I had always been fond of ballet. I never had to chance to learn it, but I liked it very much. I admired the stance, I admired the confidence, I admired the freeness it allowed.

I felt like a feather every time I danced. There was a time when I loved dancing. Before middle school. Before my life started screwing up. I loved dancing.

You'd always find me dancing and singing.

I still sing, but I can't dance.

In middle school, I lost my confidence. I lost every part of me that mattered. I lost the real way to feel.

I lost myself.

Reece made me feel like myself. He made me feel normal. He made me feel like I hadn't felt in years.

I hadn't broken my vow only with Reece.

I had broken it twice before.

I made the same mistake every time. But I just couldn't help it.

I don't like talking about the second and third guy I loved. I didn't love them, of course. But I still don't like thinking about them, much less talking about them.

Every time I look at someone dancing, I get that sinking feeling in stomach; guilt. I feel guilty for stopping dancing. I get the urge to dance but I resist it. I resist it the best I could.

I don't like that urge.

Reece loved dancing. I could see it. His moves were precise, and timed. His dance was so perfect I often found myself envying him.

But moreover I felt proud. I felt happier than ever when everyone clapped at his performance.

He hated performing publicly. I knew it. He didn't even dance when I asked him using my puppy dog eyes. He didn't like dancing for anyone. I hoped one day he would dance for me, or with me.

I was analyzing the postures of two ballet dancers. They were dancing together, and I was trying to paint them over a water-colored cheery background.

Painting the background was easy. The hard part was painting them. Their movements were so precise. I had estimated their borders but my hands kept on shaking as I tried painting them. My eyes were watery from staying up till so late, but I kept wiping the moisture away.

Reece's face kept filling my head and all I wanted to do was think about him. I wanted to paint him. But I wanted to do it right. And for now I satisfied myself by just painting his frame.

I painted the girl white and the guy black. I was starting to love the contrast. Black and white went together so well.

White was so pure, so simple so perfect. It was delicate, one small touch would taint it. It was fragile than glass. Nothing shined like white. White was just another beauty in itself. It was the one color that could never created using other colors. Light was the only thing that could create white. And it is just like light. It's like it exists but it doesn't. One touch and all it is would be gone. Finding pure white was near to impossible, and sustaining it was even harder. White stood for way more than peace. White was like, you can either have a piece of cake or eat it.

You can either have pure white or you could touch it or use it. Cause once you touch it, it'll be tainted forever. Even the slightest impurity showed out in white. It was so honest.

And black, black was also so pure, so simple, so perfect. But it was also headstrong, nothing could taint it. It was strong as diamond. Nothing absorbed like black. Black was just another world you could get lost in by just staring at it. You could probably create black using colours. And there was nothing like black light. It was like a shadow, haunting everyone everywhere. Untouchable but undeniably real. Tainting black was never easy. Black was forever pure. Breaking its purity was harder than sustaining the purity of white. It stood for way more than darkness.

You can have black, you can touch black, you can use black, it would never affect it. It would maintain itself through whatever you put it through. Black could have a thousand impurities and no one would see one.

But I didn't believe black was bad. I loved black. I believed black might seem evil but it held in so many secrets it was forced to keep. I pitied black. It could have a thousand scars and no one would see any. White was always pitied and admired, but black was always stronger.

I wanted to be like black.

Maybe in a way I was. But I felt like Reece was more like black. He went through so much but kept it all to himself. I knew a lot about him. I could tell when he was upset but never the reason. He always hid it behind a smile. I admired that the most about him.

Sometimes I felt like I was too open. Sometimes I felt like I let people in too much. Sometimes I felt like I was too selfish.

And sometimes I felt like I was too secluded. Sometimes I felt like I should talk to someone. Sometimes I felt like I was too selfless.

I was no one to judge myself. I was biased. I wasn't sure towards me or the other around but I was biased.

I started filling the black and white in the painting, careful not to mess up the picture. I wasn't showing the eyes, their entire figures were covered in colors but you could still tell that he was looking at her with love. I wanted someone to look at me like that.

He held her like she was his everything, like his life was nothing without her. I wanted someone to hold me like that.

I wanted to show the painting to Reece. But at the same time, I knew he would guess what I wanted and would dance with me. But I didn't want to dance just yet. I wanted to first bury all the bad memories I had with dancing, so that when we dance all I think about is him.

