The following morning, Iris Blackwood avoided the cafeteria entirely. Instead, she sought refuge in the art room, her sanctuary when the world outside became too loud. Here, the smell of paint and the hum of quiet creativity provided a fragile sense of peace.
Sitting at her usual desk, she opened her sketchbook to a blank page. The memory of yesterday's incident lingered, her brother's face still vivid in her mind. She hesitated before pressing the pencil to the page. This time, her strokes were lighter, uncertain.
The door creaked open, and the tranquility shattered.
"Iris Blackwood?"
She looked up to find Mrs. Whitaker, the head of the art department, standing in the doorway with a clipboard in hand. Behind her loomed Cassian Gray, his hands shoved into the pockets of his black jacket.
Iris tensed.
"I've got some exciting news for you two," Mrs. Whitaker began, her tone far too cheerful for this hour. "You've both been selected to represent the school in the annual Young Artists Showcase competition!"
Iris blinked, her grip on the pencil tightening.
Cassian raised an eyebrow. "Isn't the Showcase for group projects?"
"Exactly!" Mrs. Whitaker beamed. "That's why you'll be working together as a team. Cassian, your technical skills and Iris's creativity will make a fantastic combination."
Iris's stomach churned. Teamwork meant conversations, meetings, and—worst of all—vulnerability. She glanced at Cassian, who seemed unfazed, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Cassian said smoothly, "but are you sure she wants to participate?" His gaze flicked to Iris.
Mrs. Whitaker frowned, clearly caught off guard. "Why wouldn't she? This is a wonderful opportunity."
Iris dropped her gaze to the floor, her hands clutching the edge of the desk. She wanted to protest, but her silence held her captive.
"See?" Cassian said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "She's thrilled."
"Enough, Cassian," Mrs. Whitaker said sharply. "This is not up for debate. You'll start planning today. The first round of submissions is in two weeks, so I expect you both to take this seriously."
With that, she left the room, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.
Cassian sighed and leaned against the nearest desk, crossing his arms. "Looks like we're stuck with each other."
Iris remained frozen, unsure how to respond.
He tilted his head, studying her. "You don't talk, do you?"
Her eyes darted to him briefly before returning to her sketchbook.
"Noted," he said, pushing off the desk. He walked over and pulled out a chair beside her, his movements deliberate but not intrusive. "Fine. I'll do most of the talking, and you… draw or nod or whatever works for you."
Iris frowned, her pencil pausing mid-stroke.
"Not a fan of my plan?" he asked, smirking.
She sighed and scribbled something in her notebook before shoving it toward him.
Why did you stand up for me yesterday?
Cassian's smirk faded. He leaned back, scanning her words. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his answer.
"Because someone had to," he said simply. "And… your sketch was good. Too good to be ridiculed by people who wouldn't know art if it slapped them in the face."
Iris blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone.
"Anyway," he continued, "if we're going to do this, we'll need to find some common ground. You up for that?"
Iris hesitated before nodding reluctantly.
"Good." Cassian stood, brushing his hands off. "Let's meet in the art room after school. I'll bring some ideas; you bring… whatever it is you bring."
She glared at him, but he only grinned as he walked away.
As the door closed behind him, Iris exhaled. She wasn't sure what she had just agreed to, but one thing was clear: working with Cassian Gray was going to be anything but simple.