My Mr. Artist

Epilogue I

Kiyah

The brilliant sky, the towering mountains, the green valley, the waterfall and.....him.
I couldn't have imagined a day more perfect than this.

I sighed softly, inhaling the crisp breath of nature, my smile refusing to leave my lips as I nestled closer to my Ansh. From where I sat, leaning against his shoulder, I tilted my head up and watched him, the intense concentration etched across his face as he dragged his paintbrush across the canvas.

He looked achingly handsome like this.

That focused crease between his brows, the calm determination in his expression, the quiet sparkle in his eyes, one that had slowly, steadily returned as he reclaimed his art day by day. Stroke after stroke, I could see him come alive again, becoming more himself, more the artist I had always known him to be.
More capable of pouring his desire, his emotion, his soul onto the blank paper beneath his hands.

It had taken time, patience, frustration, stubborn practice, but he had found his rhythm again. And watching him now, utterly lost in colors and creation, felt like witnessing something sacred.

Seeing him like this... felt like witnessing a promise being fulfilled.
A promise of being better, stronger, and more whole than before.

"I love you," I murmured, unable to hold the words back any longer. They slipped out as naturally as breath.

He paused mid-stroke, the brush hovering in the air. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"You're bored?" he questioned lightly, still pretending to study the canvas, though I could see the faint tug of conflict in his posture, as if unsure whether to continue painting or put everything aside for me. It was... adorable.

"Nah," I said, leaning back, settling comfortably again. "I could never get bored watching you do what you love most."

He didn't answer, and I took that as my cue to let him work. I slowly began to rise to my feet, wanting to capture the scenery in pictures while he painted.

But before I could stand, his hand wrapped around my wrist, firm and warm in this early morning breeze.
He tugged me back gently, drawing me close enough that I could feel his breath skim my cheek.

When I looked at him, his eyes were already fixed on me, burning, and impossibly soft all at once.

"You're wrong," he whispered.

I blinked. "Wrong?"

His gaze dropped to my lips, then lifted again, dark, serious, and far too honest for the teasing tone he used next.

"I... love to do you the most."

The contrast between his intense expression and that shameless line was devastating.
Heat rushed to my cheeks so quickly I was sure the color rivaled the pinkish-red dawn stretching behind us.

I swallowed, suddenly breathless, suddenly shy, all over again, as if I weren't already so hopelessly, deeply his.

"You..."

The word fell apart on my tongue. Flustered and speechless, I pushed him away and hurried a few steps ahead, pretending not to hear the low chuckle he didn't bother to hide.

I stopped near the slope, not too close, but close enough to watch the morning unfold. The sun rose slowly behind the valley, behind the waterfall, behind the mountains, painting everything in gold.

I lifted my camera and captured it all, the moments I wished I could freeze, the moments I wanted to live inside forever.

And in that instant, I knew exactly who I wanted to share it with. Two names flashed into my mind, and before I could give myself a chance to rethink, I hit the video call button, tagging both of them. One by one, their faces appeared on the screen: my two absolute favorite girls.