I knew one day I would be able to bury all my demons and live freely, but I also knew that it would take time.

The painting was finished soon and I fell asleep.

My mother woke me up but she insisted I take a day off for my own good. I didn't argue. I just logged in and fell asleep. My alarm woke me up everytime I had to log in another lecture. I just logged in and fell asleep.

Reece called me after the classes ended, and noticed my voice. "Were you sleeping?" he asked.

I hummed in response. He chuckled and asked, "Are you always sleeping?"

I wanted to tell him why I was sleeping, but I was too tired to explain why I was sleeping. I was severely underslept. He didn't know how long I hadn't slept for.

I wanted to talk to him but for once I just couldn't. Like physically couldn't. He seemed to understand that and offered to call later. I told him I would call him myself when I would wake up. I would probably sleep for the entire day.

That was how tired I was.

I did wake up that night because of how hungry I was feeling. But that was it. I brushed my teeth, took a shower, ate dinner and fell back asleep.

***

Reece and I had been dating for six days. He didn't want me to tell anyone we were going out. I wasn't sure why he wanted to keep it a secret, but I agreed. He was lucky I had only told like two people so far and wasn't the kind of girl who'd post it on her social media account.

He seemed pissed that I had told my best friends but understood. At least I thought he did.

We had another date the next week. It was also online since the cases of corona virus had increased.

This time I was dressed up in a complete off shoulder top and had put on a simple pearl chocker and some loops. I had my hair tied up in a bun to show off my clavicle. I looked hot for like the first time in my life.

He was late again this time. This time it was by half an hour. I thought he'd stood me up. I remember feeling so upset. Three months later I would've expected him to stand me up.

He did come and I wasn't sure if my outfit had any effect on him or not. He hadn't put any effort. I didn't mind much, it was normal for guys to not put in much effort.

He again complimented about how cute I looked and it was like any normal date. It was fun, it was sweet, it was nice.

Hours passed away in what felt like seconds.

I suddenly understood what Einstein meant by relativity.

He was right, time was relative.

I could hear footsteps coming up the stairs, and I knew it was my mom. I trusted my gut feeling. I ended the call, took off my chocker, wiped away my lipstick and pulled up my top to cover shoulders so she wouldn't ask me why I was dressed up for no reason. She knew how much I disliked off-shoulder tops because of how uncomfortable they felt while I painted.

She knocked on my door since it was locked from the inside and I opened it, trying to look normal.

Suddenly, the air-conditioning didn't seem powerful enough. I felt hot, and I could feel sweet behind my neck. I hoped I wasn't flustered.

My mom peeked in and looked around, as if checking if something was wrong. "Why are you wearing that?" she asked me, raising her chin pointedly at my top.

"I just wanted to dress up. I hadn't done it in a while," I lied easily. White lies.

She seemed to buy it. I loved to get dressed as a kid, she knew I liked it. I felt a little guilty for lying to her but I didn't want to just tell her about me getting a boyfriend. She would ask me all sorts of questions about him. She would interfere in our business. She would blame everything on him.

I didn't want that.

So I just smiled like everything was alright and have I told you how good at was at lying to someone's face?

I was damn good at it.

My mother told me to come downstairs, she told me she had a surprise for me. My dad had come home early from work and he was waiting for me with a small smile playing on his lips.

They led me to the basement which was usually filled with junk. And so was it this time.

They told me I could have the basement as a place for my artwork. I had demanded that a few weeks ago from them, and now they'd agreed to it. They told me all I had to do was separate the trash, the charity stuff and the important things from each other.

I agreed. The basement was a mess, but it would be worth cleaning. It was a big space, and I could already picture myself spending my time there.

I knew what I'd call it; Chris's den.

It was lame. But as a child I always wanted a den like a lion did. I found it fun. And now I could have one.

I cleaned out the basement in three days and started painting it myself. What was the point of being an artist if you can't paint walls?

I painted it plain white. At first I wanted to paint it something else, but then I knew I would often get distracted by the imperfections of that painting. I had some weird OCDs when it came to painting.

So I let it be white. I loved white after all.

I moved in all my canvases and spread them everywhere in a decorative manner, making sure that none of them would get torn or damaged in any case. The place felt so familiar, it felt so much like home. It was just how I wanted it to be.