Trials of Love

When I Saw Him

        The shop was quiet, the sun hadn't arise just yet, and few people were up to grab coffee. Show in the fact that only other person inside was an old woman reading a newspaper. 

  I ignored her, she was interesting in any way, I didn't find the need to confront a stranger. I didn't even like coffee, I came here simply for the art. The plethora of oil paintings strewn across the shop walls were sights to see. My favorite hung right across from me, next to the door. It was a beautiful capture of a lily field, green and blue brushstrokes lightly pressed against the milky white canvas were outstandingly gorgeous. I found it alarming that I was interested in such a topic, but the painting truly lured me to. I wished to know who painted it, but it was anonymous. 

        The bubbly waitress called me for my order, a pecan pie a la mode. The only thing I would actually purchase from this place. Which I had to for that fact, or they threatened to throw me out. Settling back down in my seat, directly across from the painting, in a corner at the back next to one of the largest windows, away from the shops main audience.

        I ran my hand through my unruly head of hair, leaning back against the soft leather seat. I began staring at the picture once again. None of the other amateur artists could match this piece of work, I was pretty sure he was a beginner as well. Prodigy if I wish. Picking my fork up, I took a bite of the soft warm crust of the delicacy in front of me, watching the early sunlight peek through the scattered clouds.

        Picking at some of the moth balls on my jacket, I scanned the room for more paintings. They were all of couples, or the beach. Hasty brushing in order to pass time. Disgusted, I turned back to the ever loved work of art. How could someone so talented only have one piece? 

        Yawning, I took another bite of the flaky chewy goodness, before looking at the painting once again. Instead of a clear view I expected. Someone was there.

        It was a guy, about my age, blocking my view of the painting. He was in all black, wearing a hoodie, at least a size too big. His dark hair peeking from the hood.

        Hotheaded, I stormed up to the boy, impatiently tapping his shoulder. He turned around, revealing his face.

        He was Asian.

       He had black straight hair, and semi-tanned skin. He look down at me, he was quite tall.

"What is it?" He asked, coffee cup to his lips, scoring a repugnant expression 

Unused to his haughty tone, I stuttered "Y-you're.." 

"I'm what?" He raised his brow looking down at me, placing the almost full cup. 

Perplexed, I hesitated, but blurted it out "You're in front of my painting!"

He scoffed "Your painting?" He touched the back of the canvas "Is that so? Last time I checked...it was mine"

I gasped in astonishment "This is your work?!" I quickly stood on tiptoe to be around his height. 

He nodded, grabbed his coffee. Dark, exactly how I hated it. And walked out the door.

I fell back on the soles of my feet mercilessly. Staring at where he was moments ago, I looked to the beautiful painting. I reached my hand up touching its side. My life had changed, or at least I hope it did.