Chapter 35: Unseen Strokes

The morning air carried the scent of fresh earth and the lingering chill of dawn as we stepped outside, hand in hand. The town was just beginning to stir shopkeepers pulling up shutters, the distant clatter of carts rolling over uneven streets, the hum of voices weaving through the crisp air.

You walked beside me, your fingers occasionally tightening around mine, a quiet excitement glimmering in your eyes. I could feel it the anticipation of something unspoken.

We wandered through the narrow streets, past old bookstores and quiet cafés, until we reached the art supply store nestled between two ivy-covered buildings. The moment we stepped inside, your world shifted.

Your eyes traced over shelves filled with paints in every shade imaginable, charcoal sticks neatly stacked beside rows of sketchbooks, brushes lined up like silent instruments waiting to be played. You moved through the space like it was a second home, fingers ghosting over the textures, the colors, the endless possibilities.

I watched you, fascinated not just by your love for art but by the way it became an extension of you, a language only you could speak.

"This one," you finally said, lifting a wooden box filled with graphite pencils, blending tools, and pastels. "And this." You grabbed a thick sketchbook, running your palm over its smooth cover.

I didn't ask what you planned to create. I just nodded, letting you take your time, knowing that whatever it was, it would come from the depths of you.

Once we had everything, we walked back, the day unfolding in quiet simplicity. The garden greeted us with its familiar scent of roses and earth, the wooden house standing like a silent witness to our moments.

As soon as we stepped inside, you disappeared into the studio, shutting the door behind you. I almost asked what you were up to, but there was something about the way you moved focused, intent that made me stay silent.

Hours passed. I read for a while, let the afternoon stretch lazily around me, but the thought of you behind that door lingered in the back of my mind.

Then, just as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, you appeared, eyes glowing with excitement.

"Close your eyes," you murmured.

I raised an eyebrow but obeyed.

There was a soft rustling, the sound of paper being placed in front of me, and then you "Open them."

I did.

And there it was a sketch, delicate yet full of depth. Me and you.

You had captured something beyond just our faces. The strokes were soft, blending into each other like we weren't just two people but two souls intertwined. The way you had drawn us my hand slightly reaching toward yours, your gaze turned toward me spoke of something deeper, something unspoken yet understood.

I didn't have words.

"You didn't even know I was drawing," you teased, your voice light but your eyes searching mine for a reaction.

I looked at you, then back at the sketch, my fingers running lightly over the edges. "It's beautiful," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You always see me in a way I don't even see myself."

You smiled, tilting your head. "Maybe that's what love is seeing the parts of someone they don't always notice."

I exhaled, feeling something settle deep within me.

I had always loved your art. But this was different. Because in this sketch, in the quiet strokes and careful details, you had left a piece of yourself. A piece of us.

And I knew I would keep it forever.