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.

"Are you alright?" he inquired, his concern evident in his voice, while I continued to scrutinize him. Nodding slightly, I attempted to convey that I was fine, but he saw through my facade.

"You're not very good at pretending, Snowdrop," he remarked, causing my eyebrows to furrow.

Tilting my head upward, I shifted my gaze between his eyes, nose, and mustache, growing slightly irritated. "I've asked you not to call me that."

"Nothing's gonna stop me darling," he smiled, that shy almost real smile peeked at me. "Since I know you are going ask 'what I am doing here' I will tell you myself. I often come here to run by the shore, it gives me peace. Now you tell me, why are you screaming at the almighty?"

"Almighty?" I scoff as I gaze at the line where the setting sun and the endless water meet, "he is exactly at whom I'm screaming. Someone who just chose to fuck up my life."

I sensed his presence next to me, aware that he was also focused on that particular line. "My mother told me this once, much like the illusion of the sea and the sky that appear to meet but never truly do, our lives reflect a similar reality. We believe we can fulfill our expectations, but those expectations are endless, hence we never truly meet our expectations."

As I pondered for a moment, I sought to understand the personal significance of the comparison. I broke the silence and inquired, "How does this concept relate to me specifically?"

"You've certain expectations, certain wishes, certain goals in your mind but when you don't fulfill them you choose to place blame on others. After, as you called it, fucking up, you want to push that blame on the almighty whereas you possess the power to shape your own life. Your choices are your mistakes, rather than being the fault of a divine entity."

I took a deep breath, deliberate and slow, pausing, feeling the intense internal struggle, torturing myself till my thoughts whirled, till my head spun around. I was finally getting my answers.

Someone who was telling me the truth to my face, without even making me a villain. Someone who was making me look like a human. The humans I saw while growing up. The humans who make mistakes.

"I am a human," I whispered, telling myself so that every single part of me can feel it, "I am a human."

With a gentle tone, he reassured me, "Certainly, you are a human, Snowdrop. Why? Do you entertain the thought of being a demon?" I disregarded his comment, my gaze fixed upon the distant horizon, wanting to see that they don't meet and that's the reality, the reality that is opposite to what I see, the reality I've realised like a fact of life.

The sea and the sky are like Dalhyun and I. They are not meant to be meet and stay together forever.

"Are you okay? Should I call Siddy?" he inquired, possibly sensing that despite providing the answers I sought, I still didn't seem significantly better than I did just a few moments ago.

"No, please don't disturb him over this trivial issue," I shook my head, expressing my reluctance. "He finally has some time to spend with Tanishka, and I don't want to interrupt their moments together."

Curiosity sparked in his eyes as he asked, "Tanishka? Who is Tanishka?" I responded with a raised eyebrow, wondering how he doesn't know about their relationship.

"Tanishka? His girlfriend?" I asked, but as I observed his astonished expression, it became evident that Siddharth had never mentioned her to him. "Well, it seems he never told you. They have been in a relationship for a year and a half now," I informed him.

"Damn, I'll have to take him out for drinks and pry all the details out of him now," he exclaimed, clearly frustrated by the lack of information. I couldn't help but hide a smile at his reaction. "Being together for a year and a half signifies that it's a serious relationship! I'm going to give that boy a piece of my mind," he added, expressing his intention to confront Siddharth about the situation.

Amidst his frustration, I found myself laughing, unable to contain the joy bubbling up within me. As I threw my head back, I felt a pair of eyes on me, and a comforting warmth seemed to envelop my being. It reminded me of the feeling I experienced when Dalhyun would wrap a blanket around me, shielding me from the cold.

As the laughter subsided, a question emerged within me. "Do you believe that I will eventually be able to open up and share my feelings? Even with you being my therapist, it's not an easy task," I expressed.

"Opening up and sharing one's feeling is never an easy task, sweetheart. We often desire someone who can perceive our innermost thoughts without requiring us to articulate them fully. However, that is precisely where therapy plays a vital role. Therapy exists for those who feel there is no one who truly comprehends them, serving as a means to help them recognize that not everyone is an adversary, a villain."

"Therapy is necessary to confront and exorcise the villains residing in one's mind," he tapped gently on my temple, emphasizing the internal battles we face. "And my dear, you need therapy to unleash and express everything within, to help you realize that you are not a villain but a remarkable and compassionate individual," he tapped his own chest, "right over here. Right in here."

"But—" I stammer, "what if I am really a villain?"

He turned his gaze towards me, his eyes scanning my face with a sense of scrutiny. Meanwhile, I found myself transfixed, studying my own reflection in his eyes. My own eyes betrayed signs of recent distress, puffiness evident from the tears I had shed. The remnants of dried tears streaked across my cheeks, while my lips displayed a reddened hue from the habit of biting them in anxiety.

He turned his gaze away once more, his attention drawn to the vanishing sun that left behind a soft, lingering light. It was a gentle illumination that would soon fade, surrendering to the encroaching darkness. The moon would then emerge, casting its proud glow upon the nocturnal world.

My only hope, my moon.

"Think about it, are you really a villain?"

+++
A MILLION THINGS I AM GRATEFUL:
No echo
A place to scream
My tears

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Oh my, I'm thrilled with this chapter! the emotions expressed in the writing are something I wanted to hear myself. I hope the power of words are remarkable; that they have the ability to uplift and provide solace, even when we are the ones penning them.

Recognizing that someone out there may need to hear these sentiments brings a sense of fulfillment and reassurance within me.

It's always a beautiful realization that the words we write can touch hearts and make a positive impact on others.

Don't forget to vote ⭐️