When Delia walked through the school gate, sunlight landed perfectly on her canvas bag.
The canvas was stained with paint in different colors; blue, red, yellow, green. Colors he couldn't tell apart.
But suddenly, Stanley realized something. Those colors were mixed by Delia herself.
Not for him. For herself.
Stanley stood there for a long time, until the sky darkened and the lights outside the school came on. Only then did he slowly turn around and go back to the small hotel.
He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying her questions over and over.
"What are you going to change?"
"When are we getting married?"
"When are you going to design our house?"
He didn't know. He really didn't know.
Because he had never seriously thought about them.
In his mind, none of this had e
