MEN WILL STAIN YOUR WHITE

CHAPTER 2 - A NEW CANVAS

Simbi's brush danced across the canvas, strokes of vibrant color bringing to life the man she had seen in her dreams. Tall, dark, and handsome, with eyes that seemed to hold a deep longing. And beside him, a door, old and worn, with a keyhole that pulsed like a heartbeat.

As she painted, the studio door creaked open, and a warm voice whispered, "May I?"

Simbi turned, her eyes meeting those of the man from her canvas. He stood in the doorway, his presence filling the room like a gentle breeze on a summer's day.

"Osas," he said, his name rolling off his tongue like a soft melody.

Simbi's heart skipped a beat as he approached her, his eyes locked on hers like a ship anchoring in a safe harbor. His smile was a sunrise, breaking through the clouds of her doubt.

"I couldn't help but notice your art," he said, his voice a gentle brook babbling over smooth stones. "You paint with passion, with fire in your soul."

Simbi's cheeks flushed like a rose in bloom as Osas's eyes roamed the canvas, drinking in the colors and textures. He was a connoisseur of beauty, and her art had captured his attention.

"Your subject," he said, his voice low and husky, "he seems to be waiting for something. Or someone."

Simbi's heart fluttered like a bird set free as Osas's eyes met hers again. "Perhaps," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "he's waiting for the key to unlock his true self."

Osas's smile was a work of art, a masterpiece of charm and wit. "I think," he said, "that key might be found in the heart of the one who painted him."

As Osas spoke, his words wove a spell around Simbi, drawing her in with their gentle cadence. She felt like a moth caught in the soft glow of a lantern, helpless to resist the warmth.

"May I see more of your work?" Osas asked, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Simbi nodded, her heart racing like a wild drumbeat. She led him on a tour of the studio, showcasing her art like a treasure trove of secrets.

As they walked, Osas's fingers brushed against hers, sending shivers down her spine like a summer breeze on a still pond. Simbi felt alive, her senses heightened like a canvas stretched taut.

In the soft light of the studio, Osas's face was a map of wonder, his eyes drinking in the beauty of her art. Simbi felt seen, like a sunrise bursting over the horizon.

"Your art is a reflection of your soul," Osas said, his voice a gentle whisper. "It's like a door to a secret garden, hidden away from the world."

Simbi's heart skipped a beat as Osas's words echoed the painting she had created. The man, the door, the keyhole pulsing like a heartbeat. It was as if he saw the very essence of her being.

"I think," Osas said, his eyes locked on hers, "I'd like to explore that garden with you."

And with that, Simbi knew she was lost, like a leaf swept away by a gentle stream. She was ready to unlock the door, to reveal the secrets of her heart.

As Simbi's heart fluttered like a bird set free, Osas's smile grew wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "May I have the pleasure of seeing you again, Simbi? Perhaps, outside of this studio?"

Simbi's nod was almost imperceptible, but Osas caught it, his face lighting up with delight. "Tomorrow, then?" he asked, his fingers brushing against hers once more.

Simbi felt the spark of electricity, the jolt of connection. "Tomorrow," she repeated, her voice barely audible.

As Osas turned to leave, Simbi felt a sense of loss, like a shadow falling across her heart. But then, he turned back, his eyes locked on hers. "I almost forgot," he said, his voice low and husky. "I want to see the rest of your art, Simbi. The art that's not on display."