December 21st
Brooklin, New York
Fletcher sits on a bench in a park with a large sketch book. He observes the park goers and the kids running around the play ground. He draws whatever he sees, with quick strokes, but getting every detail. From the crying baby in a stroller, to a kid climbing up a slide, Fletcher's sketches it all. Though art always makes him calm and at peace, Fletcher seems to not be at peace this time.
Over the last year and a half that he's been in New York working on his art, he drew many scenery of the cities' buildings, structures, plants, trees and people, but he grew tired of it. Fletcher wanted to sketch different people. He wanted to draw people he knew again. He wanted to draw Olive again. Her reading her book in the dorm lounge, looking radiant with her wavy blonde hair falling down her shoulders. Fletcher remembers a specific moment.
It was a late evening in Z Tech, a month before Fletcher got together with Olive. All the prodigies were asleep, except Olive and Fletcher. Fletcher couldn't sleep that night, so he went to the dorm lounge. He was surprised to find Olive there before him, reading a large book on one of the stools. When he walked in the room, she didn't look up from her book.
"Can't sleep either?" Fletcher asked as he made his way to the sofa. Olive paused and looked up.
"Huh? What?"
Fletcher smirked. Olive had been interrupted in her reading; something she hated. She always looked out of it because of how invested she was in the book.
"Good book?" Fletcher asked.
Olive smiled almost nervously. "Yeah. I uh, couldn't sleep for the life of me."
Fletcher nodded, agreeing with her statement. They stared at each other, saying nothing for too long. Something felt weird between them; like they were all out of insults for each other. Olive went back to her book, leaving Fletcher with nothing to do. He looked around the lounge, drummed his fingers on the couch and bit his lip. His eyes landed back on Olive, who's eyes were scanning the page of her book. They would widen once in a while and she would gasp softly. The book must have been a mystery or a thriller.
Fletcher's eyes moved to her blonde hair. The way the curls on her long fringe brushed her cheeks as her head tilt down to read made him question why he never noticed how beautiful her hair was. It was so long and so golden like; it shined under the light. What was happening? It was just Olive Doyle. The girl he loved to tease and the girl who loved to tease him back. That's what they were known for. But that night, with just the two of them, no distractions, Fletcher saw Olive in an odd new way for him. He wanted to capture the moment, but not in a photo. He grabbed a sketch pad and his drawing pencil and began to draw Olive reading her book. She never noticed, but by the time she finished her book, Fletcher finished his drawing. After that night, he never showed her what he drew and he never saw her the same anymore.
Fletcher sighs at the memory that made him feel warm inside. He pulls his phone out and scrolls through the pictures, finding an old one of Olive. He began drawing her, but it isn't the same as drawing her in real life, right in front of him.