Syria’s POV
“Hey, what are you doing?”
I froze for a second when he suddenly came up behind me, “Oh…just painting.”
He paused for a while with his curious eyes scanning the canvas in front of me. There was nothing on it, just a plain stretch of white staring back at us.
“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully. “Are you actually painting, or are you just trying to distract yourself so you don’t have to think about my mother?”
His words hit me. I stared at the empty canvas again, realizing I hadn’t painted a single thing. My hand felt heavy as I let the brush slip from my fingers, landing softly on the wooden floor.
“I’m s-sorry,” I said quietly, my voice breaking a little. “It’s just… I’m having a hard time.”
“Hey.”
He placed his hand gently on my shoulder, his touch grounding me a little. Wh
