The suprise between us
696 Words
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Chapter Seven: The Surprise Between Us
Spring crept slowly into Berlin. The trees in Tiergarten burst into pale green, and café tables spilled onto the sidewalks. Adrian stood in a sunlit studio, staring at a painting that had taken him three weeks and a hundred drafts to complete. It was different from anything he’d ever done.
It wasn’t a cityscape.
It wasn’t even a figure study.
It was Lila.
Not her face, exactly, but the feeling of her: a figure in a bookshop bathed in gold and lavender light, surrounded by flying pages like birds mid-flight. Her hands cradled a book open to a blank page.
The title painted across the bottom: “The Beginning Is Here.”
His instructor, a stern woman who rarely showed emotion, stood silently before it. Then she turned to Adrian, her voice soft for the first time.
“This… is your voice.”
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That night, Adrian walked the length of the canal, clutching a letter he hadn’t mailed yet.
Lila had written to him the week before:
> The bookstore is hosting its first art night next month. I’ve saved the front display wall for something special. I don’t know what it is yet... but I know who it belongs to.
I miss you, A. But I’ve stopped counting the days. I’ve started dreaming of the one when you walk through that door again.
He read it under the moonlight, then pulled out his own reply.
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Dear Lila,
I said I came here to find myself. But the truth is, I found myself the moment I met you. This place taught me how to paint again. But you—you taught me why I should.
I’ll be home soon. But not empty-handed.
I’m bringing everything you’ve given me... in color.
Always,
A.
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Back in Brookstone, Lila stood inside The Ink Room, arms crossed, heart fluttering. The art night was one week away. The flyers were printed. The guests were confirmed. The wine and biscuits were ordered. But the wall she’d saved—the front wall, the one you saw the moment you entered—remained blank.
She stared at it for a long time. Then, slowly, she reached for a hammer and a nail. Above the empty wall, she hung a handwritten sign:
“Reserved: For the one who inspired it all.”
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The night of the event arrived like magic.
The bookstore was glowing with fairy lights. Poets read verses to a small, mesmerized crowd. Artists displayed watercolor landscapes and pencil sketches on every wall. Music drifted softly from a string quartet in the corner.
Lila floated through it all, smiling, proud—but restless.
Her eyes kept darting to the door.
To the blank wall.
To the promise she hadn’t let herself speak aloud.
And then—
The bell above the door chimed.
Lila turned.
Adrian stood there, wearing the same dark coat from the day they met, holding a large, cloth-covered canvas in his arms.
She couldn’t move.
He smiled, breathless. “Hi.”
She blinked hard, holding back tears. “You’re early.”
He stepped inside. “No, I’m just… finally home.”
Gasps filled the room as he unveiled the painting.
The crowd applauded—but Lila didn’t hear them. All she saw was the canvas.
Herself, imagined in vivid color. The shop. The light. The birds of paper. A story unwritten. A beginning still unfolding.
She reached out and touched the edge of the frame like it might disappear.
“I painted this for you,” Adrian said, stepping close. “For everything you gave me, even when I didn’t know how to ask for it.”
Lila whispered, “You brought it home.”
He leaned closer. “I brought me home.”
And then, surrounded by strangers, candles, and the smell of ink and wine and flowers, he kissed her like it was the first time—slow, full of color.
The bookstore cheered, but they didn’t hear it.
For them, the world had faded away, a
nd all that remained was the feeling of arriving—finally—where they were always meant to be.
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- Writer
