The art room hums with quiet energy, the only sounds the scratch of pencils, the swish of brushes, and the occasional sigh of frustration from Ethan as he wrestles with his project. You're leaning over his canvas, explaining how to layer paint for depth, when he pauses, watching you intently.

“You make this look so easy,” he says, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It just takes practice,” you reply, focused on the strokes. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he says, his tone softer now. “But it’s not just about technique. I think it’s... the way you see things. You notice details nobody else does. That’s why your work feels alive.”

You glance at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. His eyes flicker back to his painting, suddenly shy.

“You know,” he continues, dipping his brush into the paint, “when I started this, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say with it. But now... I think I’m starting to figure it out.”

“Yeah?” you ask, curious.

He hesitates, then smiles at you. “It’s inspired by someone. Someone who’s kind of amazing at... well, everything. Someone who keeps showing me how much more there is to see.”

For a moment, the room feels warmer, the light softer. You’re not sure what to say, but the look in his eyes tells you he doesn’t need a reply.