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From that day on, I could no longer see human faces.
Not being able to “see” was probably not the most accurate term to describe my situation. I knew what faces are made of, yet I couldn't distinguish their outlines, let alone use their characteristics to tell one person from another. Everyone—regardless of age, gender, height, or build—had the same ghostly, blurred face.
This spared me much trouble in life. Since I couldn't see faces clearly, there was no need or possibility for substantive interactions, contact, or emotional ties with anyone.
However, everything changed the moment I stepped into the art studio.
A man was sitting on a high stool at the front of the studio. His hair was purple, his eyes blue-pink, like rose-colored clouds drifting across a blue sky. I could see his face with perfect clarity. He was beautiful—so beautiful it took my breath away.
Noticing my daze, he hopped down and approached me. “I'm Rafayel, the instructor for this class.”
Rafayel. I shook his hand, savoring the name. It gave out a familiar sensation in my throat.
“It's a beautiful name,” I said, looking up at him.
More students entered the room, filling the already cramped studio to its capacity. Once everyone was there, Rafayel began the lesson. “It’s the first class of this course. We’ll start with charcoal. Char coal is a very flexible medium...”
I couldn't help but stare at him. It had been so long since I'd seen a face this clear—so vivid I felt an urge to reach out and touch it.
“...use blocks of varying shades rather than lines to define contours.” Rafayel picked up a sheet of paper to demonstrate. The rustle of the paper snapped me back to reality.
Rafayel selected a photograph as reference. First, he applied a base layer of color across the entire sheet. “Having a base to work on makes the process easier.” Then he began laying out the building's outline with broad swaths of color. “Start with the overall structure without worrying about details. You could always refine the specifics later.” After finishing his demonstration, Rafayel gathered a stack of black-and-white photos and laid them out one by one on the floor.
“You can start choosing now.”
My eyes immediately landed on a photo of a street. A man and a woman were walking side by side under a large black umbrella, huddled together on a rainy street. Though only their backs were visible, I just knew they were whispering to each other.
This was the first time I'd picked up a paintbrush since high school art class. I felt hesitant and unsure. After staring at the paper for ages, I finally mustered the courage to apply the first stroke. Just then, Rafayel walked over. He leaned in close, his hair gently brushing against my neck. “What do you think is the most crucial element of this photo?”
“The big black umbrella?” I ventured to answer.
Rafayel smiled. “It certainly stands out. But the perspective of the street and the interplay of light and shadow are equally important—especially the contrast.” He pointed to the center of the photograph. “The light is coming from this direction.” Then he gestured toward the street in the photo. “It falls on the people, casting long shadows on the ground. The shadowed areas need to be dark enough for the bright part to show.”
“Thanks.” With that understanding, I buried myself in drawing.
Before I knew it, an hour and a half had passed. From time to time, rafayel had come over to check my progress, occasionally smoothing out patches of color with his finger. As the image gradually took shape, he said to me, “You could try to step back and look at your drawing that way.”
Following his advice, I took a few steps back. Suddenly, everything was right. The black and white patches I'd smeared across the paper formed a meaningful scene. “The contrast between the bright and the dark is beautiful,” said Rafayel. He pulled out his phone to take a photo. “May I share this on social media?”
“Of course.”
As the classmates left, Rafayel waved at me. “See you next week.”
After he said goodbye, I lingered. I just could not move or leave the classroom. I watched him as he packed up the art supplies. The classroom was warm, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Only after finishing did he notice me still standing at the door. “Aren't you leaving?” he asked, slightly puzzled.
“Rafayel, would you like to grab a coffee with me?” I blurted out.
Rafayel glanced at the clock. It pointed to seven. “How about dinner instead?” he suggested.
It was raining outside. Rafayel opened his large black umbrella. He naturally wrapped his arm around my shoulders and I was completely sheltered beneath the umbrella. On this street, we became two patches of color smudged onto the sheet of paper.
“Do you usually enjoy art?” Rafayel asked me.
I thought for a wile—I indeed spent many weekends at exhibitions. “I guess I do. I go to exhibitions whenever I have time. But probably it’s not a good thing.”
Rafayel turned to me and asked, “Why?”
“Because I’ve developed a taste that I can’t afford. ”
Rafayel chuckled. “So that’s why you learn to paint?”
“Yep, that's part of the reason.”
After dinner, Rafayel walked me to my place. Before we parted, I pressed a goodnight kiss to his forehead. His lashes fluttered slightly in the evening breeze. My nose brushed lightly against his. I noticed the faint freckles dotting his cheeks—visible only from this close.
