His name was Nathaniel

35

Over the years, Nathaniel often found himself sitting at the edge of his bed, staring at the phone that rested on his nightstand. The piece of paper with Adaliya's number, slightly crumpled and faded from being carried around for so long, lay underneath it. Each time he thought about calling her, his heart would race, and he would find himself frozen with indecision.

What would he even say? How could he explain everything—why he left, why he never came back? A thousand apologies wouldn't be enough. Each time he considered dialing her number, the same fear paralyzed him: what if she had moved on? What if she was happier without him? His silence was safer—for both of them. Or so he convinced himself.

Still, not a day passed that he didn't think about her. In the quiet moments, when the world wasn't demanding anything from him, his mind would wander back to those summer days. Her smile, her laughter, the way she had believed in him when no one else did, stayed fresh in his memory. Even after all these years, she remained a part of him, no matter how much he tried to bury it.

But there was something else that followed him too—a shadow that constantly lingered over his life: his health. After the traumatic events of his youth, Nathaniel's body had never fully recovered. His heart had weakened, and though the doctors had done everything they could to strengthen it, there was always a risk. Regular checkups, endless tests, and strict monitoring had become a part of his routine. Every few months, he would find himself sitting in a cold, sterile clinic, waiting for test results that could change everything.

His family, especially his grandfather, watched over him with protective concern. His father had distanced himself even more after the custody agreement, and though they saw each other on holidays, their conversations were mostly formal and devoid of any real connection. It was his maternal grandparents and Aunt Lydia who filled his life with warmth, a stark contrast to the cold world his father had raised him in.

One evening, Nathaniel's grandfather, a wise businessman with decades of experience, invited him to attend an art gallery showcasing the works of young, up-and-coming artists. His grandfather had always been supportive of the arts, believing in nurturing creativity and talent, even if it didn't align with their family's business empire. Nathaniel agreed, though his mind wasn't particularly focused on the event. He had been feeling restless lately, the weight of his unresolved feelings for Adaliya pulling at him more and more.

The gallery was elegant, full of carefully curated pieces from students who had poured their passion and imagination into their work. As Nathaniel and his grandfather walked through the hall, they passed sculptures, abstract paintings, and multimedia installations. But it wasn't until they reached a corner of the gallery that something stopped him in his tracks.

There, hanging on the wall, was a painting that took his breath away.

The figures were familiar—two people standing on a shoreline, their hands reaching out for each other but never quite touching. The background was soft, a wash of pastels blending together like a dream, and the faces, though not detailed, were unmistakable to him. It was a depiction of love that had once felt infinite but had slipped through his fingers.

Nathaniel stood frozen, staring at the painting as his heart raced in recognition. There was something hauntingly familiar about it, something that pulled at the deepest parts of him. But it wasn't until the tour guide began to speak that everything clicked.

"This piece, titled Young Love, was created by one of our most promising students, A.A. Davis. It's a representation of love that never quite connected, of two souls reaching for each other but never meeting in the middle. A.A. poured her personal experience into this work, and it's one of the most emotionally resonant pieces in the gallery tonight."

A.A. Davis. Nathaniel's brow furrowed. The name was unfamiliar at first, but something about the initials tugged at him. The painting, the emotion it conveyed—it felt like his own story. Their story.

"Is there any way I can get more information about the artist?" Nathaniel asked, his voice betraying his urgency. "I'd like to... speak with her."

The guide hesitated, clearly torn. "I'm afraid I can't give out personal information, sir. Privacy rules, you understand. However... if you're interested in purchasing the piece, we can reach out to the artist on your behalf to facilitate the sale."

Without hesitation, Nathaniel nodded. "I'll buy it."

His grandfather, who had been quietly observing the exchange, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. The art piece was clearly more than just a painting to Nathaniel, and he respected his grandson's decision. It wasn't about the money, after all—it was about the connection.

As Nathaniel signed the necessary papers and arranged for the purchase, his heart raced with the possibility. Could it really be her? Could A.A. Davis actually be Adaliya, using her initials to protect her identity? The painting, the emotion behind it—it all pointed to one person.

And now, for the first time in years, he had a chance to find her again.