I Don’t

Prompt: I don’t

The bus pulled away from the station, leaving Mia standing on the cracked pavement, her breath visible in the chilly morning air. She stared after it, watching the tail lights flicker into the distance before she turned back to the street that now felt ominously empty. "I don’t want to go home," she muttered to herself, kicking a small stone silently across the ground. Home was supposed to be a sanctuary—a place of warmth and laughter—but lately, it had become a cage. Each family dinner felt like a performance filled with obligatory smiles and rehearsed conversations. The echo of her parents’ expectations gnawed at her, a constant reminder of how far she had drifted from the life they envisioned for her. She often felt like a ghost haunting her own existence, unnoticed in the shadows of their high hopes. Walking along the familiar route, Mia found herself veering off the pavement into the nearby park. Autumn dressed the trees in fiery hues, and the ground was a mosaic of orange and red leaves. She inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling her lungs, refreshing and alive. Here, she could breathe without worry, without the weight of someone else’s dreams pulling her down. Mia ducked into a small café tucked away in the woods, its cozy interior illuminated by warm, golden lighting. A few regulars occupied the tables, their murmurs blending with the soft notes of a distant jazz tune. She ordered her usual—a steaming cup of spiced chai—before finding a secluded corner to settle into. With her drink cradled in her hands, she watched the rain begin to trickle down the window, blurring the view of the world outside. As she sat there, Mia felt the urge to reach for her sketchbook, a gift from her grandmother. It had been ages since she drew anything. The mere idea of producing something so personal was tethered to a feeling of guilt she couldn’t shake off. What if her family saw? They’d never understand; they’d call it a waste of time. “I don’t need that,” they’d say. “Focus on your studies, on your future.” The future—their future—for her, a horizon she could never quite place. Finally, the urge became too strong. She flipped open the sketchbook and let her pencil glide over the pages. Lines turned into shapes, shapes morphed into figures, and soon the paper was a crowded cosmos of her imagination—mermaids swimming through deep oceans, cities standing tall against a pink sunset, wildflowers bursting forth in a rebellion against the monotony of everyday life. Each stroke freed something within her, a light flickering back into the corners of her heart. Lost in her artwork, she didn’t notice the muffled steps approaching her table until a soft voice broke through her reverie. “That’s beautiful.” She glanced up to see a young man, hair tousled and eyes sparkling with curiosity. He gestured towards her sketchbook, a genuine smile lighting his face. “Is it your own creation?” Mia hesitated. “I… I don’t usually show anyone my work,” she admitted. “It’s just something I do for myself.” “I understand,” he replied, leaning slightly closer. “I’m Sam, by the way. But that looks far too good to be kept a secret. You should share it more.” Mia felt a warmth spreading through her chest at his encouragement, but doubt quickly interjected. “But what if it’s not good enough? What if…” She stopped herself, realizing she was spiraling down the path of endless 'what-ifs.' Instead, she took a deep breath, willing herself to let go of the negativity. “I don’t want to care what others think,” she murmured. Sam’s eyes softened with understanding. “That’s a good place to be. Art is about expression, not approval.” A small smile crept onto her lips. They talked for hours, sharing stories and thoughts, building a connection that felt as natural as breathing. With every word exchanged, Mia felt a door within her begin to creak open. She discovered courage in vulnerability, learning that showing her art did not equate to sacrificing her identity. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a magnificent palette of colors across the park, Mia flipped through her sketches and turned to Sam. “Would you like to see more?” she asked, her heart racing at the admission. “I mean, really see more?” “Yes! I’d love that,” he beamed, his enthusiasm infectious. They pulled the table closer together, and Mia revealed page after page, each one a piece of her soul, intertwined with dreams and fears. “I don’t know how to put this into words,” Sam said after a particularly complex sketch of a city skyline. “But you make the mundane seem magical. It feels real, and yet it’s something from a different world.” Mia’s chest swelled with pride—something she hadn’t felt in a long time. “I… I don’t have to hide anymore,” she whispered, the realization washing over her like a gentle tide. “I’m not alone.” As they wrapped up their evening, Sam made a suggestion that ignited a spark deep within her. “Have you ever thought about showcasing your art? There’s an open mic night next week at the community center. You should consider it.” Mia opened her mouth to protest but caught herself, firmly reminding her doubts that they didn’t belong in this moment. “Maybe I’ll think about it,” she said, a smile playing on her lips. As she walked home that night, a mixture of excitement and apprehension coursed through her veins. She went through the motions of her familiar routine—dinner, polite conversations, and finally, the solitude of her room—but now there was a glimmer of possibility in her thoughts. For the first time in a long while, she felt a shift within her. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but perhaps it was time to embrace the unknown. After all, she didn’t just want to float through life anymore; she wanted to create, express, and, most importantly, to live.