These days, Alena was healing little by little. She found herself drawn to the garden, spending hours simply observing nature. The birds chirping on the branches, the leaves swaying softly with the breeze as if anchoring each other, the blooming flowers kissed by bees, and butterflies flying in the air, it all felt like a miracle to her. She often caught herself smiling unknowingly, a small warmth blooming in her chest.
She had never experienced such simple beauty in the last ten years. Those years she had spent in a filthy building, spreading her legs for strangers. The only times she stepped outside were to visit the hospital when she was too sick or to be sent to private parties where rich men demanded girls. Apart from that, she had never been allowed to witness a life like this. This is not only her story; this was the story of all the girls and women who were forced into it against their will.
Today, she was dressed in cotton pants, a soft shirt, and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to shield her from the cold breeze. She had never been covered this much in her entire adult life. Back then, all she was given were two pairs of miniskirts, lace bras, and thin see-through shirts. Because they were never allowed to fully cover themselves. Always forced to expose, always forced to objectify themselves.
Alena closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. The freshness of the air took her back to her childhood days when she was young, living with her parents, in a small house which had a small balcony where her mother maintained a small garden. She remembered running after butterflies, trying to catch them while they perched on flowers. The memory crashed back to her mind with a bittersweet ache in her heart, and a single tear slipped down her cheek. She quickly wiped it, smiling faintly at the butterflies fluttering around her.
As she was walking around, she picked up a small stick from the ground and began sketching butterflies on the soil. She was so immersed in her little drawings that she didn't notice Kieran standing at a distance, watching her.
He had come to talk to her, but seeing her smiling, alive, and at peace made him pause. For the first time in weeks, she looked relaxed. A soft, almost foreign smile spread on his lips. His chest tightened with an unfamiliar warmth as he watched her.
He chuckled and turned back, walking down the hallway.
"Aiden," he called.
Aiden came to him, almost running. "Yes, boss?"
Kieran's smile lingered, confusing Aiden. "Buy some painting supplies. Canvas, brushes, sketchbooks, everything."
Aiden frowned. "Painting supplies? Why, boss?"
"Do as I say," Kieran replied, his tone firm but light. "And put them in Alena's room. Make sure she has everything she needs."
Aiden blinked but nodded. "Yes, boss." As Kieran walked away, Aiden thought to himself, What is he planning now?
Later that day, Alena returned to her room, feeling light and calmer than usual. But as she stepped inside her room, she froze.
"What… what is this?"
A pile of art supplies was kept neatly arranged in her room, with a canvas standing tall in the corner. She slowly walked up to it, touching the brushes, the vibrant paints, the clean sketchbooks. Her lips curved into the faintest smile. She didn't need anyone to tell her who had done this.
"Idiot," she muttered softly, though her heart thudded strangely in her chest.
Her fingers itched as she picked up the brushes, a strange urge to paint something kicked in, but as she stared at the blank canvas, her hand stilled. What could she draw? How could she even start? Suddenly, her heart raced. Something inside her chest ached. Something she had hidden for years, an untold pain, suffering. Her breath quickened, her eyes burned. She shut her eyes to force it all back down, but it refused to be silenced.
When she opened her eyes again, her gaze was wild. Tears welled in her eyes as she pressed paint onto the canvas. Her hands moved fast, messy, imperfect. She didn't care about beauty or skill. She poured all her pain, her anger, her scars, all the emotions that were overflowing from her onto the canvas. Colors clashed and bled, her tears dripping down as she painted harder and harder.
Her breathing was uneven, and her dress was streaked with paint, her hands trembling with emotion.
Kieran, who had quietly entered the room, stood frozen at the door. He watched her emotions spilling over, his chest aching as he saw the storm of emotions spilling from her. He said nothing. He didn't stop her. He simply stood, letting her release everything she had buried. His eyes welled up unknowingly to see her like that; he didn't know why his heart was aching strangely, why he could feel her pain. He doesn't know, but he was feeling.
Finally, Alena collapsed onto the floor, sobbing, her hands stained with paint. Kieran rushed forward, crouching beside her. Without a word, he pulled her into his arms. She clung to him desperately, burying her face in his chest as she cried harder than ever before.
He rubbed her back gently, comforting her. He didn't say a single word, just letting her throw all the pain she had endured for years, just letting her cry until the storm passed. His own eyes welled up with tears, but he held her gently.
After a long while, when her sobs softened into shaky breaths, he finally spoke. "Are you okay?"
She didn't answer.
He kissed the crown of her head. Still rubbing her back gently. He said softly, "Alena."
Still no response. He carefully lifted her chin so she had to look at him. Her eyes were swollen, red, her nose pink, fresh tears clinging to her lashes. His heart squeezed painfully at the sight. He leaned down and kissed her forehead gently.
"That's okay," he whispered. "I've got you."
Her lips trembled. "I… I couldn't control it. I couldn't hold it anymore. It all came out at once."
"That's okay," he reassured, his smile soft. "You don't have to keep it in. You don't deserve to carry it. Let it go, Alena. Let it all go."
She looked at him, overwhelmed. She lifted her painted hands to wipe her tears, but he stopped her. With a small smile, he wiped them himself.
"Your hands are full of colors. If you touch your face now, you'll turn into a canvas," he teased gently.
A small, teary chuckle escaped her lips.
Kieran smiled. Then she noticed his shirt. It was messed with bright colors where she had clung to him. She said, instantly feeling guilty. "Oh no, I ruined your shirt."
He glanced down, then back at her. "Never mind," he said with a small grin.
"But—"
"Don't worry, this is a kind of artwork done by you, look at it, how beautifully your hands printed on it."
She smiled while sniffling, "Don't be cheesy."
"I'm not," he replied lightly. "It's true, if I present it in a museum, it will get sold in millions in the name of modern art."
"Whatever," she muttered, but her lips curved faintly.
"You brought these, didn't you?" she asked, glancing at the paints.
"Yes," he admitted without hesitation.
Her brows narrowed. "Why?"
"Why not?" He leaned closer, his voice soft. "See if I hadn't done that, I would have missed these masterpieces created by you."
She narrowed her eyes and said, "Are you making fun of me?"
He laughed, "Of course not."
She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. "Don't underestimate me. When I was young, I used to paint really well."
Kieran's smile deepened. "Then why not start again?"
Her heart raced at his words.
"Yes, Alena," he continued softly. "Do what you want. Explore. Find your passion. Start a new journey towards a meaningful one."
She sat frozen, overwhelmed by the thought. He noticed her silence, reached out, and squeezed her shoulders gently.
"Don't be afraid. Don't feel pressured. Start small. Slowly. One step at a time. I'll help you. I'll be there for you."
His words were so simple, yet they wrapped around her heart like warmth. For the first time, she felt something inside her shift like hope was daring to bloom...
"I'm nervous," she admitted in a whisper.
"Don't be," he said softly. "I'm here."
She smiled. And so he did. Then he said, "Well, I came here to check on you and ended up being your canvas. Let me get changed quickly, and you will have your dinner and medicine on time. Then explore your passion, okay?"
She nodded with a smile and mumbled Sorry again for ruining his shirt. He smiled and ruffled her hair gently before getting up and leaving the room.
She sat there, looking at her hands. She smiled. Something new, something fragile yet beautiful, was blooming in her heart. She looked up at the canvas, stood up, picked up the brush again, and began to paint all over again, filling the messed-up canvas with beautiful colours that brought light, turning it into something beautiful. Her pain was still there, yet there was new hope that felt stronger than the pain she had.