I didn’t acknowledge him, though. My focus was somewhere else, a movement in my peripheral vision. Quite subtle, yet enough to capture my attention.
My eyes flickered to the park bench nestled below a twin lamppost just outside the building.
And there she was. The girl from earlier. The two loose strands of her red hair that was styled into twin braids, framed her face. The wind tugged at the strands, letting them dance around her face before settling again.
She was hunched over something on her lap–a tablet, perhaps. And she looked absorbed, unaware of the world around her.
I should keep walking. I should slide into my car and leave. But I didn’t. I stood there and watched. And before I could restrain myself, my feet were heading in her direction.
Each step toward her was a mistake. I had no business approaching her. No business wanting to talk to her again because earlier, it had felt incredible.
And when the realisation that I was about to do the unthinkable dawned on me, it was too late. She already sensed a presence.
Her head snapped up, alert. Her green eyes met my amber ones, wide as if startled. But it only lasted for a second as the tension eased almost immediately, her lips curling into a warm smile.
“Oh, hey,” she said.
I hesitated, my throat dry. “Hey.”
“I didn’t know you were still in there.” Her voice was beautiful, soft, like a gentle kiss. Something about it clawed at me, as if reaching invisible hands into my soul, stirring up the very essence of me.
“I stepped out to make some calls,” I replied. “I ended up staying for long.”
She nodded, then gestured to the space beside her for invitation. But I didn’t sit. I shouldn’t. Instead, my eyes dropped to the tablet resting on her lap.
It was a digital canvas. A work in progress. She loved to draw, perhaps. Just like me. Maybe a different technique, a differentstyle. But she drew, nonetheless. And I used to draw too. For some reason, it gave me a feeling of satisfaction. There was something we had in common.
She followed my gaze, then let out a breathy laugh. “Oh, I um, I like to paint.” A barely perceptible dent appeared on her left cheek, a subtle tint of red touching the curve of her neck.
Why was she turning red? That meant she was flushed, right? Embarrassed. But why would she be embarrassed?
“I’m currently working on a client’s commission.” Stylus latched between her fingers, she pinched the screen, zooming in and out, her lips in a pout. “It’s not looking so good. There’s a wrongness but I can’t seem to name it.”
I didn’t answer. And she kept staring at the artwork, still zooming in and out. I knew what the problem was. But if I said it, would it be offensive? Would that be invasive or just me being perceptive?
“I mean, the shading looks fine, right?” It seemed like a rhetorical question. She wasn’t looking at me when she asked. So I shouldn’t answer, right?
“The proportions are right also,” she continued. “I just don’t know why it’s not coming alive.”
I really felt like she needed my opinion. But then again, I wasn’t sure. I hardly interacted with people. When I addressed my soldiers, it was always my opinion that mattered. No one questioned me. No one would tell me I was wrong.
But she wasn’t a soldier. Just a girl. A girl who was really pretty. A girl whose emotions I didn’t want to hurt.
“Any idea?” She finally looked at me. And God her eyes. They always seemed to hit me like strings of silver bullets. But instead of raw, unadulterated pain, it was euphoria, like liquid gold flooding through my veins, burning in equal measure, too bright, too intoxicating to be anything but wrong.
“You got the anatomy right.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. “The details, the colors, the balance. But the eyes don’t connect. There’s no focus.”
“Really?” Her eyes widened in…shock? Surprise? Disbelief at my sheer audacity to question her creativity? I really had no clue.
“It just…looks like you didn’t paint what they are thinking.” I dared to add as her gaze returned to her tablet, fingers pinching the screen, zooming in until the eyes covered the entire screen.
“Wow,” she whispered under her breath. “Wow.”
Then she looked back at me. “You know what? You might be correct.”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t even breathe when those eyes looked at me like that, shining like that.
“Thank you,” she beamed.
