Painting Life

Epilogue

Salaam, you gorgeous reader, 

I know the last chapter sucked and I am gonna rewrite it. I am really, really sorry. But here's the epilogue and it's better. I am actually satisfied with the way it turned out. 

I request all of you - all those silent readers and all those who have kept commenting throughout - to give me feedback. Seriously, I need it, okay? If you find flaws/plot holes, don't be afraid to tell me. 

Plus, READ THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS PART OF THE BOOK ILL BE POSTING. I'll mention those fans and writers that I haven't dedicated chapters to because the story's ending, sorry :( 

Dedicated to bookworm394 because she be my bestie, yo. ;) 

~Rida <3

Epilogue | Painting Life. 

The Hallelow Art Gallery was more crammed than usual. Of course, that meant that there was to be an endless buzz in the room and commotion, as people shoved each other in order to steal glances at the precious pieces of art. 

Foreigners crowded the humungous gallery and natives were trying their best to be hospitable and get the best place in the room at the same time. The large stage on the other side of the gallery took too much space and did little to help. 

At one point, a kid broke the orange light bulb in the bottom corner of the room and blanketed a huge choas on the room. A small girl even screamed as pieces of glass scattered on to the smooth tiles below. 

A grumpy guard sighed in irritation and came running towards the area to help the people get away while the maid sweeped the floor once again. She wasn't very happy to see that and muttered profanities under her breathe while she relieved the floor of the glass. 

As if that wasn't enough - another kid made the mike fall down on the stage and caused the man hosting the show to bellow at him, scaring the child's mother. A calm, professional woman came forward to give out instructions to control their children or to face the consequences - payment of money. 

Every one immediately tugged their children closer, not very willing to give out money to the museum. The woman took notice of the sudden shift in the parents' demenour and smiled bemusedly. 

But that didn't necessarily mean that there would be peace in the room. No - because the parents were trying to prevent their kids from breaking something, the kids had started crying in loud, annoying voices. 

The grumpy guard had to holler at one kid who wouldn't leave him alone. The kid started slapping him on his leg when he responded with anger and defeated, the guard buried his face in his arms. 

On the stage, a certain blue-eyed man was staring at the scene in front of him with amusement. Despite the nervousness and erratic breathing, he let out a soft laugh when a kid broke another of the orange light bulbs in the corner of the room. He wondered if the bulbs were vulnerable or the new generation was simply strong. 

The professional woman - Amanda - approached him, "Ready to see your big painting win?" 

He chuckled, "It probably won't. There are better artists than me." 

Amanda shook her head, "You under estimate yourself, Haris." 

He raised an eyebrow. "That's what she said." 

Amanda was about to comment dryly on his lame joke when they were interrupted by the manager stomping on to the stage angrily. All the artists on the stage - along with Haris - and Amanda looked at him a little uneasily.