Chapter 3

She realized she had nothing to cook at home after checking the freezer, so she had to buy instant soup from a shop near her apartment. "I'm sorry. I forgot that I don't usually eat at home," she said, awkwardly smiling, standing with her back facing the counter, beside him in the kitchen.

"It's okay," he stated, almost like a whisper, stirring the pot. The atmosphere between them was quiet and calm, a calmness that didn't seem like awkwardness but rather serenity.

"But you shouldn't eat out that much," he stuttered, his eyes focused on the dark soup, his demeanor cozy but shy. "Are you worried about me?" she joked, watching him flutter his eyes and tighten his grip on the spoon.

"Yes," he whispered out of nowhere, leaving her astonished and creating a warm atmosphere between them in the dim lights.

"Hmm." Perplexed, she changed the topic, asking, "Have you decided what to paint yet?"

"Yes," he replied simply, pouring the soup into bowls with steady hands, being careful. "What is it?" she asked again.

"I can't explain it," he stated, placing the bowls on the tray along with glasses of water to be carried to her room. She followed him slowly, watching his back move with care. "Why don't you bring your painting here tomorrow?"

Suddenly, he stopped before the door, his eyes fixed on it. He wasn't expecting to be invited again. He thought it would be a one day thing. "What?" She questioned. "The door." He directed with his eyes, bewildered with excitement in his heart.

She quickly noticed and apologized, unlocking the door to allow him entry. He walked in carefully, placing the tray in the middle of the bed, and turned around to offer her the soup. His eyes suddenly caught something huge behind her – a big shelf.

His gaze traveled from the coins to the painting after a brief look at everything, admiring the beauty of every piece on the shelf. "You seem to like it," she whispered, standing beside him, observing his astonished expression.

"You collect?" he asked, making her step towards a painting of a Calla Lily, positioned at her eye level. "Yeah. I love to collect and preserve beauty."

"Preserve beauty?" he inquired, watching her stare at the painting passionately, as if she were in love. "Some things are not for everyone. They are made for only one pair of eyes. So, I give them that honor."

"But art and beautiful things are for everyone," he stated, walking to stand beside her, his eyes shifting between the painting and her eyes, filled with something more than just love. He was mistaken to think she looked at the painting with love because what he saw in her eyes was not love.

"If you let everyone have a look at something beautiful, it won't remain as special as it should be. They would tarnish it with their dark eyes. Don't you think?" She turned around and looked into his eyes, leaving him unsettled.

"So, don't tell anyone. Apart from Prisha, now only you know about this," she added, sending chills down his spine. "Okay, I will not," he stuttered, nodding along with it, watching her sit on the bed.

With a change in expression, she invited him to sit at the foot of the bed. Nervously, he followed her and sat, facing her as she advised him to quickly have the soup before it cooled down.

"You know this is my first time having an instant pack of soup," she admitted, blowing on the hot spoon of soup while he stirred his bowl absently. "Do you usually have this?" she asked.

"Yes, sometimes when I'm tired and need something to warm up," he explained, his eyes wandering everywhere but her face. "Do you live alone as well?" she questioned.

"Yes," he replied quickly, biting his tongue at the hotness of the soup. Hastily, she placed her bowl on the tray and reached over to his face, cupping his cheeks. "Are you okay?" she asked, worriedly examining his flushed face.

"Um – Yes," he stuttered and pulled his face away from her touch, trembling. "Be careful," she warned again, handing him a glass of water.

"I wanted to ask, how can I help you?" he asked, shifting her focus from his burnt tongue. "Hmm," he had asked a simple question to which she had no answer. But she simply wished to paint him on her canvas, thinking that painting him might spark an idea.

After warming up a bit from the hot soup, they were both ready to paint, and their painting sessions together became a regular occurrence from that day.

The painting of him on her canvas slowly took shape as the days passed, with both of them sitting in the warm environment of her room.

With each passing day, their bond grew stronger. A mix of comfort and tension developed between them. She found herself spending more time with him, engaging in conversations. The atmosphere in the room became warmer and cozier, leaving no room for escape.

