During my spare time, I try to help around my mother's art school which was 2 bus stops away. I go there and try out the new supplies as well as manage the schedules of the classes conducted there. 

It was a small wooden lodging house surrounded by a lush garden which I had time to mend at times with the weekly gardener that come by every Monday. I prepped my duffel bag with a few art supplies along with my notebook and sketchbook. I wore a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt, bringing along my fannel shirt. It was a week since the incident and I was slowly avoiding him at all costs. 

His text messages were erratic and it got me worrying at times but I try so hard not to pick the phone and reply. He would often call me and I would listen to the messages the next morning that he left the night before. He seem to be drinking almost every night because he would call drunk and said nonsensical things which I know he would regret so hard the next day. 

I avoided him in school, going to places where he would not often go... or a place where he won't find me at all, which was the art studio. I completed my painting of him with a brillant array of colors. I finished it off on Tuesday and went to find the senior in charge of the art sessions on Friday to tell him about the finished work. He was shocked, no doubt, but he was pleased that I was completed and encouraged me to go on and move to a next project of my own. 

So I did. I started taking small petals of fallen flowers and leaves, collecting them and drying them well before putting them aside. My next project was on the roll but I needed to think of something to make out of it. 

I went over to my mother's school and was greeeted by one of her assistants. I greeted her back and went to find my mother who was doing a project of her own. She let me in without looking up, listening to my footsteps and called on my name without turning away from her art work. Her hands were dirty as it sculptured a beautiful tree out of clay. Her foot was on the machine as the top spun as her hands work her magic. I was engrossed, watching her beautiful hands form a piece of lumpy clay into a beautiful work of art. 

She wasn't my biological mother. She is the biological mother of my younger siblings but not my big brother and myself. We were from the first marriage before the divorce happened and my mother moved to USA and left us here. I took responsibility as an elder sister to look after my younger siblings well as my brother busied with his own life. 

"Umma.." 

"Min Hee ah," She smiled and turned to me, leaving a light kiss on my cheek, "How's school?" 

I smiled, "Just the usual," 

"Mhmm..." Her hands pull the lump of clay and stretch it out gently, wetting her fingers in the small basin on her other side, "Does this look right?" 

I looked at it, "Just a little too straight down here," 

She nodded and we kept quiet, watching her do her thing with the clay. I got up silently and went to her table at the front. Her table was in a mess with art supplies all over. I like the mess and took out my sketchbook, pulling out a few articles I had snipped from newspapers and magazines that I found at home. It was pictures of trees and a path in between usually. I decided to start on this project, still thinking of a name for it. 

My fingers sketched out another 3rd sketch of what I had come up with in mind. I kept quiet, sketching it off before someone knocked on the door and called for my mother. 

"Arasso," My mother cleaned her hands and took the cloth to wipe her hands dry before she turned to me, "Stay here, okay?" 

I nodded and gave her a reassuring smile before she left the room. I hummed and looked around, finding for the used newspapers and magazines that she had kept as inspirations for her art projects. I went to the bookshelves and scanned through the whole collection, looking up on old picture books with trees and nature when something outside my window caught my eye. 

I blinked and saw a tuff of hair running around and catching a smaller version of himself in his arms, spinning the younger one around. I blinked a couple of times and went closer to the window, staying near the wall and watched them. True enough, through the slightly stained glass was him. 

I watched as Chanyeol picked up a small boy and spin him around before chasing him around the garden. I sighed and wondered why does our lives always happen to be connected somehow by something. I tried not to be flattered and turned away slightly when he looked in before the smaller boy