The Only Exception

The Only Exception Part 1

Based on her reaction and the look on her face, he was sure that he had offended her somehow; he thought maybe there was a hurtful story behind this white dress.

But it couldn't be.

It was just a white dress after all.

He tried his best to follow her after each sentence she says, he tried to figure her out. But she was like a thousand-pieced puzzle. The best he could do was to put parts of the puzzle together. He couldn't connect the pieces, he couldn't even figure out the image of the complete puzzle.

Every woman is a hard puzzle. But this one he wants to call his own was much more harder to comprehend.

He listed all the possibilities, hoping one of the hundreds of reasons was the reason why she was acting this way.

[Is it too thick for you?]

[Is it out of fashion?]

[Is it because someone you hate has the same dress?]

He saw it in her eyes that she was getting impatient. So he asked again.

[Why don't you want to wear it?]

[It's because it's white,] she finally screamed out, [I don't like white. It reminds me of marriage, it reminds me of angels and heavens and all the good things. I don't match white. I'm no angel.]

Silence replaced the anger, she walked over to the coffee table and sipped on her too sweet coffee. She waited for a laugh, for words of mockery. She expected him to walk away, to leave. But he only shook his head in disbelief. He only embraced her and said softly, [That's such a stupid reason, and you're such a foolish person. Don't you know? You're the closest thing to an angel. You are kind and caring, you just never show it.]

[How can I be an angel when I don't believe in love,] she whispered at last, [I never loved anyone and I never will.] 

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He brought her to his apartment one day for a cup of coffee and a bit of snack. He just wanted to spend some more time together and she just wanted some coffee.

She walked into this apartment gracefully, checked out this place with a smile. She admired the way he decorated his apartment, she liked the fresh, energetic colours of the walls and furniture. She liked the pictures he placed on the shelves, and the scent of ocean that sneaked into her nostrils each time she inhaled.

She suddenly noticed the paintings on the wall, the beautiful paintings of Italy, of France, of the ocean and of a beautiful woman staring into the night sky.

It was her.

The painting was of her.

The painting was painted with so many different colours and so much effort. The painting of her was so lively, so realistic, she reached out to touch it, but lowered her arms at the last second.

[You paint.] She stated.

[Yes.] He simply answered.

She smiled sweetly, welcomed herself to the couch, and asked him to sit across from her.  

[Thank you for painting me.]

They shared a conversation that they both enjoyed. She drank the weak coffee he brewed for her, added much sugar and cream. He observed the way she held the cup, mixed the sugar, and the compelling way she licked her lips. He was happy they were here living in this moment; he believed that he was getting into her heart, winning her love. He believed that there was a reserved place for him. If he keeps on trying, his reserved parking space will eventually be rewarded for him and one day, she will proudly say that in her heart, there was a place for the man she loved.