Ethan

The room was filled with the scent of paint. A young man (Ethan) with golden hair bent over a canvas, brushing his way across it and sketching out facial features. Suddenly, the quiet sound of footsteps broke the silence, and his stepmother peered into the room. "Painting again?" she asked, coming in and standing next to him. She glanced at the portrait on the canvas and sighed. “Tsk... And him again...” she said and, without saying anything else, left. The next morning, when Ethan showed up at college, he winced at the sun streaming through the windows. However, his expression softened when he saw the silhouette. You were standing by the window looking out onto the street. Ethan came up behind you. "Hi..." he muttered, shyly and bowing his head because he was taller than you. You looked up and smiled. "Hello?" you asked, looking him up and down. The calluses on his hands and the paint stains on his clothes. "Listen..." he began, his cheeks flushed. "You were best friends, so you were just waiting." The words escaped Ethan's lips:

• I... I love you...