5. Namaste

True to Lindsay’s word, she waited until the very end. And eventually, we walked together toward the campus hall. I had already handed my “masterpiece” to the exhibition committee. The event was about to begin in two minutes. Everything was already lined up neatly—organizers wearing their dark blue almamater uniforms, standing in formation like it was some kind of formal ceremony. I stood beside my painting, ready in case anyone asked about it.

My work. A realistic portrait. A European-nosed man, dark curly hair, dressed in an old military uniform. Napoleon Bonaparte. That was my piece.

I'm a realist painter. I’ve loved drawing since I was a kid. Back then it was manga, sketches in notebooks… and now I’m here—an art student trying to survive by selling paintings. A few people stopped in front of my canvas. Two of them asked what it was and what medium I used.

I explained calmly. “That’s Napoleon Bonaparte. A historical military commander.” I even added a short explanation about his real history. When I finished— they just nodded politely… and walked away. Just like that.

“…Huh?” Did I say something wrong? What kind of reaction was that? Five minutes before the event ended, reality hit me hard. No buyers. None. I stood there beside my canvas, suddenly feeling very small. Was I going to starve again next week?

Then— “Rose.” The head committee, Felix, walked toward me. His expression was neutral. “There’s a call. Someone wants to buy your painting.”

I blinked. “…Huh?” My brain try to process what was said. “What? How?”

He checked his notes. “Yeah. Maybe he already saw it earlier and called after leaving. He’s offering 2000 dollars. Your price was 1500, right? So it’s accepted.”

My breath caught. “Oh—yes! Yes, of course! I’ll sell it to him!” Relief hit me so fast I almost laughed. I did it. It actually sold. I walked quickly toward Lindsay, who was sitting at the edge of the garden, sipping iced coffee.

She looked effortlessly rich as always—black sunglasses, leather jacket half-off her shoulder, like she belonged in a magazine instead of a campus.

“MY PAINTING SOLD!” I shouted happily. “I think I can survive this week!”

"Yay! Great!” Lindsay stood up immediately, grabbing my hand. “I told you you’re talented, Rose!”

We walked toward the parking lot together. A sleek black car was already waiting. Of course it was expensive.Of course it was. “I’ll take you both to the cake tasting venue,” Lindsay said cheerfully. “We’re going straight to the city center.” I slowed down slightly. Something felt off. Very off. And I was right. The driver door opened. And there he was.

David Robinson.

“Finally,” he snapped. “What took you so long?”

I froze. “…Oh no.” My brain immediately went into survival mode.

*Namaste…* please calm my nerves.

*Namaste…* please calm my brain. Just like my yoga friend taught me. Ignore him. Don’t react. Don’t exist.

“I was waiting for Rose! She was selling her painting!” Lindsay argued back, dragging me into the car. “Let’s go already. You’re acting like Nana—so annoying!”

David scoffed and started driving. The city outside was strangely quiet for a weekend afternoon. Too quiet.The car moved smoothly through the streets of Las Vegas until it stopped in front of a luxury wedding cake boutique. Huge. Bright. Expensive. Of course.

Lindsay and I stepped out together. David followed behind, already complaining under his breath. Inside, everything was polished—staff dressed elegantly, interiors soft and chic like a magazine spread. Meanwhile me? Jeans. Faded blouse. Budget survival mode. Lindsay tried to give me her clothes before. They wouldn’t fit anyway.

“Here are the samples,” the manager said politely, placing three plates in front of us. “Vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet. You may choose the base flavor.”

I took a small bite of each.

Aww… Wow. They were all good. But vanilla… Vanilla felt lighter. Softer. More comforting. “I like vanilla better,” I said.

Lindsay nodded. “Me too. But Rick prefers chocolate. What should I do?”

I lowered my voice slightly. “Honestly… you’ve been handling everything since the beginning. He just shows up and agrees, right? Maybe stop overthinking his preferences if he doesn’t even help.”

Silence. David suddenly spoke.

“For the first time, I didn’t know you could think,” he said with a smirk. “I thought your brain was just fat storage.”

I exhaled sharply. Namaste.... namaste... namaste.

“And I agree with the fat girl,” he added lazily. “That guy seems shady.”

My eye twitched. There it is. Back to normal. Peace never lasts.

“I love him, Dave! Shut up!” Lindsay snapped.

“Love is blind,” David muttered.

I said nothing. I refused to. Let them fight. I just stared at my cake plate, pretending I didn’t exist. David stood up and walked toward the window. Maybe to calm down. Maybe to breathe. I watched him from the corner of my eye and thought—

*Why can’t you just disappear from this planet for five minutes so I can have peace?*

And for some reason… that thought didn’t make me feel as satisfied as it should have. What's wrong with me! ugh.