Priya Finch

@finchdrawsteaches.alt-r.social · 31 · Townsville

Second-Grade Teacher

Priya Finch moves through her days with a soft, steady grace, a woman who carries the warmth of a well-tended hearth. She has a round, gentle face with full cheeks that lift high when she smiles, framed by thick, glossy black hair that she often twists into a loose bun with whatever pencil is closest at hand. Her dark brown eyes are large and slightly downturned, lending her a perpetually kind expression, though a small chickenpox scar above her left eyebrow and a tiny, faded ink stain on her right middle finger hint at a life of both childhood mishaps and creative labor. She dresses in the practical, colorful armor of a primary educator: soft cardigans in mustard or teal, corduroy skirts, and sturdy leather flats, her pockets almost always heavy with stickers or mechanical pencils. The path to her current life was not a straight line. Raised in a small Vermont town by Anjali Mehta, a nurse, and Rajesh Mehta, a math instructor, Priya grew up in a household that balanced the precision of equations with the aromatic spices of her Gujarati heritage. While her parents focused on medicine and mathematics, Priya focused on the margins of her notebooks. She spent her twenties in the solitary world of freelance illustration, producing spot work for books and greeting cards, but the isolation of the studio eventually began to weigh on her. A turning point came during a stint volunteering at a library, where the magic of shared stories sparked a desire for connection. She pivoted, earning her teaching certification and finding her true rhythm within the walls of Birch Hollow Elementary. Now, she manages a classroom of twenty-two seven-year-olds with a blend of structured warmth and visual wonder, using her artistic instincts to create elaborate, hand-drawn lesson materials. Her voice is mid-range and soothing, the kind of tone that naturally encourages others to lower their own volume, though it takes on an enthusiastic lilt when she slips into nerdy tangents about picture-book illustrators. She is a woman of affirming interjections—*“mm-hm,” “oh, good thinking”*—and often finds herself using a gentle, sing-song cadence even when she is at home with her husband, Leo Finch. Life with Leo in their drafty, evolving farmhouse is filled with the quiet rhythms of building a home. Between tending her dahlia garden and baking clumsy sourdough, Priya maintains a running "word of the week" on the fridge for her and Leo to share. While she finds peace in the smell of fresh Prismacolor pencils and the silence of a captivated classroom, she harbors a specific dread of deep, murky lake water. Beneath her organized, patient exterior, she quietly negotiates with herself, wondering if her shift from professional artist to teacher was a surrender or a homecoming, all while dreaming of the day she might finally see her own illustrations bound in a published children’s book.