FOREVER [Niall Horan] ✔

Chapter 9.

"Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs." -William Shakespeare

Ana's POV

I lay a few of my paintings, that I brought from my house, on the wooden desk in front of me for Mr Malik before I can chicken out. I watch as he intently examines my work, eyebrows frowning every few seconds, worrying me. I silently stand there, trying to gauge his mood while chewing my nails and thinking that this was, indeed, a bad idea.

But it is too late.

His eyes widen and he keeps his index below his chin as he continues his actions, viewing my paintings from every angle. I think he has a look of fascination on his face, but I'm not very sure about it. I feel myself getting more anxious and fidgety as the time passes by. My legs start shaking and my palms become clammy as he sorts my paintings and takes another look at it.

I feel like all my fears and inhibitions from earlier are getting true. I am losing every ounce of my remaining confidence and faith I have in me. I am making myself ready to hear the worst, that I cannot be an artist and that I cannot fulfil my dreams as I stare at Mr Malik.

"Ana," He says, grabbing my attention and I turn to look in his beautiful brown eyes, still chewing my nails. "These are stunning," He speaks staring at the paintings. My eyes widen and I stop chewing my nails as my mouth falls. This simple line lifts the weight off of my shoulders and I sigh, loudly. His appreciation, his praise, something I never got from where I wanted, means so much that I am on the verge of tears.

According to my ex soon-to-be husband, they are shitty, awful and pathetic and that I should throw them in the trash can. He never supported me to do what I wanted to. Everything would be according to his terms. What we had was not love, it was bondage, I was forced to be with him.

This appreciation is so new and raw for me. I always wanted to become an artist even though I never got any encouragement. I was never good at expressing myself when I was younger, drawing helped me to make people understand who I am and how I am. It helped me escape from him until that one awful day when he wrecked my paintings. But it didn't stop me from chasing my dreams.

"Th-Thanks." I stutter.

He turns to look at me with a broad smile on his face. He places his hands on my upper arms and his eyes hold mine. I feel the hair on my skin stand up at his stare.

'Get yourself together Ana', my subconscious reminds me.

"These are exceptionally fabulous. This is one of the best paintings." He holds up a painting, which I drew a few weeks ago. It is a painting that I painted because I was angry, hence the colour red. I remember mindlessly stroking on the paper with different shades of red with tinges of yellow just to release my emotions, it turned out to be one of my best ones. "These are simply beautiful." He smiles brightly at me before a tear slips down cheeks, but I don't think that he sees it, since he's engrossed in my paintings. I wipe it with the back of my hand messily and return the smile.

"Maybe you would want to know the terms, if you want to join?" I nod eagerly.

He motions for me to follow him out of the room and into another one. It is an empty room with white walls and no furniture. I stare at it with a frown between my eyebrows.

"This is where you'll work." Mr Malik says, confusing me. "This is your room, your studio. Decorate it the way you want. The walls are yours to do whatever with it, paint it, leave it, I don't mind. All you need to do is send 4 paintings every month. You can work when you want and at any hour, there are no restrictions." He continues and tells me about other artists that work here and asks me to introduce myself afterwards.