What Was Lost

Chapter 5

Anya's jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she stared at the painting in front of her. She took a deep breath, trying to process the intricate details and lifelike accuracy of the artwork before her. It was almost unbelievable how perfectly the artist had captured every feature, down to the smallest detail like the faint freckle under Grace's left eye.

"I mean...it's stunning," Anya finally managed to say, still in awe of the painting.

Grace glanced over at it, a mix of emotions crossing her face as she remembered receiving it just a few days ago. It was a beautiful and slightly eerie sight, seeing a version of herself immortalized on canvas with such precision and skill.

It had been two weeks since Grace last saw Logan. Despite not having heard a word from him, a surprise delivery appeared at her doorstep. The packaging was clearly a painting, as suggested by the shape of the parcel. She tore open the wrapping to reveal a stunning portrait of herself. Her own eyes stared back at her from the canvas, their vivid color and every last detail captured with precision. Grace couldn't help but gasp in surprise and feel a sense of unease wash over her. Logan seemed to capture every detail, down to the green and gold flecks in her hazel eyes, the subtle upturn of her corners, and even the freckles that only she knew about - one under her left eye and another on her right eyelid. However, what struck her most were the haunted eyes he had painted - they weren't eyes of desire or yearning like Sophia's had been, but something much deeper and inescapable. Grace suddenly felt exposed and self-conscious as she forcefully moved the painting to a corner before texting Logan.

She sent him a text: After all of that, you painted my eyes??

Her thoughts raced as she waited for his reply, but it never came. And just like that, their interactions came to an abrupt and unsatisfying end. She couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment as she realized that this was how things were going to end with Logan - on a weird and confusing note.

"I think it's romantic," Anya muses. "If you asked Will the color of my eyes, I doubt he could give you an accurate answer."

Grace casts a pointed look at her friend. "Brown and you don't really want to get me started on Will, do you?"

Anya shrugs nonchalantly and picks up Grace's purse, handing it to her. "We should probably head out so we're not late."

The two women make their way to the front door and step out into the cool evening air. Anya lives just a short 5-minute walk from Grace, so they often meet up before going out together. Sometimes, Anya will even join her for an early morning run. Anya was also the first one to arrive on that fateful night, Grace remembers with a pang of sadness. She quickly locks the front door behind them and joins Anya in the waiting taxi outside her classic brownstone. Anya informs the driver of their destination and they settle back into their seats, enjoying the brief moment of peace and quiet before arriving at their busy destination.

Grace leans in towards Anya, her voice hushed with excitement. "Have you ever been to it before?"

Anya pulls open a compact mirror, carefully inspecting her lipstick. "No," she replies, "but I've heard it's nice. They have really good craft cocktails and when it gets late, a DJ comes in and turns it into more of a club."

Grace nods knowingly. "Hence why she told us to wear our sluttiest dresses."

It was Prisha's 34th birthday today and she wanted all the girls to celebrate at some new trendy bar in SoHo. Grace had been out to dinner with friends and family a few times, but it had been almost a year since she'd been to a bar. She rummages through her closet, searching for something appropriate to wear. As she tried on the short black mini-dress to check if it still fit, she was on the verge of tears, remembering how Ryan's face had lit up when he saw her in it. He couldn't keep his hands off her. His hands roamed over her legs underneath a banquet table that night. She swallowed back the tears, because the dress serves as a reminder of good memories, not bad ones.