Painted in Fate

Chapter 3: Echoes of the Past

Babe Tanatat leaned against the windowsill, staring out at the overcast sky. His thoughts were far from the grey clouds or the occasional city noise drifting through the open window. They were focused, as always, on the man he kept seeing in his dreams.

It had been weeks since he last slept peacefully. Every time his head hit the pillow, the dream would return—the same striking face, the same overwhelming wave of emotions, as though his heart was caught in a never-ending storm. The man in his dreams, with those intense, haunting eyes, felt so real that Babe could almost reach out and touch him.

But every time he woke up, he was alone. And every morning, the ache in his chest felt more unbearable, as though he had lost something precious—someone precious. The worst part was, he couldn't explain why. Babe didn't know the man in his dreams, and yet he felt as if his entire world revolved around him.

Today wasn't any different.

He sighed, rubbing his temples as he walked over to the easel in his studio. Another unfinished painting stared back at him, the man's face almost complete but not quite there. It was frustrating, trying to capture the image that haunted him every night, but no matter how hard he worked, something was always missing.

Babe had tried everything—different angles, different lighting, even different moods in the painting—but nothing fully conveyed the feelings that surged through him when he dreamed. He wasn't even sure what those feelings were anymore. They were too complicated, too tangled in love, pain, and something darker that he didn't want to examine too closely.

As he dipped his brush into the paint, a soft knock on the door broke his concentration.

"Babe?" A familiar voice called from the other side.

"Nana?" Babe put down his brush, surprised by his friend's unexpected visit. He opened the door to find Nana standing there, grinning like he always did, dressed in his usual flamboyant style—bright colors and loud patterns that somehow suited him perfectly.

"You're still alive, huh?" Nana teased as he stepped inside, glancing around Babe's studio. "I thought maybe you'd gone and locked yourself away for good this time."

Babe rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips. "Very funny."

Nana wandered over to the easel, his grin fading slightly as he took in the half-finished painting. "Still him, huh?" His tone was more serious now, his usual playful energy tempered by concern. "You've been at this for a while, Babe. Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Babe lied, though he knew Nana wouldn't believe him.

Nana tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "You don't look fine."

"I'm just... stuck," Babe admitted, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I keep painting him, but it's never enough. I feel like I'm missing something, but I don't know what."

Nana's gaze softened as he stepped closer to the painting, studying it with a critical eye. "You know, this isn't just about the painting, right? You've been obsessed with this guy for months now. Maybe you should take a break."

Babe frowned. "I can't. Every time I close my eyes, he's there. I don't know who he is or why he keeps showing up in my dreams, but I feel like... I need to know. Like there's something important I'm missing."

Nana sighed, shaking his head. "You're going to drive yourself crazy if you keep this up. Look, I know you're all about your art, but maybe it's time to step away for a bit. Get out, have some fun. Forget about this guy for a while."

Babe opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Nana held up a hand. "And no, I'm not taking no for an answer. We're going out."

Babe blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You heard me. You've been cooped up in here for too long. It's time for you to join the land of the living again." Nana grinned, his playful energy back in full force. "Come on. There's this new café downtown. You'll love it. It's got a great vibe."

Babe hesitated. The idea of leaving his studio felt wrong, like he was abandoning something important. But at the same time, Nana was right. He had been drowning in his obsession with the man in his dreams, and it was starting to take a toll on him.

"Fine," he muttered, grabbing his jacket. "But if this café sucks, I'm blaming you."

Nana laughed, clapping him on the back. "Deal."

As they walked through the busy streets of the city, Babe tried to push thoughts of the mysterious man out of his mind, but it was harder than he'd expected. Even surrounded by people and the vibrant life of the city, the dream lingered in the back of his mind, a constant shadow he couldn't escape.

Nana, however, was in his element, chatting away about the latest gossip, oblivious to Babe's internal struggle.

"Did you hear about that new art exhibit coming to town? Some big-name artists are going to be there. I thought maybe you'd want to check it out," Nana said, glancing at him.

Babe shrugged. "Maybe."

"Or maybe you're still too wrapped up in Mr. Dream Guy to care?" Nana teased, his tone light but his eyes sharp. He could always see through Babe's defenses.

Babe sighed. "It's not like I want to be obsessed with him. It's just... I don't know. It feels like I'm missing something important, like if I just keep painting him, I'll figure it out."

"Or maybe you're just driving yourself crazy," Nana pointed out, though not unkindly. "Look, I get it. You're a romantic at heart, even if you don't want to admit it. But you need to take care of yourself, too."

Babe didn't respond, letting Nana's words sink in. Maybe he was right. Maybe this obsession was unhealthy. But at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than just a dream.

Later that evening, as Babe returned home, his thoughts drifted back to the painting. He stood in front of it, the man's eyes staring back at him, almost as if they were pleading for something.

Babe swallowed hard, his chest tightening. He didn't know why, but the painting felt different tonight. The man's face, his expression—there was something there that hadn't been there before. A flicker of recognition? A hint of pain?

His heart pounded in his chest, and for the first time in weeks, he felt a surge of something other than confusion. It was a faint but undeniable pull—a connection to the man in the painting that went deeper than he could explain.

Babe took a step closer, his fingers brushing the edge of the canvas as he whispered, "Who are you?"

The answer didn't come, but the feeling remained. A strange, unexplainable certainty that whoever this man was, their fates were intertwined in a way he couldn't yet understand.

And he wasn't sure whether to be afraid of that or relieved.