A little while after Mr. Antoine took Nalani and Lena to Galerie d'art Couture, Anais closed the gallery for the day and drove to a penthouse. After parking her car, she hurriedly went upstairs and barged into a room.

"I bring good news, Theo!," she shouted as soon as she got in. She scanned the room but didn't see her nephew around. Koen was there, standing near his table.

"Oh Koen dear, where's your boss?" Anais asked, walking toward the sofa and sitting on it.

"He's taking a bath at the moment, ma'am," Koen answered.

"Shouldn't you be finishing up for the day? It's already late and I don't think he's that busy," Anais suggested, hinting for him to go home since it was past working hours.

"Koen's staying over. Why didn't you call me if you were coming?" Theo emerged from his room, which was connected to his office, drying his hair with a towel.

"Can't I visit my nephew?" Anais teased.

"Did something happen at the art gallery?" he asked, continuing to dry his hair.

"Well, someone recognized your painting," she said excitedly, but both Koen and Theo didn't react much.

"Aren't you surprised?" Anais asked.

"It's only natural for anyone to recognize his painting, ma'am. This has been going on without him ever showing his face and identity to the public," Koen said as he sat down beside Theo. "Unless that painting is... grotesque," he added, getting smacked by a pillow from Theo.

"Well, this is different, I tell you. This girl cried after just staring at your painting. It didn't even take a minute, as if she could tell the whole story behind that painting at first glance," Anais explained in detail. This made Theo put down his towel and look up at her.

His aunt lay back on the sofa after seeing both of them interested. "That's rare talent for the arts if she reacted that way. She has good eyes," Koen exclaimed, surprised by what Anais had said.

"'The Oak's Embrace' was the painting I sent there, right?" Theo asked his aunt.

"There were others, but I chose that one for you to send," his aunt replied.

"A girl?" he asked again.

"She was with a friend. They were both college students from LA, and it seemed they were looking for something in particular. The staff told me that she seemed to know about you as 'T.'," she explained to both of them.

"I've never heard someone cry because of that painting before. Well setting aside ," Koen mumbled to himself.

"So who are these girls you're talking about?" Theo looked up to his aunt for an answer.

"I remember the girl spoke French, but the other one didn't, so she spoke for both of them when I asked for their names in French. The girl who didn't speak French is named Lena, and the girl who cried over your painting is Nalani," his aunt said happily.

"Wait, isn't that...," Koen said, slowly turning to his best friend, Theo, who seemed to stop breathing the moment his aunt said that name.

Theo's

At that time, I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe that I was hearing your name again, and I didn't hope for anything because it might not be you in the end. So, I told Koen that there was no way it was you. After a few days, my aunt didn't seem to say anything about you nor mentioned your name, so I guessed that the girl she met was probably just a passerby who had the same name as you. There was really no way it could be you.

But then I saw your name on the list of people who were invited to see the exhibit that night, under Vera Hartman's name. Koen said that Miss Vera wouldn't be able to come, so her niece would come instead, which was Lena Hartman, your friend. And your name, Nalani Katz, was beside hers. I said that it couldn't be you. But even if I refused and thought that way, I stayed at the exhibit. I waited for you to come because I wanted to make sure if it was really you. But now I'm realizing that I just wanted to see you again. After 15 years, I have been wanting to see you again.

The exhibit was coming to an end, and you still didn't come. I saw your friend Lena arrive, but you were not with her. Yet, I waited. Even Koen wanted me to leave and said that you weren't coming. I stayed near the door and waited until I saw you running from across the street. I hurriedly turned on the lights and opened the door for you, then hid in a dark corner that would be hard for anyone to see.

I saw you standing in front of the painting 'The Gardenia.' You reached your hand out to it and traced the brushstrokes. I heard what you said about your mother, and without realizing it, I was already behind you. I stopped and made sure that you could only see my silhouette, ensuring I was in the dark where you couldn't see me clearly.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" I spoke without thinking. As soon as I said that, you turned to look my way, and that's when I saw you. It was you, the person I have been longing for.

The moment I saw your face, I stopped myself from going further into the light because I was scared that you wouldn't remember me. That you would look at me like I was a stranger you happened to encounter while you were here. But I was happy to see you, even if you couldn't see me. I wanted to hug you.

"There's a story behind every brushstroke," I spoke again, hoping to keep the conversation going. I saw how your eyes lit up at my words, and I knew that look—it told me you wanted to know more.

I took a step back as you started to search the darkness for me. 'No, she can't see you. Not like this,' my inner voice echoed. I flinched when you took a step forward in the dark, towards me. All of a sudden, the gallery lights dimmed completely, plunging the room into darkness. Panicking, I ran out, my heart thumping so hard that I stopped to catch my breath in the street.

"Nalani...," I whispered, gasping for air. I heard a car stop nearby, and Koen's familiar footsteps approached.

"What the heck, dude! Are you having a panic attack or an asthma attack? Which one is it?," he joked, but it wasn't the right time for laughter.

"Koen... Nalani... I saw her," I managed to say, trying my best to explain.

"What?! Wait, let's get you home, dude. You're getting red in the face," he said, taking my arm and helping me into the car.