Xiran was extremely restless from the moment Frila had sent him the picture of the painting Aselia had created of him. She was right, he hadn't been able to erase his existence from her heart, but he still resided there, permanently. Her words echoed in his brain.
How he wanted to see her as he kept staring at the portrait. Only if he could hold her for a few minutes and ease the permanent ache that pinched him every second of his existence. It had been hours and he was sitting there just watching it. How would it feel to touch those rosy lips of hers again?
He closed his eyes, hoping to find a shard of peace in this stormy sea which was his heart now. But there was none, today. Memory after memory of their intimate moments was hitting him like tsunami waves and he was nothing but a dinghy, toppling and wrecking in them.
