The morning of the tenth day arrived with a physical weight. Julian woke before his alarm, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Today was the threshold. The university's annual Art Gala followed a rigorous, two-stage filtration process: first, a digital submission where a board of anonymous jurors would score hundreds of entries based on technical skill and thematic resonance. Only the top one hundred would move on to the physical gallery, where the "Princes" and "Kings" of Seattle's elite would walk the halls. The best pieces are shown here
Julian sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. He felt a strange vibration in the air of the Valley—the neighborhood was the same as it always was, filled with the distant sound of shifting freight trains and the scent of damp pavement, but today, everything felt sharper. It was the feeling of a man standing on the edge of a diving board, looking at the water far below.
He opened his phone where there was a message from lily "all the best for today's submission" he thanked her and also typed "wish you same".
He forced himself out of the door for a jog. As he ran through the familiar streets, he didn't see the rusted fences or the cracked sidewalks. He saw the textures he had spent the last eight days meticulously recreating. Every shadow under a porch was a charcoal smudge; every glint of morning dew was a drop of titanium white.
When he returned home, the scent of bacon and spices filled the small kitchen. His mother was at the stove, her movements a practiced dance of domesticity.
"Good morning, Mom," Julian said, his voice a bit gravelly from the cold air.
"Morning, Julian! Fresh up and come quickly," she replied without turning, though he could hear the smile in her voice. "I've made your favorite breakfast. You'll need the energy for your big day."
"Thanks, Mom."
After a quick bath, Julian dressed with more care than usual. He chose a crisp black shirt and black pants—simple, affordable, but clean. As he looked in the mirror, he realized that even without expensive labels, the discipline of his recent routine had changed him. His jaw looked set, his eyes more focused. He looked like a man who finally had a mission.
He had breakfast with his parents, listening to his father talk about the shop's inventory, and other things while he ate breakfast calmly. After finishing his breakfast he took his bag as he went towards his bike and took it and left for university.
The ride towards the university today was calm before the storm while he was very nervous. The remaining people continued with their lives as usual shops opened , taxis, school students and morning traffic was the same..
The Art Club lab was quiet when Julian arrived. Matthew, the club president, was already there, hunched over a professional-grade DSLR camera he had borrowed from the photography department.
"Morning, Matthew," Julian said, his voice echoing in the high-ceilinged room.
Matthew looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Morning, Julian. I was wondering when you'd show up. Hope you're ready for the portal to open."
"I am. Well prepared," Julian replied, setting his bag down.
"Good. I've got the camera set up. All participants need a professional headshot for the bio section and high-resolution captures of the work. If you want to go first, the floor is yours."
Julian nodded, his hands slightly trembling as he walked over to his easel. The painting was still covered in protective newspaper from his final touch-ups the night before. With the precision of a surgeon, Julian used a small utility knife to carefully slice through the tape and peel back the paper.
As the "Drowning Man" was revealed, Julian took a long, silent breath. He hadn't looked at the piece in its entirety since he finished it at 2:00 AM. In the harsh morning light of the lab, the royal blue of the girl's umbrella felt electric against the suffocating blacks and grays of the Seattle rain.
"Everything is ready on my side," Julian told Matthew.
"Great. Come here first, Julian. Let's get your photo out of the way." Matthew gestured toward a plain white wall that served as a makeshift studio backdrop.
Julian stood against the wall. He wasn't a man who enjoyed having his picture taken—he preferred to be the one observing, not the one being observed. But as Matthew adjusted the lighting elements, Julian stood tall. In his black-on-black attire, he looked like a shadow himself, a stark contrast to the white wall.
Click. Click. Click.
"These are good," Matthew muttered, checking the digital display. "You look decent, Julian. Very professional. Now, bring the painting and the tripod over here."
Julian carefully moved his masterpiece into the light. For a moment, Matthew stood perfectly still, the camera hanging forgotten around his neck. His eyes scanned the canvas, lingering on the "Lily Blue" and the way the light seemed to radiate from the woman in the frame.
