Songbirds chirped overhead, as I biked down the path that led to the center of the Taireah Public Park. The people who controlled the place had many oak trees planted around the perimeter of the plaza, and the amount of trees together thinned down the farther I biked. Wind whipped across my face as I rode against it to get to the meeting’s destination planned by Itra and me.

Along with my bike, I made sure to bring my school supplies and laptop in my backpack. Since we came here with the goal to practice my writing skills, I needed to make sure I brought everything I needed to write.

It would have been embarrassing to come up empty handed. If I were to have arrived without my writing resources, Itra might have scolded me and forced me back to retrieve them. My apartment sat far away from the park, and having to bike there and back would probably take out over twenty minutes of our appointed study time.

Ever since we agreed upon meeting up on the weekend, I always felt giddy thinking about it. I welcomed the idea of a study session outside of the school library with open arms. The dust in the nonfiction section of books always irritated my nose, which had an effect on my writing.

Compared to the musty air of the library, the fresh air of the park entered my system much easier. My nose did not tingle from the old dust gathered over years in that library, but instead did its job at letting air in and out of my body. Well, maybe the job belonged more to my lungs, but my nose still helped with identifying the subtle scents of the trees and flowers around me. Oh, and the dirt, I could smell the dirt and gravel path too. Then there was the matter about the dog droppings that owners didn’t pick up, but I sped past those easily on my bike.

Once I neared the center of the park, the trees surrounding me began to thin out into nothing and left an open grassy area with a sole building holding bathrooms. The whirring of a fan reverberated from behind the building. There might have been more to the building than a restroom, but I doubted Itra and I would spend any notable time there.

Looking just off to the left side of the washrooms, I spotted Itra facing away from me, scribbling something on a piece of paper. I approached her slowly, wondering how I should call out to her, when she whirled around and faced me. My heart rate spiked, at Itra’s sudden twirling movement that I did not expect.

“So you’re here, great, take a seat,” Itra immediately started off with getting to work, rather than giving a greeting. Her action could have been considered as rude, but I found it to be endearing. She didn’t waste her time on trivial interactions and instead got straight to the point.

Silently, I moved myself to the seat which she gestured to, and she scooted herself so that we had more space. The business-like atmosphere around Itra never changed, even when we moved from the library to an area enclosed by trees. Perhaps she never changed, no matter where she found herself, like a very sturdy rock.

Itra slid one of her papers to me, and she reached into her bag to grab a book she must have borrowed from the library. Sneaking a peek at the book, I caught the title World Building for Dummies. I doubted the book was for her to study, so it must have been for her to help teach me. My heart sank a bit, but gradually came back up after the shock of reading Itra’s book title.

I slyly snuck a glance in Itra’s backpack, where two other books hid in darkness. With them being inside the bag, I couldn’t see their titles. They were probably of similar topics as the one Itra had on the table.

“Hey, eyes on the paper,” Itra grabbed my attention, “I made a simple review for you, read that while I set up your next assignment.”

So Itra wasn’t done with all her educational compositions? Maybe she needed to make last minute changes due to the change in scenery.

Looking at the assignment Itra slid to me, small blobs of words were scattered around a cute drawing of two children playing hopscotch. Before reading the words, I couldn’t find a reason why Itra would draw something like this. Reading the blobs though, I realized that she picked out a normal-looking event and gave tips on where to grab topics to describe depending on the personalities, perspectives, and attention of the characters.

One of the two children had a very euphoric expression, while the other one had a concentrating face. A block of text pointed them out, saying that the hyperactive kid would probably have a less analytical observation compared to the focused child. Some lines pointed at lightly highlighted areas where the kids were lookin. It said that the children in the picture would probably not be taking in the image of the tree, and therefore would not be describing it. I felt that the perspective note was common knowledge, but I realized that I would have likely made that mistake.

As I continued to pore over the tiny study guide Itra made for me, Itra continued to prepare something on the side. The document I reviewed continued to cover the basics of description making from the perspective of another and the difference between that and of a third person view.

“This is so much to take in,” I found myself muttering, “but you know, it’s also easy to understand...how do you do it?”

“Hm? The review I made?” Itra glanced from whatever she worked on, “It’s not like I made that without help.”

“Really?” I asked, “I would have thought you were just that smart.”

“Hah,” Itra let out a brief laugh, “no, most of the things I got are from books I have. Sometimes I even wonder if I’m doing enough…”

Itra gestured to the book she set on the table, along with the two in her bag. The way she responded to me hinted that she didn’t think so highly of herself. Though, the little tidbits of paragraphs I crafted to retell the times I spent with her spoke against what she suggested.

