Three Days Later…
The sun was about to set.
On one side, the sky glowed with shades of red, while on the other, the moon appeared faintly, accompanied by scattered stars.
From the rooftop of a tall building, Ira stood watching the view.
She was completely still— as if a river had forgotten how to flow.
A gentle breeze brushed her hair against her cheeks.
Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. Even after noticing them, she chose to ignore the sound.
The man who came from behind stopped a few steps away and said, “So… did you collect all the paintings that came in for submission today, baby doll?”
Those words felt like salt rubbed into an open wound.
Her gaze snapped sharply from the sky to the ground as she replied, “There’s still today… tomorrow is the last day for submissions!”
Rivan, standing behind her, let out a deep sigh and walked closer. Leaning against the rooftop wall, he looked at her and said, “Baby doll… you know, the world gives less pain through wounds and far more through pointless hopes. When that hope breaks… your heart shatters. So why hold on to it so tightly?”
Ira turned toward him, took a deep breath, and suddenly stomped hard on his foot.
Rivan cried out in pain, rubbing his foot. “What was that?!”
Ira smiled. “Your payment—for giving unnecessary advice.”
“Baby doll, I wasn’t joking,” Rivan said seriously.
“And neither am I,” Ira replied. “Give up hope? Am I crazy?! Even in freezing lands, if a tiny spark can keep us alive a little longer, what’s wrong with that?”
Rivan stepped closer and held her hand.
“You’re Big Bro’s sister… I should’ve known. Just like he won’t give up hope of Anamika returning, you won’t either. You’ll keep waiting—for her or for her painting. But I’m scared, Ira. Hope is dangerous. It works like an illusion. That’s why I don’t want you to tie your heart to it so tightly. Every day, when you don’t see Anamika’s painting among the submissions, you grow disappointed… and I can’t bear that look in your eyes.”
Ira pulled her hand away and turned aside.
“Stop with these filmy dialogues. They don’t suit you.”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“And silence and sadness don’t suit you,” Rivan replied, pulling out a large chocolate from his pocket and handing it to her.
Without saying a word, Ira took the chocolate, broke it, and began eating it.
From a distance, Mr. Shah watched the scene. A faint smile appeared on his face as he thought, “When did the boss become so understanding? He even went to buy chocolates just to cheer up the little lady.”
Quietly, he walked away.
A few moments passed.It was now 9 p.m.
Koyo arrived with food and medicines for Anamika.
As always, he entered the dark room with a gentle smile. The only light inside came from the moon filtering through a small window in the ceiling and a dim bulb hanging above.
The moment he stepped inside, he saw Anamika sitting inside the cage, facing a canvas.
Unlike every other time, there was no softness in her eyes.
Usually, she painted only one person—Aditya. After finishing each painting, she would look at it with a loving smile before moving on to the next. But today, her emotions were different… or perhaps Koyo simply couldn’t read them.
He deliberately made his footsteps audible as he walked closer, but Anamika didn’t move. Her hands were tightly clasped together.
As Koyo began opening the cage door, the faint sound reached her ears. Her gaze shifted, and she looked at him. Smiling gently, he said, “You seem far too lost in your painting today.”
“I want to send this painting to the art exhibition,” Anamika said flatly.
The moment she spoke, Koyo’s expression changed.
For a brief second, all emotion vanished from his face—cold and frightening. Then, taking a deep breath, he masked it with a smile.
Standing a few steps away, he placed the food tray down and said, “So after reading the newspaper for just one day, you’ve made this decision? That’s why… I don’t like newspapers.”
He turned to leave, but Anamika stood up.
“Please listen to me! I want people to see this painting… and maybe… you’d want that too.”
Koyo turned back.
“I would never want anyone else’s eyes on your paintings. That’s not right. Because your paintings…”
(He gestured toward the paintings on the walls.)
“All of them are made for just one person. If the world sees them, they might think that man is your love. But you paint him only for fun, right?”
He asked even though he already knew the answer.
Looking away, Anamika said softly, “This time… this time I’ve painted something different. Please… just look at it once and tell me—can’t this really be sent to the art exhibition?”
With that, she turned the canvas toward him.
Koyo .
The painting was created in calm, muted colors, yet beneath that softness lay an unsettling darkness.
At the center of the canvas sat a , seated on a chair and leaning slightly toward a table. On the table rested a small cage, inside which a was trapped—delicate, silent, and painfully alive. One of the woman’s hands rested gently on the cage, calm and possessive, as though control required no effort at all.
In her other hand, she held a .
The mask was lifted just enough to suggest motion—as if she had been caught in the act of removing it, or perhaps deciding whether to wear it again. Because of this, only her eyes were visible. They were sharp, calm, and deeply unreadable. No anger. No mercy. Just awareness.
The rest of her face remained hidden behind the mask.
In the corner of the painting stood a simple vase holding a on the verge of blooming. Its deep crimson pierced through the muted tones like a silent warning waiting to unfold.
There was no blood.
No visible violence.
Yet the painting felt disturbingly dark— as if danger sat quietly, smiling.
Koyo stepped closer and whispered, “… this is Master’s painting.”
“I’ve forgotten what my mother really looked like,” Anamika said.
“I painted what remained in my memories. Please… I want the world to see my mother’s painting. Please send it for submission.”
She kept speaking, but Koyo was lost in the details—the precision, the elegance, the mastery of color.
The painting was breathtaking.
Anamika waited anxiously for his answer.
Finally, Koyo looked at her and asked softly, “Is this world really worthy of seeing something so beautiful?”
At those words, all of Anamika’s hope shattered.
“By the way… what’s the name of this painting?” Koyo asked lightly.
Lowering her eyes, she replied, “It has no name… and it doesn’t need one. No one will see it, and no one will need a name to call it.”
Hearing the sadness in her voice, Koyo stepped closer, leaned toward her, and whispered something softly before walking away.
Anamika stood frozen. Her hands trembled slightly. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her gaze toward the small window in the ceiling, where the moon shone quietly.
Outside, as Koyo closed the door, he murmured to himself, “Did you ever truly understand Master’s love? This painting didn’t carry the color of Master’s love… but still… it was beautiful.”
Smiling faintly, he walked away.
