This was her personality.
The tip of the pen turned, and with a few strokes, she had drawn an outline. Her swift strokes formed some male features on the white paper in an instant. A few thick lines formed a characteristic male face, thin lips, and sleek, long eyes that held magnificence. After a few more strokes from her hands, his features became 80% similar to him.
She turned a few pages forward. They were all him—all the pages had him.
The angry him, the cruel him, the cold him, and now, the peaceful him.
But none of her drawings had a smiling one or even a friendly one.
She hugged the sketchbook tightly to her chest. The sunlight seeped through the windows and sprayed onto her.
If only they could stop fighting for a few days more.
She subconsciously laid her fingertips on the back of her hand. If this continued, will her love eventually end up like her soul?
Lost in the end.
