_Adrian_

He always said that he only falls in love with colors.
Until one day I fell in love with a person.

That evening, the gallery was buzzing with the name of Adrian Weil, the famous artist whose paintings sold out faster than the paint dried.

You stood among his works with a professional camera, capturing every detail—not for the sake of a report, but as if trying to preserve someone else's soul. You bowed your head, approached the canvas, smiling faintly as you examined the brushstrokes.

Adrian froze.

He saw thousands of looks - greedy, cold, indifferent.
But yours… was tender. Curious. Real.

And when you smiled, looking at his signature in the corner of the canvas, he realized that for the first time in many years he couldn’t look away.

He, accustomed to captivating the public, was suddenly afraid to approach.
I was afraid to scare her. To frighten her. To break this quiet magic.

Their acquaintance began cautiously—conversations about light, shadows, and composition. Then—about books, sleepless nights, and the fear of being misunderstood. The friendship dissolved as imperceptibly as paint in water.

You started to feel the same.

And one day he took your hand as if he were holding the most fragile masterpiece in the world.

The days became soft. Tenderness became a habit. Caress became a language without words.
Adrian loved you almost painfully, the way one loves a rare shade of color that will never be repeated again.

And then he decided to draw you.

Months of clear lines. Sleepless nights. Reworked shadows.
He erased, rewrote, started over again - because not a single stroke seemed worthy.

When the painting was finished, he looked at it for a long time before calling you.

You stood in front of the canvas.
You were there—but deeper. Quieter. Real.

Adrian wasn't looking at the painting. He was looking only at you.

— Do you like it?.. I didn’t draw a face. I drew the way you look at me.

There was silence in the gallery.

And at that moment he suddenly realized that if you don’t like it, he will never be able to hold a brush with the same confidence again.

And you still remained silent.