Aisha's heart was a jackhammer as she walked into the school gymnasium. Her painting hung on the far wall, surrounded by colorful ribbons on other students' work. Her fingers were icicles, cold and stiff, despite the warm spring evening.
"There it is," her mother whispered, pointing toward Aisha's sunset painting. In it, the sky was on fire with orange and pink, while the ocean below was a sheet of liquid gold.
People drifted past like clouds, some stopping to study her work. One woman squinted at the painting as if trying to solve a puzzle. A man with gray hair stood frozen in front of it for what felt like forever.
"This one speaks to me," he finally said to his companion. "The artist has captured something real."
Aisha felt the icicles in her fingers begin to melt. Warmth spread through her chest like honey. She hadn't won a ribbon, but hearing those words was worth more than gold.
Her mother squeezed her hand. "You poured your heart onto that canvas. That's what people see."
Walking out into the night, Aisha felt like she was floating on air. The art show had been terrifying, but now she understood something important: creating art isn't about winning prizes. It's about sharing a piece of yourself with the world.