Page 24 of New Growth
She knew this was dogshit.
“Stop,” Nadiya’s sharp voice sliced through my focus. My hand jerked, leaving an ugly smudge of polish on the nail.Damn it.
I groaned as she leaned over my shoulder, her perfectly arched brow raised in judgment.
“What is this mess?”
“It’s supposed to be a swirl,” I muttered, setting the brush down with a defeated thud.
Nadiya snorted, picking up the nail for closer inspection. “Swirl? No. This looks like a sad snake who died in traffic.”
A few giggles rang out from my classmates, and I let my head fall onto the table. “I’m never going to get this right. I don’t know why I even bother.”
“You are such a drama queen,” she teased, tapping the back of my head. “Your problem is you’re too tense. Art does not come from stress.”
“I’m not tense, and I’m not stressed,” I lied, lifting my head slightly. “I’m just…bad at this.”
Nadiya grabbed the brush and my pathetic, practice nail design. “You are fighting the brush. Don’t fight—flow.” Her hand glided effortlessly as she demonstrated the motion, creating a perfect swirl in one smooth stroke.
My jaw dropped, she didn’t even have to think about it. “How did you—?”
“Years of practice,” she said with a smug grin, “and no whining.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I do not whine.”
“Sure, sure,” she said, handing the brush back. “Now try again. Flow, Elliot. Flow.”
Taking a deep breath, I steadied my hand and moved the brush like she had shown me. To my surprise, the swirl actually looked…decent.
“I guess this is fine,” Nadiya said in defeat. “Until next class. Bye-bye.”
The best part of Thailand was Esther.
She and I had become fast friends in the short time I’d been at the beauty school. She was so easy to be around, her laughter infectious, her energy constantly filling up the empty spaces that silence had once claimed. We’d spent hours chatting about everything and nothing—about life, our classes, and things that we love to do in our spare time. It was the kind of connection I hadn’t expected to find so quickly, and it made the thought of being away from home a little more manageable.
Today, we decided to skip our regular post-class routine of heading home to practice. Instead, we had a quick dinner together and then made our way to a small park near the school. It was quiet there. The city’s distant buzz was a peaceful background as the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting everything in that soft, golden light that I’d grown fond of.
Esther had brought a couple of bottles of soda, and I bought some Mekhong to go with my Cola, of course. We were sitting cross-legged on a low bench near the edge of the park, talking about today’s class with the engagement of people who’ve known each other for years instead of weeks.
It was easy, effortless.
She was laughing about something, but I wasn’t really listening. My eyes were drawn to the way the orange hue of the setting sun reflected off the glassy surface of the small pond in front of us. It was serene here. Peaceful. And for the first time in ages, I was allowing myself to simplybe.
I was going to miss it.
“I don’t think nail art is for me,” I said, breaking the comfortable atmosphere.
Esther’s playful demeanor shifted as her laughter faded.
“Huh? What makes you say that?”
“It’s been weeks, and I haven’t improved much. I mean, I don’t run out of the class in a panic anymore, but that’s about it.” I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant about the reality, even though it broke my heart to swallow it.
“Ellie,” she said gently. “You can’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve only been here a few weeks.”
“I know,” I said, lowering my gaze to the pond. “But I’m never going to get it. And I’m okay with that. At least I tried. But dragging this out feels like a waste.”
She studied me for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Well, nail art isn’t for everyone.”
