No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

I spent a few seconds lost in thought before grabbing a book from the bookshelf and sprawling out on the couch to read, completely immersed until our housekeeper, called me down for dinner.

"You look even prettier in person than in the paintings, Miss Felicia," The housekeeper remarked just as I was about to dig into dinner, catching me off guard.

"Paintings? What paintings?" I asked, puzzled.

The housekeeper chuckled, "The ones Mr. Wagner painted, all of them are of you. They're up in the studio on the second floor."

I had been out on the balcony earlier and passed by the second floor, but I hadn't ventured into any of the rooms, unaware of any studio.

What struck me most was that Dustin painted - this was news to me. We lived together before he went abroad, grew up together, yet he never once mentioned taking up painting. Could he have learned in these past four years? And all the paintings were of me?

Seeing the housekeeper bustling about the kitchen, I wondered if she was mistaken. After all, she's from a different country and might not differentiate faces as we do, much like how I view Westerners.

Even though I was skeptical, curiosity won out. After a few bites, I found myself heading upstairs.

room was the studio,

even the walk-in closet, until I reached a door that was locked, secured with

to

involves oneself, can be overwhelming. The housekeeper's words had ignited an urge in me to see for myself, but without the passcode,

over what Dustin might have chosen realized how little I knew about him now. We barely spoke when we

met

country,

dawned on me - if the studio was full of

entered my birthday on the keypad and heard the lock disengage.

evidently deeper

a deep breath, I pushed the door

at different stages of my life: as a young girl newly joined the Wagner family, growing up,

award-winning moments, ridiel

with my hair flying in the wind, and even sitting on the steps, hugging my