TSHL 18

Chapter 18

When I asked him back, he posed the same question to me.
“Why didn’t you ever do it? You were single too before marrying the duke, weren’t you?”
“Me? Well…”
I thought for a moment, then scratched my head, a little embarrassed.
“I just never met anyone I wanted to, that’s all…”
“Same here.”
“…”
“I can’t do something as formal as a marriage without meaning it.”

He said that while looking straight at me, and for some reason, I couldn’t help but laugh.
He laughed too, softly, as our laughter scattered into the open air around us.

I’m not sure how long we laughed, but eventually, the sound faded away.
When it did, he asked quietly,
“Then… what about now?”

His voice had changed—still careful, but carrying a deeper meaning.
I froze for a moment.
When I looked at him, I found an unfamiliar gaze fixed on me.

“Now, do you ever think about marriage? Or love?”

The smile faded slowly from my face.
That unfamiliar look in his eyes—
It happened all at once, a fleeting emotion that bloomed and caught me off guard.

And then came his voice, low and certain:
“…You used to like me when you were young, didn’t you?”

Time stretched.
A single second felt as long as a thousand years.
Through that silence, his face—merged with the endless blue sea behind him—seeped into my heart.
The feeling spread like warmth through my veins, until it reached and shook my heart.

Thump. My heart dropped.
I stared at him blankly as it began to race. My face flushed.
I took a step back.

“…There’s a small, secluded gallery on the road from Lorencia village to the city.”
He looked at me, as if he wanted to say something more, but I didn’t let myself meet his eyes.
“…You should visit sometime, when you have the chance.”

With that, I turned and hurried away.
I couldn’t hide my burning red face.
And behind me, his gaze lingered on my retreating back.

When I returned to the gallery, the first thing I did was pull out a white canvas.
On the wide, blank surface, I started painting—letting my hands and heart move freely, without thinking.
It was a pure, instinctive act, a way to calm my chaotic emotions.
Stroke after stroke, I painted, loyal only to what I felt.

And as I painted, old memories came alive—
A faint feeling from childhood I’d tucked away long ago.

It was the day I first visited Diana’s house, at her invitation.
I had tripped over a stone in front of the Count’s mansion.
“Ah…”
When I lifted the hem of my dress and looked down, I saw a thin line of blood trickling from my scraped knee.
Just as I frowned from the pain, a white hand appeared before me.

“Are you okay?”

I slowly looked up.
There stood a boy who resembled Diana.
He had that same delicate elegance, but with sharper, captivating features.

Maybe it was the sunlight behind him,
but to my young eyes, he seemed to be shining.

“Can you stand?”
“Ah, yes…”

My heart pounded.
I took his hand and stood up, cheeks glowing red.

“Your knee’s scraped. This is my house—if you don’t mind, I’ll have a maid tend to it.”

That was how I learned that the beautiful boy was Diana’s older brother.
And also that he was famous among the nobles for his striking looks.

At the academy, a few years my senior, he was admired by nearly every young lady my age.
He studied, read books, played sports, and did everything well.
No one could resist him.

Though strangely, he never seemed to have any rumors or romantic entanglements.

I too had a brief moment—just a quiet, distant admiration.
But there were always elegant young ladies hovering around him, the kind who could stand beside Diana herself.
Whenever he spoke kindly to me, I only grew more shy and avoided him.
I gave up early.

He shone too brightly for me to ever dare to reach.
It was a first love that bloomed and faded quickly.

For days, I kept painting—pouring out everything inside me—until finally, I stopped.
When I finished, there was even a kind of release, a quiet satisfaction.
I hung the vivid, colorful painting on the wall.

The next day, Arwin came by and noticed the new addition.
“You’ve fallen for someone, haven’t you?”

“…”

“Your paintings have changed. They’re fresher—yellow, red, violet… your colors have grown bolder.”

Was he a wandering fortune-teller or something?

I just sipped my tea quietly.
Painting had calmed my heart again.

“It seems something happened while you were away. You look… different.”
He tilted his head as he said it, silver hair falling softly over his eyes.

But it wasn’t his hair that caught my attention—it was the expression on his face.
There was something odd about it.

“Who is he? The man who stirred your heart?”

His gaze… held a faint disapproval.

I looked at him without answering.
Then glanced toward the painting and said slowly,
“A few days ago, I met someone again—someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time.”

“I see.”

“That meeting brought back a lot of emotions and memories I’d forgotten. So I painted them.
It wasn’t exactly an expression—more like a release.”

“I understand.”

He didn’t correct my choice of words—stirred.
Because it was true.
After so long, my heart had fluttered again.
It wasn’t something I could deny.
Just like the warmth I felt whenever I spoke with Arwin.

Perhaps that was why color had returned to my work.

“Who it was… that’s a secret. I don’t have to tell you, do I?”

“Ah.”

He stepped back slightly, letting out a soft sound, then said,
“Of course. You don’t have to. But…”
“…”
“I can’t help being curious—about the man who changed your art.”

His eyes shifted—subtle, unreadable.

Just then, the faint chime of the gallery door sounded.
We both turned our heads.

Someone stepped in slowly.
It was Michael.

3. The Two Men

As his tall frame entered the gallery, a flicker of warmth spread through me.
I stood and greeted him with a gentle smile.
“You came, Michael.”
“Good to see you again. Have you been—”

But then, as he began to greet me, he noticed Arwin standing beside me.
His eyes widened.
He stared blankly at Arwin—who was standing there with his arms crossed—and his face betrayed his confusion.
The look said, What on earth is he doing here?

Arwin didn’t avert his gaze.
In fact, there was a trace of amusement in his eyes now—he seemed to find the situation rather entertaining.

Michael cleared his throat and looked back at me, clearly uncomfortable though trying not to show it.
“…You have a guest, I see.”
“Yes, he’s a regular here. Comes often to see the art.”

I smiled naturally and introduced them.
“His name is Arwin. And this is Michael—head of the Allison family. We met by chance some time ago.”

At the mention of Arwin’s name, Michael’s expression faltered even more—but he quickly masked it.

Arwin stepped forward first and offered his hand.
“Good day, Lord Allison. My name’s Arwin—a simple commoner.”
“…”
“I happened to stay here while traveling. I never thought I’d meet someone so distinguished.”
“…Michael. A pleasure to meet you.”

Normally, a noble of Michael’s rank wouldn’t use honorifics with a commoner,
but despite his surprise, he returned the gesture politely.

Their eyes met briefly before their hands parted.

“…I should be going now,” Arwin said, slipping his cloak over his shoulders.

“You could stay a bit longer,” I said.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve had my coffee and enjoyed the paintings. I wouldn’t want to interrupt the two of you.”
“…”
“I’ll stop by again soon. Until next time.”

Arwin smiled faintly at me, then stepped outside.
Michael’s eyes followed his departing figure until the door closed behind him.

“…That guest—how long has he been around here?” he asked quietly.
“For a while. Not quite a month yet.”
“I see.”

“Anyway,” I said, breaking the silence with a smile, “I was wondering if you’d actually come. I’m glad you did.”
“Ah.”

He turned toward me, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“How could I not, when you invited me? I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”
“Oh, not at all. Would you like some coffee?”
“That would be nice.”
“Hot or cold? If I add ice, it becomes cold coffee.”
“…Then cold, please.”

The tension that had filled the room melted away,
and the gallery once again felt calm and peaceful.