"Aarav, come look at this!" she pointed out the painting in the corner. I read the name on the inscription as I stood in front of the final piece, a huge wall covered in vivid colors and elaborate details: "Ellyes Dreams." Priya walked up and I saw the artwork, a wave of astonishment and incredulity passed over me. I never thought I would see my year-old piece on display with someone else's name on it."Did your piece get stolen?" Priya inquired, attempting to understand the circumstances."No," I answered tremblingly. "This same artwork was drawn by me years ago. I tossed it away since it was rejected. But why is it here now under a different name? My heart raced as I advanced across the artwork, captivated by its vibrant colors and wide-ranging brushstrokes. Every brushstroke was bursting with energy, and I could sense the artwork's liveliness. But my reaction was the only thing on my mind. I was demonstrating my confusion and anger by clenching my hands into fists at my sides.
"Priya," I said, trying to understand her thoughts, "this is incredible! What is the reason for the altered behavior of your face?
I shook my head slowly and gazed at the artwork as if it may vanish if I took my eyes off it for even a moment. "This is my line of work, Priya. Instead of being emblazoned with someone else's name, it should be in a gallery. I tossed it aside! How on earth did it get here?"However, it appears to be alive, Aarav! Take note of how the shapes change shape and how the colors are reflected by the light. This piece ought to be seen. You deserve to be recognized.
"But not like this," I screamed, my voice breaking to show the agony below. "Not under someone else's name. It's... wrong. I yelled for the first time since we first met; my once-sweet voice had turned angry. and I was now unable to control my thoughts. Finally, with a trembling breath, I murmured in a low, intense voice. "This was something I made. I saw it thrown away as if it were inconsequential. I never imagined it would wind up here, under another person's name. It is a betrayal."
Priya's thoughts were racing as she attempted to comprehend the circumstances and the ramifications that were engulfing us like a tempest. "But consider it! Perhaps someone saw its value, removed it from the garbage, and gave it another opportunity. I shook my head, a grimace of frustration visible on my forehead. "But at what cost?" It's being referred to as someone else's dream. This is more than just the painting. It's about being honest. Someone is exploiting my spirit." As the exhibition bustled around us, art lovers were lost in their own worlds and blissfully unaware of the confrontation between Priya and myself. With every comment, I seemed to go further into my thoughts, as the whispers of gratitude for "Ellyes Dreams" reverberated across the walls.I was momentarily anchored by the warmth of Priya's palm as she reached out and stroked my arm. "I get it, Aarav. Yes, I do. But do you fail to see? This might be your chance to reclaim what is properly yours.Perhaps you could tell your story and explain." With a look of misery and resolution on my face, I turned to face her. "But what if I'm not taken seriously? What if I'm perceived as a bitter artist? The world rapidly forgets about the surface truth. They are unable to see the person who made the artwork." Priya took a step closer and spoke more quietly, as if the walls might hear her. "After that, you have to defend your beliefs. It must be possible to demonstrate it! Consider all the people who poured their emotions into this gallery—they would want to know the real story. They would care.""Care?" "The show is important to them, Priya. The fascination with the unknown. To them, Ellyes Dreams is just a name—a cloud of mystery that envelops it. Nobody wants to face what's underneath or remove the layers." Priya begged, "Then make them care," with a firm voice and a determined look in her eyes. "Aarav, your work speaks for itself, and you have the ability to reveal this. They will pay attention if you are honest with them and show them the passion behind the actions." My gray eyes briefly glowed with hope, but self-doubt quickly overshadowed everything. "How can I accomplish that? Simply approach them and introduce yourself and say 'Hey, this is my painting, not theirs!'? They'll laugh me out of the room."Vibrant colors were pouring all around us, and the mood felt suffocating as we stood there in the middle of the quiet storm inside the gallery. Priya took a breath to steady herself and help me see past my immediate apprehension. "Simply using words is not enough. There must be proof. Talk to the curator, contact the gallery, and present your drawings and method. Make sure they see you, Aarav."But my shoulders sank under the weight of years of rejection and neglect. "The curator? They'll treat me like I'm a thing of the past. What they want is the new and the stylish. It doesn't matter if an artist threw away his creations because they were 'not good enough.'"
"Not good enough, yet here it is," she said, pointing to the artwork and pointing out how radiant it was despite the crowd's lack of awareness. "Observe how it enthralls people. Even if you can't see it now, Aarav, your invention is brilliant. You are a maker, not a ghost. Your name should be connected to your artwork because you deserve it.""Maybe," I said, gasping for air at the prospect of confronting this barrier of unfairness. However, what if this is my only option? Despite my best efforts, it was still considered undesirable. The success now belongs to someone else."Priya stepped back, drawing my attention to herself. "No, that's not how you think! It's not the end; it's just a setback. You're still here, fighting for your voice! This piece has found its way back to light, and so can you. You just need to take action."The enthusiasm of the gallery nearly made fun of us as her remarks lingered in the air and blended with the whispers surrounding us. I looked up, a little light flickering in the darkness, my pulse pounding at the surge of possibilities she ignited. "Priya, what if I don't succeed? What if I'm not believed?""Then you stand up again," she shot back, her eyes ferocious reflections of my own abilities. "You have already struggled for this dream; keep fighting for it. If you miss this chance, it will come back to haunt you, and you will be burdened with "what-ifs."" I turned to face the picture again, my fingers burning with the want to take it back, to feel its vitality and vitality that had been on the verge of slipping away. "I don't know... I just feel so lost."