"Oh my god, Julian," Matthew whispered, his voice full of genuine shock. "Is this really your painting? Since when did you start doing couple paintings? And... color? You actually used a bright color."
Julian smiled awkwardly, his hands shoved into his pockets. "I just thought I should try something different to get the interest of the jurors. Nothing else."
Matthew didn't look away from the canvas. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. "Everyone says they don't want happiness or companionship, Julian. They tell themselves they are fine in the dark. But when that special moment comes... nobody would leave it. They try their best to capture it, to hold onto it before it fades."
He turned to Julian, his gaze piercing. "Your painting tries to portray that, doesn't it? It's hope in despair."
Julian felt a surge of heat in his chest and quickly turned away, feigning interest in the camera settings. "Time is running out, Matthew. Can we just shoot the photo, please?"
Matthew laughed softly, but his voice turned uncharacteristically serious. "I hope you don't let that happiness leave you, Julian. Try to fight with everything you've got. I remember when you first came here—everything was black and gray colors you used whenever you painted . No life and no bright colors. Just sadness. But now? There's hope here. I'm happy for you."
Julian forced a half-smile, but internally, his thoughts were a storm. Fight for my happiness? How can one ever win a losing fight? How can I fight a battle where I am my own enemy? If I truly fight for what I want, for something. Wouldn't that just be the end of everything around me?
He shook his head, clearing the inner doubts, and focused on the task. Matthew took several high-resolution shots. At Julian's request, they adjusted the lighting specifically to highlight the woman's form, ensuring the blue of the umbrella cast a soft, ethereal glow on the "Drowning Man's" shoulders.
"Finished," Matthew announced. "Now, help me with mine."
Julian set his painting aside and helped Matthew mount his own entry. As the paper came off Matthew's canvas, Julian felt a wave of awe. It was a massive piece—a woman with long, flowing black hair submerged in a vast, dark ocean. She looked like a modern-day Ophelia, but instead of a stream, she was lost in the middle of the crushing sea.
The depth of the water, the terrifyingly beautiful use of deep teals and midnight blues, and the expression of peaceful despair on the woman's face were breathtaking.
"Matthew... this is incredible," Julian said, stepping closer. "I want to be able to paint like this just once in my life."
Matthew smiled, a rare flash of pride in his eyes. "You've started walking, Julian. It takes time. But with the right movement and the right inspiration... you'll paint something even more beautiful than me one day."
Julian looked at the "Titan" of a painting and then back at his own "Drowning Man." Matthew had already sold dozens of pieces to city galleries; he was a professional in everything but name. Julian knew he was a long way off from that level of mastery, but for the first time, he felt a spark of true confidence
"Ok julian bring the piece here let me take a couple of shots " matthew told julian who bought the painting and set it on the tripod as he moved away
Click. Click. Click
"Ok, let me retrieve the memory and insert it to the pendrive, meanwhile you bring your laptop in the meantime" Matthew told Julian who went toward his bag as he brought out his laptop as he opened the official website and was ready, as Matthew brought the pendrive.
"Okay, Matthew, let's finish this," Julian said, his nerves returning as he opened his laptop.
Matthew handed him a pendrive containing the high-resolution images. Julian's fingers flew across the keyboard, navigating to the official submission portal for the Seattle Art Gala.
"You first," Julian insisted. "I'll follow you."
Julian watched as Matthew entered his information: his pen name, his bio, and his contact details. Then, with a final click,
Julian watched as Matthew entered his name and his pen name and a short bio consisting of "I am a student studying in university and interested in art from childhood i believe painting is the way one can express their feeling to others and show the beautiful world they see"
Julian really liked those words as he also believed it as he was constantly only searching for truth or ugliness in everything as he could only express those in painting at that time as he watched Matthew upload his painting ,write the description of the painting.
"The beauty of truth was never to swim in the ocean of life it's just to drown in it, while only deception and falsehood will remain afloat in this ocean"
As Julian saw those words inside him something began to click because of the beauty and depth of those words that truth is it suggests that truth has a weight to it that makes it incompatible with the buoyancy required to survive in a shallow world.