some fresh croissants to fill you up. I've never seen you so skinny." Nana suddenly walked in with a tray full of freshly baked pastries. The smell of butter filled the room and my stomach grumbled, begging to devour the food.

The last time I had a feast was during Christmas and reading week. I lived by cup noodles and Uncle Ben's minute rice during my first year of university. Neither I nor Erin could cook well and we seldom eat out because of my limited budget.

I sat up and reached for a croissant. The aroma of butter was enough to fill me up. "Thanks, Nana. I miss eating real food."

Her wary expression immediately turned into a smile that stretched from side to side. "Congratulations on finishing your first year and selling your first art, dearie."

The mention of my art stopped me from taking a bite. I wasn't sure if selling an art in which I didn't even put my heart into was something to be proud of or worth to be celebrating about. Nana had always been my number one fan when it came to my art, but I wished inwardly that she wouldn't ask how I got the inspiration.

"Tell me dearie, what kind of art is it? I never had the chance to see it," Nana's face morphed into this sweet and eager expression with big, shiny googly eyes.

Jinxed it. How could I tell an old lady that I made a nude painting? Knowing her conventional value, she'd find that fact outrageous.

"It's a new approach Nana. It's an impressionistic painting. Never done it before," I mumbled. Impressionism really was my weakness in my opinion. Capturing little details, making it photograph-like could take a lifetime to master.

"...and?" Nana trailed off, impatient.

"and..." I mimicked.

"and I think you should give us an explanation why you have these," my mom, Carol Wren, blasted in the living room, holding up a thick envelope enclosing two plane tickets I purchased few days ago.

It was meant to be a surprise and I assumed she'd be happy to go, but her tone was implying otherwise. Her usual clear blue eyes turned dark and flashed at me. Was she mad?