Chapter 1: The Unspoken Stroke
The scent of turpentine and lilies always filled Maya's studio, but today, it felt heavy. Maya stood before a massive canvas, her fingers stained with crimson and gold. She wasn't just painting; she was exhaling the words she couldn't say out loud.
Every stroke of her brush was a memory of Amian.
The way he looked when he was lost in thought, the way his voice softened only when he spoke her name, and the way he always stood exactly three steps behind her—close enough to protect, yet far enough to remain a mystery.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Maya didn't need to look back to know who it was. The air in the room shifted, becoming calm and grounded.
"You're still awake," Amian's voice drifted through the silence, deep and steady.
Maya froze, her brush hovering over the canvas. "The colors weren't sitting right," she lied, her heart racing.
Amian walked closer, stopping just behind her. He looked at the swirling patterns of gold on the canvas—the hidden map of Maya's heart. He reached out as if to touch the wet paint but pulled his hand back at the last second.
"It's beautiful, Maya," he whispered. "But why does it feel like you're hiding something behind these colors?"
Maya turned around, her eyes meeting his intense gaze. For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them. She wanted to tell him that he was the hidden canvas, the secret masterpiece she was too afraid to finish.
"Some things are better left hidden, Amian," she replied softly, her voice trembling.
Amian stepped closer, the distance between them vanishing. "Not from me, Maya. Never from me."