Rafayel turned and walked away, leaving my heart throbbing with pain. But it was okay. I'd see him again next week—the only clear face in my life.
The next week, I was at the art studio again for the second session. In this session, we would be drawing animals. Same with the last time, Rafayel selected a photograph and gave a brief demonstration. “When drawing a face—whether human or animal—proportion is paramount.”
The material we used this session is white crayon and black paper. I chose a picture of the leopard. Its eyes were sharp and piercing, and the entire creature radiated a commanding presence. Following the instructions by Rafayel, I started with some reference points and then, I started tracing the outline of the face. Animal faces and human faces are so similar. I rotated the white crayon, using its edges to add highlights to the leopard's eyes. But why were the animal's faces so clear to me, while human faces, a complete blur?
Rafayel stopped beside me. “You got the proportions right. I especially like the way you drew the eyes. Here, you could use the white crayon to emphasize the whiskers.” He picked up a piece of crayon and drew a sharp and clear whisker. I felt his warmth wrapped around me, and I felt safe.
Perhaps because I haven’t been sleeping well, Rafayel's face looked just slightly different from last time. The color of his eyes and the bright purple hair were pale, and I couldn't see his freckles anymore. Rafayel tapped my forehead. “Why are you staring at me?”
The other students had left at some point, leaving only the two of us in the studio. “Would you like to go out with me for dinner again?” Rafayel asked as he took his coat from the rack.
“I want to eat something you cook.”
“I bought some seafood. Perfect—I'll make it for you.”
Rafayel’s place felt familiar, for no reason. He rolled up his sleeves and began preparing the scallops—my absolute favorites.
Rafayel and I sat facing each other at the table. “I stayed up late yesterday and my eyes are sore.”
Rafayel set down his knife and fork and walked over to my side. He rubbed his hands together to warm them, and gently cupped his palms over my eyes. “Feeling better?” he asked.
I reopened my eyes and blinked hard, but it didn't seem to help. I reached out my hands to touch Rafayel’s face. His skin was smooth as marble, without a single wrinkle. Still no freckles, no wrinkles. I pressed a soft kiss to his lips. They felt cool and dry.
Another week passed, and I was at the studio again. In this class, we were drawing human faces. As usual, Rafayel put the photographs that we would paint on the floor. There were so many photos that they almost filled the entire floor of the room. Every face was the same, dark, featureless. I avoided looking at Rafayel because his face was becoming increasingly blurred. I could no longer convince myself this was merely an illusion caused by fatigue.
I just picked up the photo right next to me and clipped it to the easel. Raising my hand, I asked Rafayel, “Can I just improvise?” He replied, “Of course.”
I took the palette and squeezed out six colors: red, blue, yellow, brown, black, and white. I mixed them with water, and made them as thin as watercolor. I dipped my brush into the watery paint, and then smeared at the canvas. I couldn't stop painting one face after another. Blurred, translucent faces filled the entire canvas, fragile as soap bubbles ready to burst at the slightest touch.
I started crying, though I didn't know why. There were too many things I didn't understand. In the first class, Rafayel’s face had been so clear that I could spot it instantly in a crowd. His skin had been warm and I could see the slightest freckles. But why was his face slowly fading away the more I looked? Like ink drawings soaked in water, the outline would be blurred at first, then they would become dots, and eventually, dissolve completely into the water. Would I be able to stop this process by never seeing him again?
I flipped the paper over, filling the other side with more translucent faces. I didn’t know when my classmates left, or when Rafayel came by my side.
“Why won't you look at me?”
“Because I'm afraid if I look at you one more time, I'll never see you clearly again.” My voice trembled with tears.
Rafayel held my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. I stared at him in despair, but the longer I looked, the more blurred his face became. He trapped me between himself and my canvas, and I couldn't see his facial expressions.
I felt Rafayel’s kiss on my neck, tracing upward to my ear. It felt wet. “When are you going to stop punishing yourself?”
The moment I remembered that day. Beneath the wheels in the rain, Rafayel’s face froze, then shattered before my eyes. They were like a series of shattered plaster faces in an art exhibition Rafayel and I had been to. Some pieces of the face lay tangled in woven vines; others had grown into tree trunks, their surfaces now bark-like. Eternal sorrow was frozen on these faces.
It was from that day on, I could no longer see human faces.
The weight on my body gradually lightened. Rafayel’s outline grew transparent, until it dissolved into the air. All the time, I had been alone in the studio.
I stepped outside. It was raining heavily outside. The rain was hitting hard on every surface under the sky, creating a mist that blurred the entire cityscape. Yet, the faces passing by on the street were strikingly clear.
I could see faces again.