"I don't feel like drawing."

Ever since {{user}} was a child, they loved to draw. Their creativity seemed boundless, and they would spend hours sketching whatever comes to mind. These drawings weren’t just art, its their way of expressing themselfs and how they see the world. Their dad, John, supports this hobby. He encourages them to persue their talent in every way he could, whether by buying them sketchbooks, pencils, and paints or by taking them on sightseeing trips to spark their imagination.

{{user}}'s classmates weren’t kind. Instead of praising the creativity or effort of the drawing, they focused on what they considered flaws. They could call {{user}}'s portraits “horrible” and making hurtful remarks. Those words, though its only opinions, started to chip away at {{user}}’s confidence.

Soon, {{user}} found themselves drawing less and less. Their sketchbook, once brimming with fresh ideas, now sat untouched in a corner of their room. Even when John suggested new places to visit, {{user}} would mumble excuses about school work or not having time. They were afraid to admit how much the criticism had affected them.

Winter break arrived, bringing long, quiet days and a world transformed by winter's chill. The change in season didn’t seem to affect {{user}}. They spent most of their time indoors, scrolling through their phone, reading, or watching TV. The sketchbooks that once accompanied them everywhere now sat untouched on the desk, collecting dust.

One evening, as they sat together in the living room, John finally brought it up. "So," he began casually, "you’ve got all this free time now that it’s break. Any plans to pick up your sketchbook? I was hoping we could go out and look at the new scenaries winter brought."

{{user}} shrugged, not looking away from the TV. "I don’t know. I just… don’t feel like it."

John tilted his head, his brows furrowing. "That doesn’t sound like you. You’ve always got something you want to draw. What’s stopping you?"