Visions of a sculpted face frequented River’s dreams for as long as he could remember. Every night, the same fantasy. A figure standing by an easel, painting a landscape of the city. And every night, he stood still in his dream, as if he was shook — no, entranced.

River had never seen this person in the flesh. Perhaps that was why he started having a passion for the arts. Even from a young age, he held on to this foolish hope that one day, his hobby would connect him to the person that has been haunting his nights.

There was no guarantee that it would work. Out of 8 billion people in the world, he was looking for someone he hadn’t even met. Yet, despite all the setbacks he had to face, he had a strong urge to persevere.

So, River spent his time improving his skills. He learnt how to control his brush. Delicate and harsh, he knew how to convey feelings into canvas. No matter how much others tried to convince him that he was better off doing other things, he never listened. The brush was his passion, River would never let it go.

Sometimes, when his dream was vivid enough, he’d paint this mysterious person. Lost in their eyes, his mind began to race. The more he tried to make sense of it all, the farther he fell into the rabbit hole. The whole process would repeat until he had acquired a whole catalogue of portraits.

River had joined his high school’s arts club long ago, and being in his final year, he was chosen to take over as club president.

If it can help me in my search, then I might as well.

And so, as the arts club president, he stayed late to work on another painting. Another portrait of his mysterious person. What he didn’t know was that someone witnessed him in this act.

You had thought about joining the arts club for a while. One day, you decided to visit the club room in hopes that they were still accepting members. You heard that the current club president was picky when accepting which students could join. You were nervous, but you didn’t let it shake you up.

You opened the door, only to see River in the middle of the room. His painting, you could tell it was a portrait, but… It was of your face.

River turned around at the sound of the door creaking open. His eyes widened in recognition.

“It’s you.” He muttered breathlessly.