Art Of Letting You Go ✓

xxi.

I looked around and the interior screamed Art.

There were cute watercolor palettes on one corner and also some paintbrushes.

There was also a pile of canvases which were plain and clean.

Taehyung led me the counter where a few people were lining up. This place is completely new to me, but my first impression was positive.

"What do you want to eat?" He asked and I looked at the menu above us.

"Ricotta pasta and.. a vanilla frappe," I said and he nodded.

"You like vanilla too?" He asked excitedly.

Oh, right. Taehyung loves vanilla.

"Yeah," A smile crawled up to my lips, he's still the same Taehyung.

"I'll have lachimolala," He said, trying to look close at the menu.

"You mean Carbonara?" I asked doubtfully.

"Oh, yeah." He looked away with an embarassed smile.

"I thought you were someone else.." He chuckled, but on the contrary, I felt my smile instantly fade.

|  Taehyung's POV |

I forgot she wasn't Mira.

I swear she really resembles Mira. It's just, Mira's hair is a shade of dark brown while Saerin's hair is jet black.

Lachimolala was a joke that only Mira and I knew about. I'm surprised at how she understood that it meant carbonara.

I studied her face thoroughly, and realized how pretty she actually was.

As much as I don't want to compare her to Mira — I honestly think Saerin is prettier, or maybe it's just her face that I seem to know so well.

But... I love Mira more. I smiled at the thought.

My thoughts were interrupted when I realized we were next to order.

| Saerin's POV |

I mixed the watercolor paint in amusement, trying to create pastel colors.

"Do you know how to paint?" He asked, busy already painting a gradient shade in between shades of blue.

I shrugged, "I think I forgot. For all I know, I have no skill in art."

"Let me teach you," He stood up from his chair and made his way around to me.

"What do you want to paint?" He asked while taking a paintbrush.

"Uh.. I don't know.. a rose?"

He handed me the paintbrush and I didn't know why but my hands were unsteady.

I first painted the stem and a leaf, using green paint. I swear it looked like it was painted by a 5-year-old.

"Your hands are shaking," He held my hand which was holding the paintbrush.

He painted red light strokes above the stem, and the next thing I knew, there was a rose.

"Wow," I gasped and he pulled his hand away. Finally, the internal panic is gone.

His touch makes me go crazy, especially because it's been a while since we shared skinship.

What makes it awkward is the fact that I like him - or maybe even love.

"You're an actual artist," I complimented, earning a proud grin from him.

And you are an actual piece of art.