The painter's brush

Never be Alone

**Alex's POV**

We were now in the car, Max driving us to a destination he kept secret. I didn’t mind, though; wherever it was, I knew it would be safe because I was with him.

As the cityscape blurred past the windows, I couldn’t help but let my eyes wander to Max’s face. He was so focused, his expression calm and steady. A part of me feared that if I looked away, he might disappear, leaving me alone once again. I quickly dismissed the thought, knowing it was just my insecurities talking. But the fear lingered, a shadow I couldn’t quite shake off.

Suddenly, I felt his hand reach out and gently squeeze mine, which was resting on my thigh. The warmth of his touch grounded me, pulling me back from my anxious thoughts. It was a silent assurance, a wordless promise that he was here, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

A small smile escaped my lips as I looked down at his hand, so warm and strong. I tightened my grip slightly, as if to say, *Thank you for being here.* The car ride felt a little lighter after that, the air between us filled with unspoken understanding. Wherever we were going, it didn’t matter—what mattered was that we were together.

**Max's POV**

We arrived at the museum, a place I thought Alex would enjoy. After parking the car, I guided him out, offering my hand for him to hold as we made our way to the entrance. I’d already arranged for a tour, planning to explore the museum at our own pace until Alex was ready to leave. There was also a restaurant nearby where I’d made a reservation, just in case we got hungry later.

As we stepped inside, Alex suddenly stopped in his tracks, as if he had seen something that took his breath away. His hand slipped from mine as he whispered, "Mama?" I watched him walk slowly towards a painting displayed prominently near the entrance.

Confused, I followed him and took in the portrait. The woman in the painting was stunning, her features almost identical to Alex’s. The resemblance was uncanny, like they were two sides of the same coin. Her smile was warm and full of life, the same smile that had drawn me to Alex when I first met him.

So, this was his mother. It was easy to see where Alex had inherited his beauty. Standing there, I felt a pang in my chest, knowing how much this moment must mean to him. I quietly moved closer, ready to offer comfort if he needed it, but also giving him the space to take in the sight of the woman who had given him so much of who he was.

Mrs. Jeon??" A woman's voice broke through the moment, and I turned to see an elderly lady with glasses, her gaze fixed on us with a mix of curiosity and recognition.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice tinged with sadness. "He looks exactly like my late student."

Alex turned to the woman, offering a gentle smile. "She was my mother. I have the same picture at home."

The woman's expression shifted from surprise to something more profound as she took in Alex’s words. "I didn’t know she had a son," she admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "The last time I saw her was at her graduation. Her husband came here to donate all her paintings after she passed. That piece," she gestured to the portrait, "was painted by me, in her memory, 17 years ago."

A tear slipped from the woman's eye, and Alex responded with a warm smile, the kind that conveyed both gratitude and understanding. "Thank you for painting my mom," he said softly.

The woman looked at him more closely, a deep curiosity in her eyes. "How old are you, if I may ask?"

"I'm 17 years old, ma'am," Alex replied.

The woman’s face fell, sadness washing over her features. Alex continued, "I never met my mom. She died when I was born."

The air seemed to thicken with the weight of his words. The woman reached out, gently placing a hand on Alex’s arm. "Your mother was an incredible woman, very kind, joyful and loving," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.