The air hummed with a vibrant energy, a symphony of colors and textures that reflected the city’s artistic pulse. Haven, a whirlwind of youthful energy, navigated the throng of elegantly dressed patrons, her eyes scanning the room for inspiration.
She was a painter, a dreamer, a soul perpetually seeking beauty in the mundane. Tonight, she was attending the opening of a new exhibit, hoping to find a spark of inspiration amidst the curated chaos.
“They are beautiful, aren’t they?” her father whispered behind her. She turned around, smiling. Her father brought her here because he knows how fascinated she is with art.
“They are, Daddy. Thank you so much for bringing me here, I will never forget this day” she said. Still smiling. Her father went to hug her, that made her smile even more.
“Anything for you, my Haven. Anyway, you should roam around. I heard the artist is here” that made her eyes widen. The man who made all of these masterpieces is here???
“Are you sure, Dad? He’s really here?” her father nodded as a response. Her smile widened, just the thought of meeting the artist excites her more than ever.
“But I have to leave, I have an urgent meeting. Can you manage to commute?” she nodded, still happy.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll message you when I’m going home and when I am home” her father smiled and hugged her once more before leaving.
Like what her father said, Haven roam around the area. Carefully examining each piece of art displayed. She was so amazed. The artist is unknown, but sure enough, he’s a he. The only thing that people know about him is his pseudonym.
Indigo Blue
She walked around, hoping to bump onto someone and have them introduce themselves as the artist. She laughed at that thought of her. As if the artist who chose to hide himself through a pseudonym will reveal their identity just because she bumped onto him.
Haven’s eyes drifted to the paintings on the wall, each one a masterpiece of color and emotion. She marveled at the artist’s talent, the way they captured the essence of human experience in every brush stroke. She had no idea who the artist was, but she was captivated by their work.
Later, as the evening drew to a close, Haven found herself standing alone in the gallery, her gaze fixed on a particularly striking painting. It was a portrait of a woman, her eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and longing. Haven felt a strange connection to the woman in the painting, as if she understood her pain and her yearning for something more.
As she stood there, lost in contemplation, a voice broke through her thoughts. “You seem to be drawn to that one,” it said.
Haven turned to see a man standing behind her, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It’s beautiful,” she said, her voice a soft murmur. “The way she captures the woman’s… essence.”
"It’s the artist’s most personal work,” the man said, his voice a low whisper. “It’s a portrait of his wife.”
Haven’s breath caught in her throat. “His wife?” she echoed, her voice filled with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “I didn’t know he was married.”
The man shook his head, a hint of sadness in his eyes. "He’s not anymore,” he said, his voice laced with a hint of melancholy. “She passed away a few years ago.”
Haven felt a pang of sympathy for the artist, for the pain he must have endured. She couldn’t imagine losing someone she loved so deeply.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice sincere. “I didn’t know.”
The man smiled, a hint of gratitude in his eyes. “It’s alright,” he said, his voice gentle. “I mean how would you know? You don’t even know who I am”
Haven lifted up her head, looking straight at the man. Her eyes widened as realization hit her. He is the artist! He is Indigo Blue!
“Oh my god,” she exclaimed. She took two steps backwards, “Oh my god” she repeated again.
The man let out a chuckle, clearly finds her reaction funny. “Don’t freak out, I don’t want them to know who is Indigo Blue”
She forced herself to calm down by looking at the artwork again. Then she nodded and faced him, “your secret is safe with me” she even gave him a thumbs up that made him chuckle again.
“I’m Haven, by the way,” she said, extending a hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Andrzej,” he replied, taking her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you too.”
As they stood there, their hands clasped together, Haven felt a surge of excitement, a sense of purpose that she hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew that their connection was something special. She had found Andrzej, and she was determined to explore the depths of their connection, no matter the cost.
YOU ARE READING
Crimson Tides
Romanceforbidden passion. that's how Andrzej sees his feelings towards Haven all because he's in his late thirties and she is in her early twenties. Haven, on the other hand, is filled with uncertainty not just because of their age gap but because of chang...
