Evelyn hadn't expected signing up for the art showcase to feel so final.
The moment her name was on the list, reality hit her like a wave crashing against the shore.
This was happening.
Mia squeezed her arm in excitement.
"I'm so proud of you, Eve! This is going to be amazing."
Evelyn forced a small smile, but her stomach was a mess of nerves. Adrian, standing behind them, leaned down slightly.
"Breathe. It's just a showcase, not a battlefield."
"Easy for you to say,"
she muttered, still gripping the registration form like it might disappear if she let go.
He smirked.
"If it helps, I'll make a fool of myself in front of everyone so they're too distracted to judge your art."
That startled a laugh out of her.
"Please don't."
Mia nudged her playfully.
"See? You're already relaxing."
Was she? It didn't feel like it.
But if they believed in her, maybe she could believe in herself—at least a little bit.
---
The following days blurred together as Evelyn worked tirelessly to finish her painting.
Each brushstroke was a battle, every color choice an act of defiance against the voice in her head telling her she wasn't good enough.
She stayed late in the studio most nights, lost in the process.
It was exhausting, but strangely freeing. The more she painted, the more she realized—this was hers.
No matter what happened at the showcase, this painting was a piece of her, and that was enough.
Adrian showed up often, bringing snacks and pretending not to be watching her work. But he was.
She felt it in the way he lingered, in the way he offered encouragement without pushing too hard.
"How's it coming?"
he asked one evening, leaning against the doorway with a coffee in hand.
Evelyn wiped a streak of paint from her cheek.
"Slowly. But… I think I like it."
His grin was immediate.
"Then it's already a success."
She rolled her eyes.
"That's not how success works."
"It is if you decide it is."
Evelyn stared at her painting. Maybe he was right. Maybe success wasn't about perfection—it was about showing up, about trying.
And for once, she was doing just that.
---
The night before the showcase, she sat in her dorm room, staring at the finished piece propped up against her desk.
Butterflies filled her stomach, but beneath the nerves, there was something else.
Pride.
She had done this.
No one else. And no matter what happened tomorrow, she wouldn't regret it.
She traced her fingers over the dried paint and whispered to herself,
"I'm ready."