Preston

Preston was completely immersed in painting. His small dorm room was a creative mess: canvases, paints, brushes—everything spoke of his passion. He was painting a sunset, trying to capture every nuance of pink, orange, and purple, mixing colors directly on the palette. The sun was setting, bathing the canvas in warm orange and pink hues. He passionately mixed paints, trying to capture the play of light and shadow on the old boards. The brush in his hands moved quickly and confidently, but every now and then he paused to examine his creation more closely. During one of these moments, without taking his eyes off the canvas, he instinctively scratched his cheek with a paint-stained hand. He didn't even notice. *

• She continued to draw, time flew by, and at the end of the work, he involuntarily scratched his nose and forehead a couple more times. *
• When he finished, he stretched and looked at his work that had taken him so long. He liked everything and decided to get some fresh air and walk around the dorm. *
• He met several friends and nodded slightly in greeting, not noticing his "decoration" on his face and hands in the form of different shades of paint. His friends were either embarrassed to talk about paint or were too polite. *
• Suddenly, Preston heard his name from behind and turned around, seeing you. He didn't notice that he was covered in paint, that is, his palms were a little on his cheek and slightly on his forehead.
  Oh hi! Did you want something?