SHORT STORIES (BL)

For the first time in my life, I was at a loss.

My hand hovered over the canvas as I added the final touches to the pair of eyes that had been haunting me for the past few months.

I had become exceptionally good at drawing the same pair of eyes over and over again, yet I couldn't draw anything else—not even an imaginary figure.

Every time I finished painting those eyes, I would fall in love with them all over again, just as I had the first time.

And why wouldn't I?

They were mesmerizing. Those blue eyes were nothing short of captivating.

Whenever those eyes appeared in my dreams, I would desperately search for something beyond them. A nose, a mouth, a face—anything that could help me picture the person they belonged to.

But to this day, I hadn't been lucky.

The eyes would appear for a few fleeting seconds before disappearing, leaving me with nothing but questions. The following morning, I would sit before my canvas, scratching my head and attempting to recreate more than just those eyes. Yet I couldn't even manage to draw the eyebrows.

It was beyond frustrating.

It wasn't fair.

I was a final-year art student at one of the most prestigious colleges, and I had no doubt that I would become a great artist someday. My professors had high expectations of me, and I had every intention of living up to them.

I was exceptionally good at drawing people, regardless of their gender or age. Over the years, I had drawn countless portraits and won most of the competitions I had participated in.

So why was I suddenly stuck on a single pair of eyes?

Why couldn't I draw anything beyond them, not even an imaginary figure?

The more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became.

I had fallen hopelessly in love with those eyes, and lately, my mood had been terrible because I couldn't bring myself to draw anything else.

It was a mystery.

And I hated mysteries.

Every time those eyes appeared before me, I experienced a strange warmth and unfamiliar emotions that I couldn't explain. Without even realizing it, my attachment to them grew stronger with each passing day.

My habits had changed, too.

Whenever I encountered a new face, I instinctively found myself staring into the person's eyes, hoping to discover the pair that had stolen my peace of mind.

Disappointment was inevitable.

As the days passed, my friends began calling me creepy and accusing me of acting like a stalker.

Did I care?

Not one bit.

I needed to find those eyes and, more importantly, the person who owned them. I wanted to complete my painting and finally put an end to the ridiculous way my heart raced whenever I encountered them in my dreams.

Honestly, I was reaching new heights of stupidity.

I was sleep-deprived, exhausted, and running on what felt like the last scraps of my energy.

And I had those damn eyes to blame for everything.

After several days of skipping classes, I finally decided to drag myself to college. At the very least, I needed to maintain my attendance.

I was walking lazily towards the bus stop when I spotted my bus approaching.

Had it arrived earlier than usual, or was I late?

Whatever the reason, I wasn't about to miss it.

I broke into a run and managed to catch it just in time.

Thank God!

I hurried inside, barely paying attention to where I was going. Within seconds, I stumbled over something—or someone—and landed flat on the floor.

Ow!

My head hurt a little.

I remained where I was, making absolutely no effort to get up.

I hate my life these days. I hate how I've turned into such a clumsy idiot. I hate everything that's happening to me.

I continued mumbling those thoughts under my breath, completely ignoring my surroundings.

"Are you okay?"

A voice interrupted my miserable little monologue, followed by a burst of laughter.

Seriously? Where had basic manners disappeared to?

The guy wasn't even trying to hide his amusement.

My eyes remained firmly shut.

"Here. Take my hand."

The same voice spoke again.

I was perfectly comfortable lying on the floor, but I couldn't exactly spend the entire journey in that position. Reluctantly, I reached out and accepted his hand.

"Try not to put too much weight on me. Otherwise, I might end up falling right beside you. You're a little on the heavier side."

Irritation flared inside me.

I wanted to yell at him that I wasn't heavy. I was simply muscular enough to attract girls.

But I held my tongue.

With his help, I finally got to my feet and found myself standing directly in front of him.

"Are you okay?"

Another chuckle followed the question.

Seriously, what was wrong with this guy?

I slowly opened my eyes, ready to snap at him.

And then I froze.

For several seconds, I couldn't move or speak. I simply stared at him, completely mesmerized.

Those eyes.

The same pair of eyes that had haunted me for months were staring right back at me.

Finally, I had found their owner.

There was just one tiny problem.

He was a man.

A man!

This wasn't what I had expected. Not even remotely.

No. No. No.

How the hell could those captivating eyes belong to a man?

