November June, my best friend, who was believed to have taken a trip to justice city is currently standing in front of our new smaller house, holding out a box containing my gifts to her.

As she opens her mouth I could see lots of bad news coming out of it. “Why don’t we end it here Katherine” first I know she is serious because we don’t call ourselves by our full name “ever” second, because she isn’t wearing our forever bracelet. And third, because she is standing outside of my home with the antagonist of my life “Nora Kura” the financial secretary’s daughter A.K.A the model of or country, right from middle school she has always been a classic what a Kourian should look like, an image of the country. I drop the broom I am currently holding out of partial shock. But my best friend does not even care as she drops the box on my doorstep and then with one last further step she says “let’s not appear in front of each other again” she walks back, and as the trio take further steps, I hear the word that has been hunting me for days, the word that is slowly replacing my name.

“Murderer” no doubt its from talkative “Miranda Holt” her mom is Koura’s finest tailor, a fashion designer, and Nora’s best friend/minion since forever. My mind went black again, but then I remember mothers talk not too long ago. “We are starting afresh” I mutter. And what is the best way to start afresh I ask myself. “a good foundation”. I kneel down and pick up the box, and walk back inside, promising myself to live for me. So today being 28th of February 2021 my friend broke up with me. What a shame I think.

So with my cleaning materials in hand I head in, and go straight for my diary, and I just notice that all the dates I have been jotting down in my diary represents sadness.

With the house free of some boxes, and looking neater than before I proceed to go to my rooms balcony. You see Koura is so great when it comes to their condo system, its cheap so affordable, and always reliable, it’s been said that part of the rent is sponsored by the government, and above each rows and columns of condo there is always a penthouse above them.

The neighborhood mom chose is so quiet, and I heard there is an art studio just below our floor; its occupant is currently looking for a person to share it with. Mom is currently preparing her scheme of work for the school she teaches, and I, I am currently lazing about like we all know. And as we all know an idle mind is a playground for stuff, so I decide to take a walk down the stairs and into the art studio. I get down from the high chair I am sitting on and walk out my room. Shutting the door to it I call out to my mom.

“mom!”. “What’s up” she asks as she opens her door a little and walks out in her robe and glasses perched on her nose. My mom, is one hell of a stunner, not trying to be bias or anything, she is fair skinned, beautiful in anything she wears, her curly red hair always looking neat, and shiny, and her green eyes piercing into your very soul and spirit, I’ve been told once before that she looks like the first lady. "Emilia Russell”.

“I need to check on that art studio” I say, she nods and nudges me off with a wave of her hand; before I go I make sure to look back at her. I know she worries, but I can’t do anything about it. I push the door open when I see her trying to collect a glass of water.

With my heart beating wildly in my chest, I waltz down the stairs and then meeting the curve I stop, just what am I going to tell owner of the studio when I meet him. “I don’t even have cash on me” I mutter. I still walk down the stairs though. Once I reach the last floor I head toward the left and then stop in front of the art studio. I push the glass door open, immediately I collide with something strong. I look up certainly not expecting to come in contact with a wooden door. It seems to have a pass code though, so I ring the doorbell, few seconds later the door is being pulled open by my art teacher. “Alexander Bowe”

**

“So you paint huh?” he asks in a mocking way. I bow my head because that is already what I have been subjected to sometimes.

“Yes I paint” he nods and surprisingly stands, all the while a genuine smile plastered on his face.

“I need to paint you, Miss Mendes” he says, definitely not a question, it was more of a suggestion, if anything. He walks up to an empty board and takes out paint from beneath a table, all are different shades of brown.

He looks at me, with the smile that makes his dimples evident.

“I love looking at you Miss Mendes, so definitely you can take the other two rooms for free. I just felt the two rooms were a little extra” I begin smiling and nodding my head.

“Just say you’ll be my model” he walks up to me, his hair has been dyed red, but it’s visible from the roots that he is naturally a black haired person. His blue eyes like oceans seem to draw me in as I stare at him. I’ve never had a boyfriend, but one thing I know is this, I have been attracted to more than enough male species my entire life, but it’s such a shame for me because no one asks me out.

“I don’t know about that Mr. Bowe”

“I am not that old Miss Mendes, surely that much is evident” he drops the paint on the table in front of him and then walks toward me.

“I love the brown of your color” he says, his eyes glued to mine.

“And your hair” he takes a stubborn strand in his hand, and perceives it. Grinning from ear to ear, he gets closer and asks me again.

“What shade of brown is your skin” I smile, so hard, because no one outside of my immediate family and me has ever done that, praise my skin in his or her own way.

“And your smile… may I call you by your name?” he asks. At this moment I cant even refuse anything of him.

“Go on, its Katherine” like he doesn’t know already.

“Katherine. I need to paint you” he takes in a heavy breath, closing his eyes, like he is inhaling something, he looks down at me.

“You’re different, from the people of our country” he falls back down on his seat.

“And that alone intrigues me”

“I don’t want just strokes and shades, I need to paint every part of you” I nod. I would appreciate that, and I would do it, because he seems so sincere, like it’s supposed to be a challenge.

“I agree…… but you have to remember what you said though” he nods yes.

“Bring me one of your works, let’s see if you’ll also be getting some tutoring sessions” he then adds. “For free also”

Feeling my skin heating up I get up immediately. “I’ll be back soon” I nod at him.

Shutting the door hard I rush back down stairs, with my latest painting wrapped so tight in my hand, looking back and forth, and left and right on my way down I hurriedly open the glass door and ring the doorbell.

Mr. Alexander ushers me in whilst smiling at me.

Immediately I smile back feeling ever confident and comfortable in his presence.

He takes the painting from beneath my arms, and nods. “Alright what do we have here” he asks rhetorically.

As he begins to unwrap it I start to feel so giddy and unexpectedly curios.

His mouth literally hangs open. “And all those white kids be feeling like president” he says.

“Now this right here is raw talent” we walk back to our former domain, the picture still in his hands his eyes glued to them.

“I love the way you define your emotions” he draws and directs his hands in the direction of the splash and nods his head. “And the splash right here, it’s so beautiful”

“The pass code is 2610” he says.