My Mr. Artist

Chapter 6

Kiyah

Six Years Ago

Since I was young, I was always more attracted to art than outdoor sports or even studies. As I grew older, I found myself looking at paintings and sculptures by famous artists around the world rather than crushing over Bollywood actors. I loved searching for the meaning behind the art.

So, here I was, staring at a painting by one of my favorite artists, Steven, exhibited in my city at a grand exhibition. The entry ticket was quite expensive, though it was a fair deal to see this beautiful painting, Darkness, without any screen in between. Steven was an apprentice of the worldwide famous painter Mr. George, who resided in the USA. I had assumed Steven was a foreigner, but two years ago, the media revealed that he was Indian and had recently settled back in India. I had been trying for two years to save enough money to buy a ticket for his exhibition. This was his third time showcasing his work in India, though it was always just a single painting. He was more famous abroad than in India.

Darkness was really different from his other works, but for me, it felt like his most raw piece. It depicted that feeling of needing someone to save us.

A shadow of a man—alone, maybe lonely—was surrounded by darkness, with shadows even darker than the rest, like obstacles all over the lower levels. But in the top corner, a beautiful light of golden hues emerged, slowly moving toward him. Tiny star-like white splashes dotted the upper half, contrasting the desolate night below.

"This art looks so depressing! What made you stare at it for more than half an hour?" a voice asked from beside me.

I turned to see a very attractive man, maybe in his mid-twenties. He wore a white oversized shirt with loose jeans, his hair falling in a cute messy style just past his neck. Sharp jawline, straight long nose, and honey-brown eyes now staring at the painting.

Okay, stop drooling, Ki! I scolded myself, refocusing on his question. I was a little displeased with his tone.

"Why do you say it's depressing?" I asked, raising my eyebrows slightly.

"I don't know... looking at it makes me feel uncomfortable. Don't you feel the same?" He chuckled and shrugged, unsure of what to say.

"It's not depressing for me. I love it. I don't see darkness; I see the beautiful stars that can only be seen in darkness. Just as sunlight is part of us, we should also accept the dark. To me, it's his rawest work because it shows how humans need someone to bring them out of darkness or accompany them until sunrise. It's silent and quiet, forcing you to focus on yourself."

As I defended the art piece and my favorite artist, I missed the way he was looking at me. "It gives the illusion that, in the depths of our mind, we are all alone, surrounded by darkness—but still with that light of hope."

"Surrounded by darkness, but still with that light of hope," he repeated, his eyes now intensely focused on the painting as if seeing it for the first time.

"STEVEN!" A yell came from behind. Wait—Steven? I turned to see a man approaching.

"Steven, the sponsors are waiting fo—" He stopped mid-sentence as he saw me. His gaze lingered on us, trying to understand something. "Yes, I'm coming," Steven said, giving me one last look before walking away.

"Wait!" I blurted anxiously, not wanting to miss my chance.

"Are you Steven? The one who painted this? Mr. George's student?" I asked.

He looked surprised that I knew him. I was equally surprised to see the artist whose work I adored, and he was young and incredibly good-looking.

"Yes, I am Steven," he nodded, a small, tight smile on his face. My own smile was full-on display. He looked at my lips, then into my eyes.