Hyacinth was it? Forget-me-not it was.

Chapter 12

Before
17/09/2022

"Oh my god! Congrats honey! From Ayla Wen to Ayla Caspian." Halcyone giggled.

It had been six months since Halcyone met or even heard from Akir. She knew he was working hard towards his goal. She felt left alone, but never lonely. Ayla and Caspian kept updating her about Akir. She only ever felt proud and special. She kept reminding herself of everything Akir was doing for her. She wanted to return every bit of his care, kindness and love. She wanted to speak it, yell it and spell it out for him everyday, every minute and every second she had left with him.

"He has gone to Akir's work place to give him the invite as well." She explained.

"You both will be the maid of honour and best man for us."

Halcyone was so excited and happy for the wedding. She had decided to go and get herself dresses and accessories accordingly.

Seeing her friend smile so preciously melted her heart.

"Take care Cyone!" she waved, leaving.

"...Hi" someone said from behind Halcyone.

She turned around to see a pretty man. "Yes?"

He took the empty chair and sat. "I am Cyrus."

"Halcyone." She introduced.

"We have the same classes, I have seen you often."

She simply nodded. She has had multiple people reach her out this way. They only seemed to enjoy the idea of her and how different she was.

"I was wondering if I could paint you." He completed.

"...."

"Different." she thought and nodded.

He beamed and they left the cafe.

Now she was sitting in the painting room, she was sitting on a chair and him behind a canvas.

He took his glamorous time to complete the portrait. Once he was done, he smiled and then fidgeted.

Halcyone gracefully got out her chair and walked over to the painting. She looked and gasped. It was extremely beautiful. She didn't deny that, she couldn't deny that. It was her. After the shock had left her she looked at the painting in woe. She bore pathos. She quickly looked away.

"It is beautiful, Cyrus. It really is. I'm sorry I am half-heartedly appreciating it."

He waited for her to say more, and she did.

"That isn't me. It just isn't. It's too bright, too colourful. It is my ideal self you have portrayed and I appreciate you for that."

"You have someone who sees you. Don't you? Someone who only ever pictures you. Just you and nothing else but you." he observed.

To that he only saw the most loving smile as her pale cheeks turned a hint of pink, probably the only colour giving colour to her face. This was a portrait he knew he would never be the one to paint for his heart told him it was someone else's art to complete.