This threw me off. I never expected Itra, of all people, to have no confidence in herself. No one else had taught me as much as she had, and she was probably just selling herself short. It took a lot of brains to take a look at such complicated books and relay them in an understandable way. I decided to throw some fluffy compliments to motivate her.

“You’re doing a good job,” I told her, “please keep it up.”

“Thanks,” Itra replied, “I’ll try.”

As I watched her return her attention to her, I could have sworn she flashed a brief smile. She went back into a serious expression though, when she turned back to her paper. To follow in her example, I too stared back at the study material she prepared for me.

Since I had nothing else to do, I started making my own sentences about what the two kids on the little drawing were doing, feeling, and seeing. The more I practiced what I learned, after all, the more I would be able to recall them. Itra snuck a glance at me while I did this, but I didn’t catch how she appeared when she did so. This gave an excellent example of how the focus of a character would not be able to describe what they could not see, and was one example I would take note of.

After I wrote about five sentences around the topic of two children playing hopscotch, Itra grabbed my attention. She held the paper in one hand and tapped my shoulder with her other. I put my pencil down, ready for the next part of her activity.

“Okay, listen up,” Itra instructed, “I’ll have you do this activity now.”

Itra gave me a sheet filled with many text boxes surrounding what looked to be a couple having a picnic. One man held out a fork, and the woman took a bite from it, which was why I assumed them to be a couple. The picnic idea came from the open basket sitting beside them.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I want you to study that,” Itra told me, “I need to grab something real quick.”

I grabbed the paper from her, and Itra left me at the table. Document in hand, I watched her leave from her spot to behind the bathroom building. She must’ve put something there, before I arrived. Maybe it had something to do with the assignment she gave.

Turning my attention from Itra to the piece of paper, I began reading through the sheet. Similarly to the previous study guide, the new assignment talked about how each of the pieces of the picture were important to giving a sense of what the piece of art was trying to convey. Obvious things like the couple feeding each other were listed, but so were simpler details. A detail that I didn’t think about at first was the clear skies, sun, and even the color of the couple’s clothes.

Apparently, the woman’s white dress symbolized her purity, and the man’s red shirt expressed his passion. The sun also symbolized love, and the lack of clouds suggested the lack of obscurity. Small particulars like the ones pointed out in Itra’s drawing did not jump out of the page to me, but I did kind of get how small things could change the meaning of its entirety.

To summarize the two review pages that Itra gave me, the first one probably wanted to tell me, “Remember the perspective,” and the second one’s message was, “make sure to put in effort in the little details.” They both contrasted with each other, but worked together at the same time. I’d need to add the little details subtly and focus on main ideas more heavily.

Once I drew up that conclusion, Itra’s form emerged from behind the lonely building in the park. In one arm, she had a long roll of cloth, and in her opposing arm, she held a picnic basket. Funnily enough, they appeared to look exactly like the ones she drew just earlier.

“Okay,” Itra announced, “I’ve got what we need.”

I didn’t respond, and instead, I watched her as she set up the cloth on the grass, and studied it, before she placed the picnic basket onto it.

“This should be good enough,” I heard her mutter under her breath, “Do you happen to have a clipboard, Illate?”

“No,” I replied, “I have my laptop though.”

“Okay, then you can use that,” Itra responded, “come here, and could you bring the papers and my bag too?”

“Of course,” I answered, and brought the respective items, “what are we doing now?”

“You’re creating a detailed paragraph,” Itra informed, “and if you want, we could create a small story of detailed paragraphs.”

“I’m up for it,” I let her know, “right now at least, making the paragraph won’t be hard, will it?”

“Eheh,” Itra chuckled, “that depends on you.”

Itra gestured for me to sit next to the basket, while she made her way to the same place as the woman in the drawing she made. Did that mean that I would be practicing writing from the perspective of another person? This would probably be an interesting practice session.

“You can already guess what we’re doing here, can’t you?” Itra made sure, “Open up a document and start describing what you see.”

Itra then positioned herself, as if she were posing for a simple photo. Seeing her in such a seductive posture felt out of place for me, like I was looking at her from the perspective of another person. Then again, that might have been her goal all along, since she wanted me to write from the perspective of another anyway.

“Hurry up and start typing already,” Itra urged, “I don’t want to be portraying myself like this too long.”

“R-right,” I chirped, and started writing as she wished.

I had a hard time calming my heart rate, due to Itra being so close. Though I’d like to blame the original draft of my detailed paragraph on that nervousness, I decided against doing so.

