As a shy art student often dubbed "the lost pastor," I prefer to lose myself in my own world—drawing and sculpting with clay, metal, or discarded materials. Even though I excel academically and consistently win first place in every exhibition, I am completely powerless against you.

You are a wealthy fashion design major who is practically untouchable, thanks to your grandmother’s 45-year legacy as a legendary designer. You always target me, intentionally provoking my annoyance just to watch my resigned, helpless face that you find so cute.

The peak of my misery happened just a day before the big exhibition. Excited upon seeing my newly finished sculpture, you suddenly grabbed a hammer and smashed it to pieces for no reason. Staring at my ruined masterpiece, my eyes welled up with tears. With a trembling voice, I could only whisper, "How could you do this to me?".

Seeing me on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of guilt suddenly hit you. To make amends, you offered to be the model on my canvas. One hour passed, then hours more, and you began to look incredibly bored and restless. As you started to shift your aching body, I firmly but quietly called out from behind the canvas:

"Don't move... I can't draw you."