“No,” she called over her shoulder. “She’s good, I guess, but I wouldn’t say I’m a fan. Besides, I’m very picky when it comes to music. I don’t listen to anything out of my comfort zone.”
Joyce looked up from the magazine with knitted brows. “What do you listen to?”
“The Script,” Carmen answered, placing a deep red turtleneck above a small pile of other red tops she had. “Mumford and Sons. Sometimes even Bastille.”
“Ah.” Joyce clicked her tongue. “I’ve listened to some of The Script but haven’t heard of the others. By the way, if you’re into that kind of music, I think you might like Birdy too.” She seemed to ponder over this for a little while. “Yup, definitely seems like your type.”
Carmen nodded and offered her friend a small smile. “Will check it out once I’m done sorting these clothes.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Joyce grinned and pushed her magazine aside before jumping off the bed and walking towards Carmen’s dressing table where her phone was. “I’ll just send whatever songs of hers I’ve already downloaded into my phone to yours.”
“Thanks.” Carmen’s smile widened.
“Yeah, no problem. Try listening to “Wings”, it’s my personal favourite from her original works. And as for her covers, you should try the ones she did for Passenger’s “Let Her Go” and Ed Sheeran’s “The A Team”. She did them better than the original singers, in my opinion.”
Carmen stopped whatever she was doing and shot Joyce an amused look. “You’re pretty enthusiastic about everything related to music, huh?”
Joyce grinned back at her and proceeded to tell Carmen about how she wanted to create her own YouTube channel one day and start doing covers of her own. In return, Carmen told Joyce about wanting to go to an art school.
The rest of the evening passed by with both girls making light conversation, talking about the little things, the ordinary things. And the smile never left Carmen’s face.
By the time Joyce left, night had already fallen, bringing along with it a heavy rain. Carmen stood by the front door for a few more minutes, relishing the cool wind against her face and the occasional spray of water that was sent her way.
Sighing softly, she stepped back and shut the door, heading towards the kitchen to make herself some coffee before she retreated up to her room.
Once she’d made it to her room with a steaming mug of coffee in one hand, Carmen reached for her phone on the dresser and clicked on one of the songs Joyce had sent to her;
…staring at the bottom of your glass, hoping one day you’ll make a dream last…
The low, rich voice of Birdy filled the room as Carmen moved around, clearing away any remaining clothes that she’d pulled out of her cupboard. It was when she started clearing away all the art supplies scattered on her desk that Carmen’s heart nearly stopped.
She had her mug to her lips, sipping on the warm liquid while her other hand tried to carry all the twenty or so paintbrushes, when her wrist knocked into a pouch and sent it over the edge of the table, letting a few crayons roll out of it.
Her eyes fell on the broken halves of a blue crayon.
Time stopped.
“It’s just broken, Carmen. It doesn’t mean it can’t still colour.”
Carmen’s breathing came to an abrupt halt.
“And I would break every single crayon you had in your possession just to show you broken crayons can still create masterpieces as much as an unbroken one.”
There was a jolt in her chest, and it felt like everything inside Carmen just collapsed into a heap.
And then the paintbrushes in her hand were slipping past her shaking fingers, dropping to the floor of her bedroom with a loud clatter.
Carmen’s heart was pounding, pounding, pounding.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
But Birdy’s voice was somehow floating above the roaring in Carmen’s ears.
…you only need the sun when it starts to snow, only know you love him when you let him go…
Her feet stumbled back, hands trembling as the coffee spilt from her mug and the ceramic went crashing to the floor, shattering into the tiniest fragments as the sickening realisation slammed into Carmen again and again.
The entire world seemed to have stopped on its axis, the only sound being Carmen’s uneven breathing and Birdy’s soulful singing.
...and you let him go, and you let him go, and you let him go, and you let him go...
•••
As the days dragged on, Carmen found it increasingly harder to let her creative juices flow, the allure of art seeming to have lost that spark which had been burning brightly all throughout her life.
Right then, she was seated in the school’s art room, staring at the blank canvas in front of her, wondering which shade of green she wanted to use. Her eyes swept over the palette, wondering if there really was that much of a difference between colours. Green was still green, regardless of it being mint or jade. Who the hell cared about shades anyway? It just made painting more complicated a task than it needed to be.
Her eyes skimmed over the shades of blue. They were still just blue. To hell with baby and royal. Why did it matter?
Why had it ever mattered to her? Carmen couldn’t remember what all her fascination with colours and their various shades had been about before. It certainly didn’t make much sense to her now.
Her gaze slid over, landing on shades of red, of yellow, of br—
Of brown.
And suddenly, shades mattered.
Because that one right there—yes, the corner most one—it was the caramel-like tone of the apple of Asa’s cheeks, right where his skin was a bit lighter near his cheekbones. And the other shade of brown on the other corner was of Asa’s hair: a