Something had to be wrong.

Had I hit my head harder than I thought? Was I hallucinating? Surely, I couldn't have mistaken a man's eyes for a woman's.

Could I?

Keeping my expression as straight as possible, I finally spoke.

"You're not the owner."

He stared at me, visibly confused. A few seconds later, his confusion gave way to an amused smile.

"What do you mean?"

Irritated for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I repeated myself.

"You're not the owner of those eyes."

He looked even more perplexed.

"Well, the last time I checked, I was. My mother passed them down to me."

Thank God!

I knew I wasn't entirely wrong.

"See? I told you! You're not the real owner. Those eyes are your mother's gift. She has the same eyes, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, but not exactly. Hers are lighter than mine. Mine are darker, so technically, I'm the owner of these eyes."

I stared at him in disbelief.

I was annoyed. I was angry. And, for some inexplicable reason, I wanted to argue with him.

He couldn't possibly be the owner of those eyes.

My beautiful eyes.

"Are you okay?"

His question was followed by another laugh.

Clearly, he was thoroughly entertained by my misery.

For his information, I wasn't a clown hired to make his day more amusing.

I was beginning to lose my patience, and judging by the expression on my face, he was finally getting the message.

I was hopelessly attracted to those eyes, but was I really supposed to give up my interest in women because of them?

Over my dead body!

I wasn't turning gay.

Never.

"Did you hit your head badly? Have you lost your memory or something?"

He burst into laughter after taking another look at my face.

I quickly looked away.

This guy was probably the most cheerful person I had ever encountered.

Damn it!

If only that laughter came from a girl, it would have sounded like music to my ears.

I spotted an empty seat and immediately claimed it. Unfortunately, the seat beside me was empty for only a few seconds before the same guy occupied it.

I needed a break.

A proper one.

Couldn't he take a hint?

"Are you okay?"

He was still wearing that ridiculously charming smile, and I was beginning to suspect it was permanently attached to his face.

"You should visit a hospital. Something might have happened to your head. You're behaving strangely, and I wouldn't be surprised if you had a blood clot or something. I could check if you want."

That was it.

I had reached the absolute limit of my patience.

"Excuse me, do I know you? If you're flirting with me or something, at least have the courtesy to tell me. I have absolutely no idea how flirting works between guys, and I'm not turning gay for you—or for your eyes. Get that into your head!"

He burst into even louder laughter.

For God's sake, I meant every word I said!

I wasn't joking, especially when it came to girls.

Feeling thoroughly defeated, I cleared my throat and turned towards the window.

I was determined not to look at him again.

Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of me.

I glanced sideways.

He had his eyes closed, listening to music through his earbuds. His head moved gently to the rhythm, and even his legs seemed to be keeping time with the song.

How could someone look so carefree?

My stop finally arrived.

We both stood up, and I shot him an irritated glare.

He responded with that same infuriating smile.

"I swear, this is where I usually get off. I'm not following you."

As if I cared!

We stepped off the bus and started walking in opposite directions.

I continued for a few steps before turning around.

He was walking away, his earbuds back in place.

I watched him grow smaller in the distance.

And then something strange happened.

The farther he moved away, the more irritated I became. Within minutes, an unfamiliar ache settled in my chest, growing stronger with every step he took away from me.

What the hell was happening?

I felt anxious. My steps grew heavier, and an inexplicable urge to turn back overwhelmed me.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask him.

So many things I wanted to understand.

But as the distance between us increased, none of those questions seemed to matter anymore.

All I knew was that I couldn't let him walk away.

The next thing I knew, I was running.

I rushed towards him and stopped directly in front of him.

He looked startled before removing his earbuds.

"This isn't happening in my life," I blurted out.

He stared at me for a moment before that familiar smile returned.

God only knew why he found everything I did so amusing.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Oh, please! It was just a minor fall."

"Was it? Because, judging by your behaviour, I highly doubt that. You've been rambling all sorts of nonsense since we met."

I took a deep breath.

"Hey, I like your damn eyes! They've been haunting me for months. I've imagined all sorts of things about you, and look what I've ended up with!"

I wasn't joking.

Could he please stop smiling for just five minutes?

"Okay. I guess I'm sorry for your loss."

"I don't want your apology!"

I dragged a hand through my hair, desperately trying to understand my own behaviour.

