Chapter 13 : Colors of Us

Morning arrived with the scent of earth still damp from last night's rain. Sunlight spilled through the window, golden and soft, casting long shadows across the wooden floor. She sat by the open window, her canvas propped in front of her, a brush poised between her fingers.

I watched her in silence, captivated by the way she moved delicate yet certain, each stroke of paint shaping something unseen but deeply felt. Strands of hair fell loose around her face, kissed by the light, and for a moment, I wondered if she knew just how effortlessly beautiful she was.

"What are you painting?" I finally asked, my voice quiet, as if afraid to disturb the spell she was weaving.

She didn't look away, her eyes focused, lost in the rhythm of color. "You," she murmured.

Something stirred in my chest, an ache so sweet it almost hurt. I stepped closer, drawn by the quiet intimacy of the moment. Over her shoulder, I saw it the outline of a figure standing beneath a sky of blended hues, the edges softened, dreamlike, as if caught between reality and memory.

"It doesn't look exactly like you," she admitted, dipping her brush into the blue, "but it's how I see you."

I swallowed, my throat tight. "And how do you see me?"

She paused, then turned to me, her gaze steady. "Like the sky after a storm calm, endless… full of something I don't have words for."

I had no answer, only the weight of her words settling deep inside me. So instead, I reached out, gently wiping a stray smudge of blue from her cheek. She laughed softly, and just like that, the world felt lighter.

She went back to painting, and I stayed beside her, watching as she poured pieces of me onto the canvas, shaping me with color, with light, with something more profound than I could ever put into words.