The day of the Young Artists Showcase had arrived. The air was electric with anticipation as students from schools across the region gathered in the sprawling gallery hall. The room buzzed with whispered critiques and awed admiration, but Iris could barely hear any of it. Her focus was on their creation—her and Cassian's masterpiece—a culmination of weeks of work, shared pain, and unspoken emotions.
Cassian adjusted the final piece, his hands steady but his expression tense. "It's perfect," he said, more to himself than to her. Then, turning to Iris, he added, "We're ready."
Iris nodded, clutching her sketchbook tightly.
***
Judges and spectators moved through the gallery, pausing at each display. When they reached Iris and Cassian's work, an expectant silence fell over the group.
The piece stood tall—a tapestry of vivid threads intertwined with sketches and paintings, each element telling a story of loss and resilience. At its center was Iris's contribution: a hauntingly beautiful illustration of a caged star breaking free, its light spilling over the entire canvas.
One judge, an older woman with sharp eyes, lingered on the centerpiece. "This is... remarkable. It's raw, yet hopeful. Who designed the central motif?"
Cassian glanced at Iris, a small smile playing on his lips. "That was all her."
The judge turned to Iris. "It's powerful. You have a gift, young lady."
Iris flushed, her grip tightening on her sketchbook. She managed a small nod in response, her heart pounding in her chest.
***
As the gallery emptied for the lunch break, Cassian and Iris found a quiet corner to regroup.
"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the wall.
She nodded, scribbling in her notebook: Nervous but okay.
"Good. Because we're killing it out there." His grin was infectious, and for a moment, her nerves eased.
But the reprieve didn't last long. Nathan Hayes appeared, a smug expression plastered across his face.
"Well, well, if it isn't the dynamic duo," he drawled. "Nice piece. Though I can't help but wonder... how much of it was really a team effort?"
Cassian stepped forward, his tone icy. "What's your problem, Nathan?"
"No problem," Nathan said, holding up his hands. "Just making an observation. People are saying Iris is just riding your coattails."
Iris's chest tightened. The words hit harder than they should have, reviving old insecurities.
Before she could respond, Cassian's voice cut through the tension. "That's enough. You don't know a damn thing about Iris or what she's capable of."
Nathan smirked but didn't push further. "Relax, Gray. Just having some fun." With that, he sauntered off, leaving a charged silence in his wake.
Cassian turned to Iris, his expression softening. "Don't let him get to you. He's just jealous because he knows you're better than him."
She met his gaze, her heart swelling with gratitude. For the first time, she wondered if she could ever find the courage to speak—not just for herself, but for the connection they had built.
***
The awards ceremony was a blur of bright lights and murmured announcements. When their names were called as the winners of the competition, the room erupted into applause.
Cassian pulled her into an uncharacteristically exuberant hug. "We did it!" he said, his voice filled with joy.
Iris's chest filled with warmth, the weight of their shared journey settling over her. They had won, but it was more than just a victory. It was proof that she could be more than her silence, that she could create something that mattered.
As they posed for photos with their trophy, Cassian leaned in close and whispered, "You were amazing today, Iris. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."
Her throat tightened with emotion, but she managed a small smile.
***
Later that evening, as they packed up their supplies in the now-empty gallery, Cassian turned to her.
"You know," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant, "this doesn't have to end here. We make a good team."
Iris's heart raced. She nodded, her mind racing with possibilities.
Cassian smiled, his gaze lingering on her. "Let's keep creating—together."
The promise hung in the air, unspoken but understood.