I don't want too many people at the exhibition. Even though Lily sent out countless invitations and posted about it on social media, I can't shake the anxiety about how many might show up. To my surprise, there are only about 20 to 30 people. For me, that's still a lot—too many for comfort. I've never been the social type, and there are only a few people I feel truly at ease with.
The more people who come, the more they'll want to talk to me, distracting me from my work. It's not my first exhibition—it's actually my third in five years—but it never gets easier facing strangers. I never know how to introduce my work. I've painted these pieces because I felt something when creating them, but explaining it to others? That's a whole different challenge.
What can I say? Maybe I could talk about the person in the paintings—how they find solace in drowning. That could work. But even as the thought crosses my mind, I'm not fully convinced. Lily, on the other hand, is a master at this. She knows exactly how to sell anything.
I've tried explaining my work to groups before, but it always feels like they're not really listening—talking about the stock market while I'm trying to pour my soul into explaining the meaning behind my art.
Lily, always the realist, suggests I take a break. She probably knows I won't sell a single piece this way.
And then, I spot Andrew. He's chatting with a group, but even though he's hanging on to Lily's every word, I can't help but smile. In a room full of the wealthy, he looks so ordinary, but he carries more presence and charm than all of them put together. I want to call him over, but he looks busy. I don't want to interrupt.
As I watch the crowd, I wonder how many of these people are genuinely interested in my work, and how many are simply here to pass the time.
There's a man in a black suit, black coat, and a black hat. He's not here to draw attention—he's simply enjoying the art. He looks genuine.
Then there's a woman, probably in her 50s, with perfectly styled gray curls and a bright pink Chanel outfit that screams wealth. She's clutching the arm of a tall man, likely her husband. She's studying the paintings intently, so I guess she's one of the usual buyers Lily attracts.
A tall man stands in front of one of my paintings, his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing a long black coat and glasses, and though the lights are dim, his figure feels oddly familiar. I can't quite place it, but I don't have time to dwell on it as I see Lily approaching.
"A customer wants to hear about the paintings from you," she says, looking slightly nervous, as if unsure whether I'm up for it. But this time, I'm determined. I need to sell at least one piece. So I could have money to rent a decent apartment, and selling my work would be a win for me.
"Sure," I reply.
"After all," I add with a half-smile, "I'm the one who gave birth to them."
I walk over to the painting, my nerves settling slightly. The man is still standing there, his eyes fixed on the artwork. He looks like he's already made up his mind to buy, but he wants to hear it from me directly.
"Hello, I'm Rae Kemp," I say, offering a polite smile.
When he turns to look at me, my heart skips a beat. His voice, calm and collected, sends a shiver through me.
"It's nice to meet you again, Miss Kemp," he says with a warm smile.
I'm caught off guard by his voice, his hazel-green eyes. I can barely form a response. All I can think is that he shouldn't be here.
"Thank you," I manage to say, though I can feel my face betraying me.
"Would you mind telling me about the paintings?" he asks, gesturing toward the artwork.
"The first painting is about a girl trying to lose herself in the water, giving part of her pain to it. It's about letting go," I say, finding my rhythm as I speak, even though the words are being made up on the spot.
I glance at Asher, and he seems genuinely interested, which boosts my confidence just a bit.
"The second painting shows a girl leaving the darkness behind, swimming toward the light, searching for brightness in her dark world."
A smile begins to spread across my face as I move to the next piece.
"This third painting…" I trail off, my words faltering. It doesn't fit with the others. It's just two hands reaching toward the right corner of the canvas. The background is blue, possibly water, but I can't find the words to explain it.
As I stand there, unsure of how to describe it, I feel Asher's presence beside me.
"This…" His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He points toward the fourth and final painting.
"If I'm not mistaken, this girl's body is submerged in water, but only half of her face is visible. Her eyes are searching for someone to save her," he says, his voice steady.
I'm momentarily stunned. Should I just go along with his interpretation? I hesitate for a moment but eventually nod in agreement.
"Miss Kemp, I don't believe artists paint with a specific meaning in mind," he continues thoughtfully. "I think the paintings paint themselves."
I look up at him, a little surprised. He's right.
"That's so true," I say, almost in awe.
"When I painted, I didn't know exactly what I wanted to create. I just needed to release something, and water felt like the most peaceful way to do it."
I'm amazed at how well he understands.
"I think all these paintings are connected," he adds, his gaze still locked on the art.
"Really? How so?" I ask, a small laugh escaping me.
"Well, if you look at them all, the first girl is drowning, losing herself. The second is chasing the light, but she's still in danger of drowning. The fourth painting shows her searching for someone to save her. All of them need a hand to help them," he explains, as though it's the simplest thing in the world.
"Exactly," I say, feeling warmth spread through me.
"Well, if you look at the positions of the paintings, the hand is trying to save all of them," he adds, thoughtfully scratching his chin.
