'Why am I here having tea with her?' Nalani thought to herself, the question echoing in her mind as she sat face-to-face with her Aunt Lydia. She had planned to meet her aunt again, but certainly not today, and definitely not this soon. Today was the exhibit, the day she had been preparing for, the day her mother's legacy would be honored. Anxiety gnawed at her as the minutes ticked by, each glance at her watch only amplifying her unease.

"I'm sure your uncle Henley is much busier now that he also has your father's company to take care of since he's become sick," Aunt Lydia said, her voice dripping with feigned concern. Her smile was bright, too bright, and it unsettled Nalani. It wasn't that talking about family matters was odd—Lydia was her mother's sister, after all—but she seemed overly focused on the company and the family business.

Nalani's mind raced. How did she know about Dad being sick? She had never told her, and Lydia had never called or visited. The realization hit her like a cold splash of water. Her aunt must have found out from someone else, someone who had access to personal family information. Nalani's gaze sharpened as she studied Lydia's actions and behavior more closely.

"And I'm sure you've been busy finishing your studies that you haven't been much of a help. I mean, you're studying art, not business," Lydia scoffed, taking a delicate sip of her tea. She continued to lament how Henley hadn't called her for assistance, how she would gladly help manage both her father's company and her mother's foundation if only given the chance. Her thinly veiled ambition was clear.

Nalani's temper flared. "I'm sorry about that, Aunt Lydia, but clearly it isn't my uncle's fault that he didn't contact you when you were the one who was out of reach. You never once visited or showed yourself, so I'm very curious how you sound so concerned about our business now," she said, her tone firm and challenging.

Lydia flinched, her eyes flaring with anger. Nalani's words had struck a nerve. She stuttered through her explanation, claiming she had stayed away to give the family space to grieve, that it wasn't her place to interfere as an outsider. But Nalani saw through her excuses. Her aunt's feigned concern was nothing more than a mask for her true intentions.

"My uncle is doing fine managing both businesses, and he isn't alone. His son, Zephyr, is helping him, and while I may not know much about business, I can always learn. So you don't have to worry about our business now," Nalani declared, standing up from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, I have an exhibit to attend. I just hope that our next meeting won't be about you suggesting on managing my mother's foundation yourself, Aunt Lydia."

Nalani didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked out, her heart pounding. She could hear her aunt calling after her in anger, but she didn't care. She had said what needed to be said. The most important thing right now was the exhibit. The thought of being late spurred her into action. As soon as she was out of the restaurant's door, she broke into a run, weaving through the crowded streets of Paris.

Her lungs burned and her legs ached, but she pushed on. She couldn't afford to miss this. The city blurred around her as she sprinted, her thoughts focused solely on reaching the exhibit in time. The minutes ticked away, and she could feel panic rising. It was already past the start time.

When Nalani arrived at the exhibit, she noticed the lights were dimly lit, casting an eerie yet inviting glow across the gallery. She approached the glass door, hoping it would be locked, but when she gently pushed it, it opened easily. She slipped inside, the quiet hum of the city fading behind her as the door closed.

The exhibit showcased the artist's newly released collection of flower paintings, each one named and themed according to their symbolic meanings. Nalani walked around, marveling at the exquisite details and vibrant colors of each piece. The room was filled with an almost palpable serenity, and she was so entranced by the paintings that she didn't even realize she was alone.

She paused in her tracks, recognizing a familiar painting. Backtracking a few steps, she found herself face-to-face with the painting of the Gardenia. She did rea A wave of happiness washed over her as she remembered her emotional encounter with this piece at the gallery Mr. Antoine had taken them to. This time, she swore she wouldn't cry.

"Look at the delicate brushstrokes," she whispered, her voice tinged with awe. "The artist has captured the fragility of its petals so beautifully, each stroke a delicate dance of light and shadow."

Her fingers hovered just above the canvas, yearning to touch the painted flower. "The contrast between the soft, creamy petals and the dark, velvety background creates such a sense of depth," she continued, her eyes tracing the contours of the flower with a reverence reserved for the masters.

"And the subtle play of colors – the hints of pink and yellow against the pure white – it's as if the flower is alive, pulsating with life and vitality," she mused, her imagination ablaze with the possibilities contained within the painted scene.

Lost in the mesmerizing allure of the artwork, she felt a stirring within her soul, a deep longing to capture the essence of the flower on her own canvas. As she lingered in front of the painting, she knew she had found not just a beautiful work of art but a source of endless inspiration that would fuel her creativity for years to come.

Was this what Mom felt through her paintings? she wondered. The feelings and emotions she felt for this painting—it was a feeling she needed right now. A feeling of comfort that she had been longing for. She clasped her hands and placed them near her heart as tears fell from her eyes.

"At least she had her paintings to comfort her," she whispered. "But I didn't. Nor did I have you, Mom."

She looked back at the painting in front of her and smiled. As the gallery lights began to dim further, casting long shadows over the room, Nalani found herself alone, surrounded by silent canvases. She stood before the painting of the gardenia, its beauty magnified in the soft glow of the spotlight.

Just as the light that illuminated the flower began to fade, a voice pierced the silence. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Startled, Nalani turned to see a figure emerging from the darkness, their features obscured by the dim light. "Yes," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's... breathtaking."

The stranger stepped closer, their presence shrouded in mystery. "There's a story behind every brushstroke," he said softly, his words hanging in the air like a whispered secret.

Intrigued, Nalani found herself drawn to the stranger, her curiosity piqued by his enigmatic presence. "What's the story behind this painting?" she asked, her eyes searching the darkness for a glimpse of the person before her.

Before the stranger could reply, the gallery lights dimmed completely, plunging the room into darkness. And as Nalani stood alone in the silent gallery, she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just encountered someone who would change the course of her artistic journey forever.

"That couldn't possibly be...," Nalani gasped at the thought that the person was the mysterious artist himself. Her heart raced, a mix of excitement and disbelief coursing through her. She tried to peer through the darkness, hoping to catch another glimpse of the figure.

But the gallery remained silent and still, leaving her with only her thoughts and the lingering sense of a profound connection. With a deep breath, she turned back to the gardenia painting, its beauty now tinged with an even deeper meaning. This encounter, brief and mysterious as it was, had ignited a spark within her, a determination to pursue her art with the same passion and intensity she felt in that moment.