The school had declared an open co-curricular afternoon—teachers turning classrooms into temporary studios, courtyards into makeshift galleries, letting students wander between activities after weeks of rigid exam schedules.
One of the quieter corners near the art wing had been set aside for watercolour painting: long tables covered in newspaper, jars of water glinting in the sunlight, trays of half-used pans and brushes of every size.
A handful of juniors—mostly first- and second-years—had gathered around the tables, sleeves rolled up, chatting softly while they waited for the senior volunteer to arrive.
Rose had signed up to help.
She arrived with her own small tin of paints and a stack of extra paper, sat down at the end of one table, and began demonstrating basic washes to the group.
Her voice was low and patient, never rising above the gentle murmur of water being swirled in jars.
She showed them how to tilt the paper so colours flowed naturally, how to lift excess pigment with a clean brush, how to let the paper breathe between layers.
The juniors watched her with wide eyes.
Rose was completely absorbed—head bent slightly, brow smooth with concentration, the tip of her tongue peeking out when she focused on a particularly delicate blend.
She didn't notice the small crowd growing behind her, didn't notice the way the light caught the fine hairs escaping her braid, didn't notice Jade standing quietly near the doorway.
Jade had come looking for her after chess club ended early.
She leaned against the frame, arms folded loosely, content to watch for a minute before interrupting.
Rose's fingers moved with such care—dipping, blotting, layering—that Jade felt something warm and quiet settle in her chest just looking at her.
Then one of the juniors glanced up, recognised Jade, and gasped softly.
"Is that… Jade Anderson?"
The whisper spread like a ripple.
Heads turned, eyes widened.
"She's the one who sang at the winter talent show last year," someone breathed.
"Her voice was insane—like, professional level."
Within seconds the table had shifted attention.
Jade found herself surrounded by eager faces—juniors crowding closer, asking rapid-fire questions.
"Can you sing something right now?"
"Do you take lessons?"
"How do you hit those high notes without cracking?"
"You should do a duet with Ella Browns!"
Jade laughed, hands raised in gentle surrender.
"I'm just here to see Rose—"
But they weren't listening.
They were already pulling out phones to record, asking for autographs on scrap paper, begging for one line of a song.
Jade answered as best she could—polite, a little flustered—while stealing glances toward Rose.
Rose had looked up at the commotion.
Her brush paused mid-stroke.
She saw the small crowd around Jade, saw the way they leaned in, eyes bright with admiration.
Something small and unfamiliar twisted in her chest—not jealousy exactly, not quite—but a sudden awareness of how easily Jade drew people in, how naturally they gravitated toward her light.
She blinked once, twice, then lowered her gaze back to her painting.
The feeling passed quickly; she told herself it was nothing.
She dipped her brush again, focused on blending a soft gradient of blue into gray, letting the colours bleed together on the damp paper.
Jade finally extricated herself from the juniors with promises of "maybe later" and "I'll sing at the next school event."
She walked over to Rose's table, stepping carefully around paint trays and water jars.
"Hey," she said softly, leaning down so only Rose could hear.
Rose looked up.
Her smile was there, but quieter than usual.
"Hey."
Jade glanced at the painting—delicate layers of sky and distant hills, a single bird caught mid-flight in the corner.
"That's beautiful," she said, voice low with genuine wonder.
"The way the colours bleed… it feels alive."
Rose looked down at her work again.
"Thanks.
It's just practice."
Jade studied her for a second—noticed the slight tension at the corners of Rose's mouth, the way her fingers gripped the brush a little tighter than before.
She didn't ask what was wrong.
Instead, a playful impulse flickered through her.
She reached over, dipped her index finger into a small puddle of bright yellow paint on Rose's palette, and—before Rose could react—touched the tip of her nose.
Rose froze.
A tiny yellow dot sat perfectly on the end of her nose.
Jade grinned.
"Got you."
Rose blinked once, stunned.
Then her eyes narrowed in mock outrage.
"Oh, you didn't."
She dipped two fingers into a soft lavender and—quick as a breath—swiped them across Jade's cheek, leaving two parallel streaks.
Jade gasped, laughing.
"Rose!"
Rose was already laughing too—quiet at first, then brighter, more free.
She grabbed a brush, loaded it with sky blue, and flicked it toward Jade in a playful arc.
A few drops landed on Jade's sleeve.
Jade retaliated with a quick swipe of green across Rose's forehead.
Rose squealed—actually squealed—and bolted from the table, paintbrush still in hand.
Jade chased after her without thinking.
They darted through the classroom doorway, down the corridor, laughter trailing behind them like ribbons.
Rose glanced back once, eyes sparkling, then turned the corner toward the empty art storage hall.
The corridor was quiet—most students still in classes or outside.
Their footsteps echoed softly, breathless giggles bouncing off the walls.
Rose slowed near the end of the hall, turning to face Jade with her hands raised in surrender, paint smudged across her cheek and nose.
"Truce?" she panted, grinning.
Jade slowed too, closing the last few steps.
"Maybe."
Rose took one step back—and her heel caught on a loose tile.
She stumbled, arms flailing.
Jade moved instantly.
Her hands found Rose's waist, pulling her forward and steadying her in one smooth motion.
Rose collided gently against Jade's chest, hands coming up to grip Jade's shoulders for balance.
Time seemed to pause.
They were suddenly very close—chests rising and falling together, breath mingling in the small space between them.
Jade's hands stayed on Rose's waist, light but firm.
Rose's fingers curled into the fabric of Jade's shirt.
Paint smudges transferred from cheek to collar, unnoticed.
Behind them, a small group of juniors who had followed the chase at a distance let out a collective, hushed "ooooh."
Someone giggled.
Someone else whispered, "They're so cute."
Rose's eyes flicked toward the sound—cheeks flooding with heat.
Jade felt her own face burn, but she didn't let go , not yet.
Rose looked back at her—eyes wide, lips parted, something soft and startled shimmering in them.
Neither spoke.
Then Rose exhaled a shaky laugh.
"You caught me."
Jade's voice came out quieter than she meant.
"Couldn't let you fall."
Rose's fingers loosened slightly on Jade's shirt, but she didn't step back.
The juniors' whispers grew louder, a few phones raised discreetly.
Rose finally glanced down at herself—paint everywhere, shirt dotted with colour—and laughed again, softer this time.
"We're a mess."
Jade looked down too—her sleeve blue, cheek green, Rose's nose still yellow—and grinned.
"Worth it."
Rose met her eyes once more.
The moment stretched—warm, fragile, full of something neither named.
Then Rose stepped back slowly, reluctantly, hands sliding away.
"Come on," she said, voice a little unsteady.
"We should clean up before someone takes a photo."
Jade nodded, still smiling.
"Lead the way."
They walked back toward the art room side by side—shoulders brushing, paint-smeared and breathless—while the juniors trailed behind, giggling and whispering.
Neither of them said anything more about the way their hands had lingered, or the way their hearts were still racing long after the chase had ended.