Three
1083 Words
Ryan:
The silence after her words was heavier than I'd anticipated, hanging in the air like a storm cloud that refused to break. Dani hesitated, her expression flickering with something unspoken, as though she'd just realized she'd revealed too much. I'd seen it before—the way people closed off after exposing their vulnerabilities—but with her, it was different.
How she carried herself, burdened yet fiercely independent, made me want to push past those walls.
When I offered to help, it wasn't out of politeness. It was raw and honest, a compulsion to reach out to someone who seemed determined to stand alone, even as the weight of her world threatened to crush her. She didn't strike me as someone who asked for help, not because she didn't need it, but because life had taught her the bitter lesson that no one would offer.
But I wasn't like most people.
I let her speak, letting the conversation ebb and flow at her pace. When the silence stretched too long, I didn't fill it with empty words. Sometimes, presence was enough.
"So… you paint?" I asked, the surprise in my voice genuine. Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, wide and uncertain, before she glanced away, tucking the thought back into herself like a secret she hadn't meant to share.
"Yeah," she admitted softly, almost reluctantly.
"But they're not… you know, gallery-worthy." I raised an eyebrow, catching the self-doubt in her tone.
"If you don't mind me saying so, everything is gallery-worthy if you believe in it." My words felt too bold, but she needed to hear them.
Her laugh was hollow, more a breath than a sound.
"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who'll look stupid when no one buys anything." I leaned forward, my gaze steady.
"Here's the thing. Talent always finds its way to the right people. But the market? That's a game I know how to play, and over the years of playing it, I've gathered more than a few connections." Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of doubt shadowing her features.
"Connections?"
"Connections," I said, leaning back in my chair. "Sometimes, it's just about getting in front of the right eyes. And I've got a few of those." She studied me, her skepticism sharp, but I didn't flinch under her gaze. I wasn't expecting her trust—not yet.
"Look," I continued, my voice softening, "I know it's terrifying to put yourself out there. But you'd be surprised how many people are waiting for something real." My eyes drifted to the stack of papers she clung to like a lifeline.
"Not everything has to be about survival. Sometimes, it's about risking something to discover what's possible." She didn't answer right away, her fingers fidgeting with the corner of a paper. I could see the battle waging in her mind, the tug-of-war between fear and the faintest glimmer of hope.
"Would you show me?" I asked, my voice quieter now, almost reverent. Her hesitation was palpable, but so was the vulnerability she couldn't entirely hide.
Her laugh was almost bitter. "I've never shown anyone my doodles besides my grandma,"
"You could start with me," I said gently.
"I think you deserve more than this. The world deserves to see what you can do." She didn't respond, but I could see the cracks forming in her armor. She was thinking about it, weighing the risk against the potential reward.
Later that night, long after I'd gone to bed, something pulled me from sleep. The house was still, the silence broken only by the faintest sound—a swish, a soft scrape.
I glanced at my phone—three a.m.
I shouldn't have pried. But curiosity—or maybe something deeper—drew me from bed. The faint glow of a lamp spilled from the living room door, and I approached quietly, my steps muffled by the old wooden floor.
Through the crack in the door, I saw her.
Dani stood before a canvas, her back to me, her movements fluid and purposeful. The soft light bathed her in gold, casting her in a glow that made her seem almost otherworldly. She was lost in her work, the brush moving with a confidence I hadn't seen in her before.
And the painting…
It wasn't just a landscape—it was alive. The colors burned with an almost electric intensity—deep oranges bleeding into purples, a sunset caught in the throes of chaos and beauty. In the foreground, a figure emerged, ethereal and haunting, as though it might step from the canvas at any moment.
I couldn't look away.
She sighed softly, stepping back from the painting, and that's when she saw me.
Her eyes widened, shock flashing across her face before embarrassment took over.
"I didn't hear you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
I stepped inside, slow and deliberate. "I wasn't trying to interrupt. But… Dani, this is incredible."
She returned to the painting, crossing her arms to shield herself from me. It's a move I would typically get rustled at. I didn't want her to hide from me.
"It's nothing special," she said softly, a faint cherry red staining her cheeks.
I shook my head, stepping closer. "No. This is real. I want this, Dani. Can I buy it?" I was genuine in my interest in the painting and saw it as an opportunity to add some money to the pot she needed to fill for the house.
Her voice wavered. "I don't know if I can do that,"
I nodded, my voice gentle but firm. "You don't have to decide now. But this? This is worth sharing… I will give you five thousand for it," She stared at the canvas momentarily, shocked as her hands hovered near it like she wasn't ready to let go. And I realized something at that moment.
She was on the edge of something extraordinary, and I was getting a front-row seat to her breakthrough.
“F-F-F,” she stammered.
"Yes, five thousand," I smiled. I hated to admit I was attracted to the girl. But I could realize it wasn't in the usual sense of my attraction. There wasn't an urge to bend her over a nearby piece of furniture and take her in a way no man had ever made her feel before.
This was protective, raw, and primal.
She had gotten under my skin already, and something about that felt dangerous.
- Writer