My first attempt yielded this: “In front of me was a very kind and considerate friend, looking up at me. We sat in a park, surrounded by forestry, having a picnic together. Our basket sat open, as I held out a utensil to be consumed by her. The sky shone a beautiful blue, and the sun glared at us with a passion.”

Bracing myself for her criticism, I turned my laptop to her for Itra to read over. She stopped posing herself and leaned forward to proofread my composition. Just watching her reading something I made gave me inspiration to write about her. I felt an urge rooted in my chest, wanting to write about Itra more. The instinct to write about her was pretty redundant though, since I just wrote about her, and would probably have to continue to do so.

“Very kind and considerate, huh?” Itra commented, the slight tinge of pink on her cheeks did not escape me, and I inferred that our time in the sun had been starting to affect her, “It’s a little harder to pick apart sentences I didn’t prepare beforehand…could you give a little time for me to look over this?”

“Nothing’s stopping you,” I told her, “take as much time as you like.”

Itra nodded, and continued to reread my short paragraph. As she went over it, I started thinking back on the day’s events. From arriving on bike to setting my eyes on Itra for the first time today. Ideas for my daily review started popping in my head, and I entertained the different sentences I could form once I got my fingers on my laptop at home.

A plan then appeared in my brain. What if I were to approach describing Itra now, just as I would when I wrote about her while at home? I played with the idea in my head, and decided that it would be for the best. This way, I would be able to tackle this new assignment in a familiar way.

“Alright, I think I know the points where you can improve now,” Itra said, “for one, your sentences sound very separate, it’s like you’re just listing off what first comes to mind. Try...melding them somehow.”

“As you wish,” I responded and took my laptop back.

Now, I had my head in my study session recounting mindset. This time, the sentence looked like this: “Encircled by trees and gazed upon by a forgivingly clear sky, I shared a picnic with the best friend I’ve ever had. Birds flocked into the trees, and sang songs in her presence. Apparently, her compassion, beauty, and intelligence reached even the birds, as they sang their mating calls. Though those birds better know their place, because I’m the only one that can spoon feed her in such a loving manner.”

Due to my using of my second writing mindset, I barely even caught what I wrote until I reread it. Once I glanced over my piece, my blood flushed to my face. Who knew I could write something so embarrassing? The idea of redoing it came to my mind, but I decided against it. This was from the viewpoint of that character Itra drew, so it wouldn’t cause any misunderstandings, right?

Again, my computer faced Itra’s focused stare, and again, I noticed her cheeks to be a light shade of pink. Maybe she forgot to bring sunscreen with her?

Reading over my new paragraph, Itra’s eyes widened for a brief moment, as if taken aback. Perhaps I really should have rewritten the paragraph, it exposed a very embarrassing content in my head.

“Hey,” Itra seized my attention, “The quality of this paragraph is excellent, and you did more than I expected, could you tell me what kinds of things you were doing differently?”

Itra actually sounded astonished, rather than simply taken aback. Since I didn’t anticipate such a reaction, my response came in as a broken, “Uh, well, I think, I um, I just approached it differently.”

“Well then, you approached it well,” Itra complimented, “it’s like you’re better than you take credit for.”

“Oh, no,” I interrupted, “I’m not so great, I’m only where I am because of you.”

“That makes me glad,” Itra responded, “but you’re only doing well because you’re trying.”

“And I’m only trying because you’re there to teach me,” I added, “which is why you’re such a help.”

Itra slipped a smile in, “thanks. You give me too much credit.”

“Trust me,” I told her, “I have way more credit to give.”

“Heh,” she laughed, “alright, I’ll prepare myself for them. Also, what’s this about the birds giving their mating calls to me? Isn’t that a little…”

“That’s, uh,” I lost my words, and as a wannabe writer, that put me in a vulnerable state, “well...it’s just to give an idea of how much the character liked the person he saw…”

Itra scratched behind her ear, “I guess that passes for a reason…”

“So, what do we do now?” I asked, a little desperate to change the subject, “Do I write another paragraph?”

“I think we’ll end here,” Itra said, “I’ll just give you an assignment to do while you’re at home, since the sky is getting dark.”

“It is?” I questioned, then looked at the orangish sky, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Itra responded, “winter is coming, the sky gets dark sooner, let’s get going to our respective dinners.”

“You bet, I’m getting hungry,” I said back, “I hope my sister made something good.”

“Enjoy your dinner,” Itra bid, “and I want three paragraphs from you by tomorrow at our usual meeting time.”

“Got it,” I responded, “Good night, Itra.”

“It’s good evening,” Itra retorted, “I wouldn’t call this night.”

“C-correcting me as always, huh?”