Pilot

"Class is dismissed!" The words pierced Priya, a 17-year-old who had lost track of time, looking down at her desk, distant and indifferent. She was sketching in solace on her notebook, hidden beneath her scorecard with an F grade.

"Remember to review your tests," Ms. Lida added as she left the classroom.

"At least you don't have to deal with the principal's office shit, baldie," Anita, the class delinquent, hissed.

She gathered her belongings like a machine – pencils, erasers, test card, copies, and books. Each item felt like a trinket she had left untouched and forgotten about.

She got up from her bench in the middle row, visited the green class dustbin, and walked out of the pale yellow classroom, her footsteps and her mind lost among the chattering and shuffling. Ms. Lida's reminder barely struck her; Anita's scornful remark echoed in the distance as she continued walking through the hallway, half-consciously. The vibrant chatter of other students echoed around her like shadowy distant whispers, and the colorful classroom displays appeared as mere dull blurs in her peripheral vision. It was as if she was an outsider, observing her own life from a distance.

When a sudden "Oh!!! PRIYA!! WAIT" interrupted her.

She turned back and saw her best friend Natasha, the simpleton, for the first time in a while, running clumsily, her braids swaying in the air, and in her flailing hand was a sheet of visibly wrinkled paper. It was the sketch Priya threw away.

"You didn't need to do this," Priya said, her voice tinged with surprise as she looked at the crumpled sketch Natasha held.

Natasha's expression softened with concern, "I know, but I couldn't help it," she replied. "You used to cherish every doodle you created, Priya."

Priya's gaze dropped to the sketch in Natasha's hands. "Yeah, I did. But things have changed, Nat. I don't feel the same about my art anymore, in fact about anything anymore."

"That's okay, Priya. We all go through tough times. Maybe holding onto your sketches can remind you of the passion you once had." Natasha said, holding Priya's hand.

Priya's eyes welled with emotions.

Natasha's grip tightened slightly. "You don't have to force it. Just take your time."

Priya grabbed the sketch from Natasha's hands and walked away from the first interaction she had with her best friend in 3 months , still consumed by emotions .

As she neared the exit, lost in her thoughts, a sudden impact broke her reverie. Thud! She bumped into someone, causing her to stumble backward. Blinking away the haze, she looked up to see an unclear image of a familiar figure.

"Hey, you're back! What a surprise!" she immediately recognized the warm voice; it was Mr. W.W. Heisenberg.