Touch

An hour before closing. Asa kept staring at her clock and at the gallery entrance. She sighed in defeat. The minute hand had never looked so slow. She stood, rubbing her palms together out of habit, glancing at the walls that held her paintings.

She figured all the visitors who wanted to come had already done so, and it was a good time to start packing up.

It made sense. She was just a new artist and didn’t have any real strong points that would make people interested. You can’t expect crowds when your art doesn’t belong anywhere. Not to mention, her subjects were completely different from what was considered trending at this time.

Asa checked her phone. No new notifications. She turned it face down, sighing again. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her foot bouncing lightly against the floor.

“You’re awfully restless today,” one of the workers said. “Expecting someone special?”

“Wh— no,” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Just, you know… visitors.”

The worker shrugged with a grin and moved on, but Asa’s cheeks burned. She smiled, small and tired, and began to reach for the stack of unused flyers.

Then the door chimed.

She turned, and there you were.

You were a little out of breath, hair messy from the wind, a faint trail of sweat on your forehead. You lifted a hand to greet her.

“Asa,” you said, smiling. “Sorry, I’m late.”

Asa smiled brightly.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You made it.”

You explored the room with her, carefully watching each of her artworks. As you walked beside her, Asa kept sneaking glances at you, hoping you wouldn’t notice how tense she was. She watched you stop in front of one of her larger pieces and read the captions at its sides.

She felt a little embarrassed. It was always hard to articulate the meaning behind your artwork, and putting it in text felt a bit pretentious. Your head tilted just slightly, examining the paintstrokes.

“Is this what you see when you dream?” you asked quietly.

Asa felt a tiny chuckle laugh escape her. “Something like that.”

“How much time did you spend on that sky?” you asked and briefly looked at her.

“Way too long,” she said. 

“I can tell… yeah,” you hummed. Your eyes slowly scanned the painting, admiring her creation. “Your clouds look unreal.”

“Thank you.”

You continued to comment on her paintings, unintentionally focusing way too much on her technique. You couldn’t help it; it was impressive. You had tried oil colors before, but it wasn’t nearly as smooth as hers. You pointed out the layering on one of her smaller pieces, the glazing on the corner of a sky, and the way she handled temperature shifts in shadows. 

“You actually managed to do the trees, huh? I remember you complaining about it last week.”

“…You remember that?”

“Of course I do,” you said, keeping your eyes glued on the paint.

Asa tried to act like she was used to receiving that kind of praise, but her ears moved like a cat each time you brought it up, and it totally gave it away.

Then, more voices.

You both turned as you heard some chatter coming from the front door. A small group of people stepped inside. You recognized them: friends, classmates, someone who knew someone who liked art. 

Asa’s breath hitched as you waved them in. She started to regret wishing for more visitors; this was a lot of people, all at once. But this was what she wanted.

Soon, the quiet room was alive with movement and sound. Some went straight to the neighboring collections; others drifted toward her section. They stopped in front of her paintings, tilting their heads, leaning closer, pointing out details.

Asa blinked rapidly. She wasn’t sure if this was actually happening.

Someone whispered, “These colors are kind of… unusual.”

Another voice murmured, “It looks unfinished? Or like… intentionally unfinished? I don’t know.” You weren’t sure if she heard them. Her fingers rubbed anxiously together; maybe she did.

A pair of art students debated in front of her biggest piece:

“I think she’s trying to mimic impressionism.”

“No, no, it’s more illustrative. Like… atmospheric concept art but not quite.”

Asa’s posture stiffened at that, but she said nothing. You nudged her shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry, art is meant to cause discussion, right?”

“Yeah… yeah,” she said without looking at you, but her breathing seemed to calm down. She looked down, examining the pattern of the floor tiles. 

However, some people sounded actually interested. A woman with a tote bag said, “This one is pretty cool.”

Her friend nodded. “Yeah, the lighting is really nice. I like how warm it is.”

The inconsistency of opinions seemed to confuse Asa more than any negativity alone. She looked from one group to another, unsure which reactions to believe.

Then someone approached and asked her, “Excuse me, you painted these, right?”

Asa was a bit startled. She cleared her throat, straightened her back, and turned to the lady. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” she said, sounding like she was apologizing, and offered a smile.

“Could you tell us about this one?” the woman asked, gesturing toward the large piece on the far wall.

Asa looked at the small crowd in front of her. They looked at her with interest, waiting for the explanation. She was happy but also felt a bit scared. Her mind went blank. She looked back at the painting, quickly recalling what she wrote on the description plate. She seemed ready to recite it word for word, but scrapped it—it was too long.

“I’ll leave you to it,” you whispered, stepping aside. But Asa’s hand caught yours before you could move any further.

“No,” she said, “please, stay.” With that, she grabbed your hand and held it at her side. You smiled and nodded, standing a bit behind her so she could feel safer.

“Uh… this one started from a sketch I did… two months ago?” Asa started explaining her process, the story behind her brushstrokes, the movies and books she read. People listened, and the noises attracted more people from the other artists. The circle around Asa grew. She spoke more freely, joking around with other artists and hobbyists. 

“Did you use a palette knife for those highlights?”