There were million little reasons to not love him,
And million little things that I despised now.
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Her:
Unwanted emotions,
I didn't want any of it, any of them.
From the outside, she seems adorned with all that glitters-wealth, celebrity, and...
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The brush touched the canvas and stopped, my fingers stopped, I stopped.
And I made mistake of letting my eyes gaze around the room, at Kim Dalhyun's paintings. A tear slipped down my cheek, as I realised why my fingers halted. It's been two years since I've painted something other than him, blindly.
The picture of him, smiling, blank face—in my head, eyes closed then on canvas as a masterpiece.
I knew a panic attack was taking over me as the brushed dropped. I turned around, pulling the door as I rushed out grabbing Shiloh's leash and the retriever itself.
I shot of the house while hopping around to put my shoes as I close the door behind me. I heard Shiloh bark as we both start racing down the stairs.
I focused on every little detail around me—the soft brushing of my cardigan against my calf, the rhythmic padding of Shiloh's paws on the marble floor, the opening of the elevator on a different floor. Anything to distract me from him was a welcome respite.
Exiting the building hastily, I made my way towards the backdoor near the garden, where children played, their voices filling the air with screams, laughter, and occasional cries. I tried to absorb myself in the commotion, anything that would drown out thoughts of him.
Pushing open the backdoor that led to the beach, I burst out onto the sandy shore. The grains found their way into my shoes as I picked up my pace, speed-walking along the shoreline. The vast expanse of the Arabian Sea stretched out before me, with water glistening under the setting sun. Birds soared overhead, while colorful digital banners floated in the distance.
Count Shiya, come on.
Anything but him.
"Why me!" I cry out, my hands clutching at my hair, while Shiloh howls beside me. With blurred vision, I stare out at the horizon, hoping that the divine presence that resides there is witnessing my anguish, feeling the weight of the guilt for the misery imposed upon my life. "Why me?" I whisper, the words barely audible in my despair.
Why did he choose me as a fuck up?
I hate him, I hate myself.
A sob and a hiccup involuntarily broke free from me as I staggered backward, overwhelmed by the sensation of hands clutching my shoulders. Surprised by the unexpected touch, I instinctively leaped away and spun around, only to discover Atharva standing there, his brows furrowed as he observed me.
In an effort to conceal my tears, especially since he was my therapist, I swiftly turned my back to him, tilting my head upward while vigorously wiping away the evidence. I let out a sharp exhale before mustering the courage to face him, only to witness his surprise as Shiloh growled menacingly beside him.
Securing my cardigan around me, I motioned for Shiloh to calm down while I observed Atharva. My gaze focused on his attire—a cap, AirPods in his ears, a sleeveless t-shirt, black shorts, and white sneakers.