I just stare at him, in awe. How does he do this? How does he untangle my thoughts so easily? Sometimes, I like my mess. It feels safer. But then he comes along, and suddenly, everything seems clearer.
"Doctor Asher, have you decided which one you want to buy?" Lily interrupts, stepping between us.
Asher glances at the paintings again, then turns to her.
"I'll take all four," he says, his tone casual.
Lily looks taken aback, her eyes widening in surprise.
"I'm sorry, Doctor Asher, but two of these have already been sold," she says apologetically.
"But Miss Kemp just told me that these paintings are one piece if you look at them together," he replies, his voice firm. "How can I buy just two and leave the others behind?"
Lily looks at me, uncertain.
"It's better for me to sell all four together," I say, my voice steady. "I want the person who buys them to truly understand their value—not just as decorations, but as art."
Asher stops, turning back to me with a small smile.
"Pack them all up for Doctor Asher," I tell Lily, feeling a sense of calm wash over me.
I did it.
"I'm sorry to bring this up, Doctor Asher, but the price for each piece is $5,000. So, for all four combined, it's $20,000. Are you sure you want to buy all of them?" she asked, her voice low as she slightly bowed her head.
"Of course, I'd love to pay for it," he smiles, looking at me.
I smile back, my lips curling up slightly as a strange warmth surrounds my heart. It's a feeling I can't quite name. The distance between us isn't much—just a few inches—but it feels like I'm standing miles away from him. Still, I close the gap and walk toward him.
"Congratulations, Doctor Asher," I say, a wide smile across my face.
"Thank you, Miss Kemp," he replies.
"How are the dates going?" I ask, fiddling with my watch, finding it hard to look him in the eye.
"It's officially ended," he announces.
I immediately look up at him as he grins. A grin doesn't suit him; his face looks more like a Greek sculpture, stoic and composed, though even a small grin blends seamlessly.
"Then you should try a date with me," the words slip out before I can stop them. But I don't regret it.
If he's for me, I'm not running from him anymore. I'll run toward him to see how all of this ends.
His eyes soften with an elegant expression as he nods, looking down.
"I should've been the one asking you this," he says.
"So, are you free?" I ask, being forward.
It looks like he's doing some mental calculations. When he finishes, he looks at me.
"This weekend," he says, with no hesitation.
"Cool," I grin nonchalantly.
---
After the exhibition, Lily and I are having dinner at a nearby restaurant. I seem lost in my thoughts, replaying everything that happened back at the gallery. Lily, on the other hand, enjoys her peaceful dinner after dealing with customers about the sold paintings. To my surprise, Andrew is the one who bought the painting of the hand, but he's incredibly disappointed when he has to give it up. I even text him offering another painting, but he's still upset and doesn't reply to my message.
"I thought I'd get to meet your boyfriend," Lily says, chewing on her food.
"Huh?" I look up, completely confused. Then, Lily bursts out laughing, leaning back in her chair.
"For a minute, I thought Doctor Asher was the one," she says, wiping her mouth with a tissue.
I can't find the words to respond.
"Why didn't he come?" she asks, getting straight to the point.
"Well..." Before I can say anything, she continues,
"He should've been there, Rae. After all, he's your boyfriend. He should've at least shown some support. Look at Andrew—the way he adores you. I secretly root for you two. The way he looks at you..."
"Lily, stop. Andrew is my friend," I say, cutting her off.
"Unfortunately," she replies, holding her chin in her hand.
"What about your boyfriend? What does he do?" she asks, her tone suddenly serious, like a concerned parent.
"Look, Lily, we're just building our relationship, and we've decided not to involve friends and family until we work on our differences," I explain.
"What differences?" she asks, genuinely curious.
"Cultural differences." I say.
"Oh my God, Rae, that's so fun! Where's he from?" Lily asks, her curiosity piqued. She's always so interested in everything happening in my life.
"He's American, but he's also half Chinese," I say, still trying to make sense of my own words.
I'm not even close to dating Asher, and here I am, already declaring him my boyfriend. I'm such a fool.
"That's so cool," Lily says, her eyes wide with excitement. She's clearly impressed.
"Now, please, eat your food, Lily," I urge, hoping to change the subject.
The thing is, when I think about having a boyfriend, I always imagine someone who truly understands me. I don't say the wrong things or do the wrong things because I always think through every point before acting. But people often misunderstand me, which leads to verbal arguments. I'm not the kind of person who enjoys arguments, so I usually avoid trying to explain myself. But Asher, though, understands me in ways no one else does. He sees my point of view, and that makes me feel good.
And then it hits me—that's what I've always wanted. See how easy it is to agree on something? But people always complicate it.
I'm not very good at making decisions, especially when it comes to things I've never had to worry about before. But now, I'm trying. I'll try with him.