Aiko’s Painting (104)

The afternoon sun poured through Aiko's bedroom window, casting a golden glow over the room. Brushes, paint tubes, and sketchbooks were scattered across her wooden desk, a familiar sight that signaled the start of something new. The scent of fresh paint filled the air as she dipped her brush into a gentle shade of blue, her mind swirling with emotions.

Aiko sat in front of a blank canvas, her heart pounding with anticipation. This painting would be different. It wasn't just another landscape or abstract piece—this one carried something deeper, something she had never put onto a canvas before.

Love.

Her love for Haruto.

Ever since they had secretly started dating, her world had been painted in new shades. The quiet moments they shared, the stolen glances, the way their hands fit perfectly together—it all felt like something out of a dream. And now, she wanted to capture that feeling in a way only she could.

She closed her eyes, letting memories flood her mind. Their first date at the small café, where Haruto nervously stirred his coffee while she tried not to giggle. The night of the meteor shower, when their hands met for the first time beneath a sky filled with falling stars. The way he whispered her name, soft and warm, like a melody meant only for her.

A soft smile curled her lips as she pressed her brush against the canvas, the first stroke blooming into a deep twilight blue. She wanted the background to resemble the night sky—the place where so many of their moments had unfolded. As she worked, she blended in lighter shades, creating a gradient of purples and soft blues, giving it the feeling of dusk settling over the world.

Then came the stars.

She dipped a smaller brush into white paint and carefully flicked tiny specks across the canvas. Some were bright and bold, others faint, fading into the deep hues of the sky. It reminded her of the night when Haruto had pointed out the constellations, tracing them in the air with his finger.

As she continued painting, a thought struck her—what should be at the center?

Aiko paused, tapping the end of her brush against her chin. The background was beautiful, but something was missing. It needed a focal point. Something to truly represent their love.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she lifted the brush again, this time sketching the outline of two figures. A boy and a girl, standing together beneath the endless sky. She shaped them carefully—Haruto's slightly messy hair, the gentle curve of his shoulders. Then herself, standing beside him, her hand slipping into his just like that night under the stars.

As she painted, her heart ached in the best way possible.

This was love.

The warmth of being by his side. The comfort of knowing he was there, even in silence. The way he made her feel seen, cherished, understood.

Hours passed without her realizing. The world outside grew darker, the sun dipping beyond the horizon. Aiko barely noticed—she was lost in the colors, in the emotions spilling onto the canvas.

Finally, as she stepped back to admire her work, she felt a lump form in her throat.

It was perfect.

The painting wasn't just an image—it was a story. Their story.

A soft knock at her door startled her from her trance.

"Aiko?"

Her heart skipped. She quickly wiped her hands on a rag before rushing to open the door.

Haruto stood there, dressed in his usual casual hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly tousled from the evening breeze. He smiled. "Mei said you were painting all afternoon. I wanted to see what you were working on."

Aiko hesitated for a moment before stepping aside, letting him in.

Haruto's eyes immediately landed on the canvas. He took a step closer, his gaze softening as he took in every detail. The sky, the stars, the two figures standing together—him and Aiko.

For a moment, he didn't say anything.

Then, without looking away, he murmured, "It's beautiful."

Aiko swallowed. "It's us."

Haruto finally turned to her, his expression unreadable. Then, he took a small step forward, closing the space between them.

"You painted us under the stars," he said softly. "Like that night."

Aiko nodded, suddenly nervous. "I… I wanted to capture how it felt."

Haruto's gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he smiled, reaching out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You did," he whispered.

Aiko's cheeks warmed. She hadn't expected his reaction to be so tender.

Haruto looked back at the painting once more, as if memorizing every detail. Then, with a quiet chuckle, he said, "I wish I could paint like this. But if I tried, it would probably end up looking like two blobs under the sky."

Aiko laughed, the tension breaking. "That's fine. I can paint for both of us."

Haruto nodded. "And I'll keep making memories for you to paint."

Aiko's heart swelled.

In that moment, she realized something—this painting wasn't just a reflection of their love. It was a promise. A reminder that their story was still unfolding, one brushstroke at a time.

And she couldn't wait to see what came next.