Chapter 106 An Imperfect Art

Chapter 106 An Imperfect Art
Xavier’s POV

I look at her for a good two minutes, and she still hasn’t moved from the passenger’s seat.

I doubt she’s aware that I already pulled up in front of her faculty building.

She’s been this way for some time, and honestly, I totally understand.

I was even against her coming to class today, but she mentioned it would be a particular course’s final revision, hence she couldn’t miss it.

A lot has happened.

A whole lot that I can’t even control or fix, so I have to do the little I can, by sticking with her through every moment of this.

And making sure she at least eats well.

Examining her face, and her puffy eyes that seem to stare in a daze, I contemplate whether I should call her attention, or give her some extra time.

But I settle for the first, and softly call out,

“Princess, we’re here.”

She blinks rapidly, before nodding and trying to open the car door, but I instantly take charge.

“Are you sure you want to come along?” She asks, turning a bracelet around her wrist.

“Yup.”

I shut the door, throwing the keys into my bag before slinging an arm around her neck.

“Does this make you uncomfortable?”

She doesn’t say anything, but only shakes her head before we enter the building.

Several eyes remain on us, some obvious about their stares.

I’m used to being noticed for obvious reasons, but I’ve never thought to ask if Jasmine was okay with it, especially after making our relationship public.

A group of girls pass by, and one waves, but I just overlook it and focus on my girl.

Another one winks at me, but it only disgusts me.

Funny how things like that used to make my day in the past, but now a whole lot has changed, and I can only be grateful for that.

I used to think they were just trying to acknowledge me, but most times, especially among the girls, it always turned to flirting.

We finally enter her classroom after several attempts to brush off different advances, and it isn’t any better.

The girls here are shameless.

“You’re still with her?” One had asked the moment we entered, and I could only shoot her a glare, while others openly gossiped amongst themselves.

Is this what Jasmine has been facing, and never spoke of?

“Hi, Jasmine, are you okay?” Bella asks, which earns her a nod, but she doesn’t seem satisfied, cause she faces me and repeats the same question,

“Is she fine?”

“She’ll be.” I say honestly, settling into the empty seat next to Jasmine.

“Oh.”

Some minutes pass before the lecturer for the day walks in, and she notices me immediately, which isn’t surprising.

“Xavier, what are you doing here?” She asks, drawing everyone’s attention to me like I didn’t have it already.

“Learning.”

“Now you want to switch classes?”

“Is that bad?” I shrug, reaching for my girl’s hand under the table.

Besides, she’s the only reason I came here. I wanted to be sure she was okay, and I plan on staying here till the very end of class.

The lecturer looks taken aback by my words, but she still presses, “Of all times, it’s now, when they’re in their finals?”

“Great things happen at the ending, don’t you think?”

This makes everyone laugh.

Everyone but Jasmine.

I doubt she’s even processing anything that’s happening right now, and I hate that I can’t do something about it.

She’s grieving.

My subconscious reminds me, and I nod in acceptance.

“You sure have a smart mouth, why don’t you come out here?”

I raise my brows in confusion and surprise. I was definitely not expecting that.

“Let’s test your smartness.” She smiles, like she wants to shame me and this is finally her chance. “Let’s see if that mouth of yours matches your brain.”

Is it me, or does every art teacher and student think so little of me? Or is it just everyone?

“Sure.” I rise, but first, I bend to take in her features before whispering, “Will you be fine?”

She shoots me a small smile before responding, “Go and make me proud.”

I know that she’s daring me, or probably taunting me, but either way, I’m glad it’s a little relief from how she’s been.

With long strides, I reach the front of the class, facing the already curious and entertained art students.

“Let’s start with the basics, Mr. Superstar.”

I try to yawn, but knowing it would be disrespectful, I stop myself from doing that.

“What would you define as art, and why?”

And she calls this simple?

I’m sure she’s looking for a way to disgrace me, thinking I can’t hold intellectual conversations.

And no, I’m not assuming this.

Most lecturers do this to me and the rest of the team in our different departments. They just assume that we’re only good at rugby, and fail at everything else.

“Art.” I repeat, and I can tell she’s smiling when she says,

“Yes, Xavier. Do you think art is something perfect?”

I take a moment, not because I don’t have an answer, but because I want to give her one worth hearing.

“No.” I start. “I think people get that wrong all the time. They think art has to be flawless, like a painting where every line is exact, or a sculpture with no chip out of place.”

“Then what is it?”

“Art is whatever’s left of you after you’ve been honest about something.” I shrug, even though she can’t see it. “It doesn’t have to be pretty. It just has to be true.”

There’s a pause, long enough that I wonder if I’ve said something wrong.

“Go on.” She says, quieter now.

“I think kindness is art. I think love is art.” I continue, surprising even myself with how easily it’s coming out.

“Cause both of those things, they don’t ask to be perfect either. You don’t love someone perfectly. You just keep showing up, messy and imperfect, and that’s the whole point.”

“That’s…” She trails off.

“Just like painters express their truth through their paintings, and writers through their books, art is all about truth.” I turn to her, not in the least surprised at her wide eyes.

“Art is truth. Including the dirty parts, the secret ones…” I trail off, searching for Jasmine’s face through the crowd,

“And the ones we try to hide from others, but somehow find a way to come out through what we paint, sculpt, scribble, or…”

“It could come in any form, even as a person too.” I smile, knowing that I have my princess’s attention.

“My girlfriend is a walking piece of art, and she doesn’t have to be perfect to embody her own truth.”

I can see her eyes welling up with tears, not from the pain she’s been trying to hold, but from the words I’ve just said.

“She’s a piece of art with the exceptional ability to create more art.”

Before I can add anything, the lecturer starts clapping, followed by the rest.