The GPS leads me to a remote bungalow on the outskirts of the city. The house design is merely ancient, like those in the 2020s, which I have seen in our history book. Still, to see it directly like this is elevated to the eyes. The walls are painted white, whereas the top is roofed over with deep violet tiles. It is a design that is not only obsolete but also extremely ancient. There are no other buildings in Zanie, either in the city or outside, like this anymore.

As I ride my bike closer, I see a neon banner displaying two rows of words: "Open Art Gallery" and "By R...E." The last row seems to be broken since the sign shows only two characters where there are supposed to be nine.

Who still opens an art gallery these days? I mutter to myself as I kick the footrest down and park my motorbike right next to the three blocked steps stairs of the front porch.

"Sir, we are closing." A voice echoes as my foot steps on the first tread.

"Huh?" I look around, searching for the voice's source, only to find a black speaker installed near the door. It is so old that it almost turns grey due to color fading or maybe layers of dust.

"W-we...a-a-re...clos-ing, s-ir..." the voice stutters like a low battery mode, proving my theory to be right. This device needs replacing.

"That's strange. I seem to see a few people inside."

"W-we...a-a-re...clos-ing, s-ir..."

It repeats the same sentence, ignoring my words.

Is it set only to convey a message and not responding? My brows furrow as I look at the speaker as if the answer is there. But when I can't seem to find any clue, I decide to let go. Whatever. If it is closing, then I'll go back.

However, when I turn on my heels, the same voice speaks up again—this time clearer. "Welcome to the gallery, sir."

What?! I turn my head back with a frown. Is it open or close now?

I scratch the back of my head in puzzlement. This device really needs fixing. As if to help solve my confusion, the automatic door slides open, revealing a couple holding hands walking out. Wasting no more time thinking, I hurry in before the door comes to a close.

Stepping in, I find myself lost in admiration of the building's interior design that thoroughly captivated me. Though it looks just like an ancient house from the outside, the inside is on another level. The two contradict each other like fire and water.

Instead of simple white blocks of cement, rows and rows of translucent glass walls are installed in a multicursal square maze, each separately hanging different paintings and sketches. The light from the floor shines on the glass and reflects on those art pieces, enhancing their beauty to a different level.

I have never been a fan of the arts, nor do we even have any drawing artist residing in Zanie. This is my first time seeing this kind of hand-drawn, raw, and emotional art piece. My mind is totally enchanted that my feet subconsciously keep moving, bringing me from one wall to the next.

Before I know it, I come to the dead end, leaving me no space left to move. As I look up at the painting that this last glass-wall is displaying, my eyes wide open in shock. My lips part in response, but there is no word escaping.

Isn't this...me? I ask myself as I stare at the watercolor painting that looks like a portrait of me.

It makes me wonder whether I am looking at an art piece or a mirror, for it shows the exact reflection of me. Even the outfit is the same as the one I am wearing.

But how?

"Sir, ...w-we're...c-los-ing. P-lea-se l-leave..." The static sound just like before echoes from each corner of the wall, but I'm too busy to care.

"S-sir, I-I re-peat...we're..cl-osing. If y-you w-won't l-leave, I'll...c-call...t-the...p-olice."

"Ran, you're not trying to scare away my customers again, are you?" A deep, beautiful voice that sounds like music to my ears reverberates behind me. "Sorry, my voice control system is old. I haven't taken it to the maintenance yet. I apologize if it scared you just now."

As soon as I turn around, I am locked in a gaze with an angelic sight of a tall, handsome, black hair guy with high cheekbones and freshly shaved jawline. His beauty keeps me enthralled that I don't even notice the rapid glow on the top of my wrist even when we are standing only two steps apart.

"Um...Hi. My name is Ryan."

Ryan. Even his name is beautiful.

I am so busy admiring his beauty that I forget even to introduce myself. Still, he doesn't find this offensive, for he continues the conversation typically, though a little shyly.

"I know it's weird, but can I please shake your left hand?"

Subconsciously, my left hand goes to him, to which he hurries to connect us. The moment our palms meet, I sense an electric spark transmitting throughout every inch of my body, and subsequently, form a big number displayed in the air in front of us.

A number I have never believed exists.

100%

"Finally, I found you," he says with a broad smile that reaches the corner of his ears.

"I believe that's my line."

Like gravitation, our bodies pull close, closing the already tiny gaps between us. He hooks his slender fingers underneath my chin, tipping my face up so that we can peer into each other's eyes and staring at our reflections. I automatically close my eyes when his face draws near, allowing my lips to be pampered by his own.

The kiss comes gently at first, but after a few swaps of angles, it evolves into a fast, open-mouthed French Kiss. I moan as I lose the dominant rights to his tongues, but it doesn't end just like that. To make up for the defeat, I cup the back of his head and grab a fistful of his hair into my hand, feeling its silky strands prickling my fingers. He groans at the slight pain and pulls away; his brows furrowed as he peers deeper into my eyes. I mistake his change in expression as anger, so I am about to open my mouth to apologize when he beats me to it.

"My room is just back there." He is panting hard, struggling to breathe out each word.

I can see the motive behind those lustful eyes. And strangely, which is so uncharacteristic of me, the corner of my mouth quirks up into a lopsided grin before leaning down to give him a peck on the lips.

"Then what're we waiting for?"

Satisfied with my answer, he lifts me off my feet in the bridal style with one swift motion as if I weigh nothing.

"Ran, lock the door. We're closed for the day," he said as we head towards the back of the gallery hall.

~END~

P.S: If you're uncomfortable with a mature scene, please consider this as the end of the story. For readers who are okay with such a thing, please proceed to the extra chapter.