He would often catch her eyes on him, burning with intensity. She, too, noticed him stealing glances. It was a push and pull between them. A peculiar connection.

On the second day, she discovered that he was painting two identical-looking guys – one lying on the bed, covering his face with his left hand while his right hand was under his pants.

The other boy was standing right in front of the bed, eating an apple as his eyes peered at the large glass window, observing the ghost-like figures outside.

He had already painted the boy on the bed, and the rest was yet to come, but it already looked like a masterpiece. She praised him multiple times, admiring how wonderfully it was painted and admired him more when he flushed to her words.

Sitting in chairs facing each other and their canvases, he was painting the same painting, completely immersed in his work. She, however, couldn't focus on her painting at all.

It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining brightly on their faces. They didn't have to attend college, so she had called him to come and spend yet another day with her. And like a puppy, he did come.

She was staring at him, his face gleaming in the sunlight. As her eyes traveled over his skin, his eyes, looking at the painting with a lover's gaze, her fingers suddenly froze with the paintbrush in her fingers

"He is so passionate about painting. I wonder if he will ever look at me like that." her brain uttered something unexpected, and made the brush slip from her hand.

"Are you okay?" he questioned at her disturbance, watching her wear a troubled expression. "What?" He quickly rushed to her side, concerned about her emotions, and found an unsatisfactory stroke on his cheek on the paper.

"Oh, I can fix this." Before she could ask for his assistance, he leaned down, getting closer to her face, and began correcting the painting with intense focus and passion, leaving her speechless at their proximity.

His cheek was merely an inch away from hers, his Lily-like scent clouding her senses. The soft breaths that brushed her ear suddenly transformed into his moans echoing in her mind, making her body stiff, her hands trembling, her skin sweaty, and her heart racing.

"It's done," he announced, making her shift her gaze from his face back to the canvas. "Thanks," she said, although she could have corrected it herself.

The atmosphere between them had changed again, with more tension than calmness, as he sat back, admiring his painting.

"I wanted to ask you something," he stuttered, his fluttering eyes meeting hers, surprising her once more. "What is it?" She questioned, trying to steady her breaths.

"Umm," he hesitated, looking around before finding the courage to ask, "What excites you about me?" He wished to ask the question for so many days, but could not. Thus, it took him courage of a warrior to ask.

She met his question with silence, then abruptly left the room, leaving him in a whirl of confusion. Self-doubt crept in as he wondered if he had said something wrong, questioning his choice of words.

I shouldn't have asked! He cursed himself in his mind, trembling in his seat, waiting impatiently for her to return.

"I'm--I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--" He stated as soon as he saw her enter the room with something in her hand. He could not notice what it was as he was so busy reading her emotions on her face.

She serenely walked over and stood behind him, covering his eyes with her left palm. "Don't apologize," she whispered. "If you want to know what excites me about you, you have to listen to me. Because I want to know something as well." Leaning closer to his ear, she instructed, "Open your mouth."

Without hesitation, as if entranced, he obeyed and felt something being placed on his tongue. "Eat it," she said. Confusion engulfed him as he couldn't identify what was in his mouth, but he chewed it nonetheless. As his teeth crushed it, realization dawned upon him.

Swiftly, he stood up and hurried to the washroom, locking himself inside. A triumphant smile spread across her face, her suspicions turning into certainty.

She walked slowly to the washroom and stood by the door, waiting for his response. Within a matter of minutes, he was heard whimpering and muffling sounds, followed by the sound of his length, self-induced pleasure filling the air.

She patiently waited for him to finish, listening to his moans until he finally stopped. She rushed to the noise of the water and sat on her bed, awaiting his emergence.

*****

END OF THE CHAPTER

----- Get the early access of every chapter on Patreon -----

You can stalk me here: https://twitter.com/Queenbee__33

You can Support my work here: https://www.patreon.com/Queenbeewrites

----Love, author! ❤️