"You know what? I may sound completely insane, and I honestly don't know why I'm saying this, but let's date for a few days and see how things turn out between us."

He studied my face in silence.

By then, he had probably concluded that I was a complete lunatic.

Honestly, I couldn't blame him. Even I had no idea what the hell was going on inside my head.

"You know, there's a hospital nearby. You should consult a doctor before things get worse."

I let out an exasperated breath.

"Hey! I'm not crazy. I know exactly what I'm saying."

"If you like my eyes so much, we can be friends. Why do you want to date me?"

"Because I haven't just fallen for your eyes. I've fallen in love with them."

He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Let me ask you something. If you met someone else with the same eyes, would you ask them out, too? And what if that person turned out to be a girl?"

I hadn't expected that comeback.

We had known each other for barely a few minutes, yet he had managed to ask a question that left me genuinely speechless.

I considered his point.

Strangely enough, he made sense.

But the bigger question was whether I was ready to give up everything I had always wanted for a pair of eyes.

"Good question," I admitted. "But I don't want to take any chances. I've spent so many sleepless nights over this that my grades are starting to suffer. So, no thank you. If I can somehow make things work with you, that'll be enough for me."

I took a deep breath and faced him.

He sighed before speaking.

"Well, then, thank you, but—

He leaned closer to my ear.

I'm not into dick. You should consult a doctor."

With that, he straightened up and walked away.

What a dick!

Within seconds, I was standing in front of him again.

He let out an exhausted sigh.

"Are you bloody homophobic?"

"What?"

"Are you?"

"Of course not!"

"Thank God! For a moment, I thought I was going to have a problem. I was already considering joining the community and everything. Attending those annual events, joining a few gay communities for protection... You know, people are becoming more open-minded these days. Why take unnecessary risks, right?"

He stared at me as though I had finally lost whatever remained of my sanity.

"Do you even hear yourself? What the hell are you blabbering about?"

"Come on! Give me a bloody chance. I want to date you!"

"Right. Let me get this straight. You met me a few minutes ago. You announced that you weren't gay and had absolutely no intention of becoming one. You complained about having to sit beside me. And now you're standing here, begging me to date you. Did I miss anything?"

"Yeah. Reality hit me sooner than expected, and here I am, begging you to give me a chance."

"And I've already given you my answer."

I stared at him, refusing to accept defeat.

"Have you ever dated a guy before? Not even once?"

He looked startled for a moment. Then, as expected, that infuriating smile returned.

"Yes, I have. And I didn't like it."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"Seriously? Damn, this is a serious problem. Do you expect me to change my sexuality through surgery or something?"

He burst into laughter.

"I'm warning you, the outcome would be a disaster. So, let's not get into all that nonsense. Let's concentrate on what we have in front of us."

He bit his lower lip.

And I got distracted.

Completely.

"Stop doing that!"

Before I could think twice, I reached out and gently freed his lip from between his teeth.

The moment I realized what I had done, I froze.

Did I just do that?

Have I really turned gay this quickly?

He burst into laughter again and began walking away.

"Go away! You're the craziest moron I've ever met."

"Fine. I'll take that as a compliment."

I hurried after him.

"Come on, let's give this a try. Just a few days. That's all I'm asking for. Give me a bloody chance!"

I caught his hand, making him stop.

Then I stepped in front of him and extended my hand for a proper handshake.

"I'm Daniel Rasaac. I'm a final-year art student at one of the most prestigious colleges. My mentor is Professor James Dickson, a well-known professor and, if you ask me, an absolute asshole who loves sucking the life out of me during art class."

I paused to catch my breath.

"I hate him. I really do. And now, the bastard is begging me to paint a portrait of his family. Naturally, I've been coming up with every possible excuse to avoid doing it. See? Never get on a student's bad side. This is exactly what happens!"

His smile disappeared.

A frown slowly replaced it.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what had happened to his cheerful expression.

Then he spoke.

"He's my father."

Silence.

Absolute silence.

I stood there, staring at him, my mouth hanging open.

Of all the people in the world, why did it have to be his father?

I really needed to learn when to keep my mouth shut.

"Well," I muttered, "my day couldn't possibly get any worse. Do you have any suggestions?"

His smile returned.

"Yeah. Stop talking."

I rolled my eyes.

"Thanks for the advice, but I'll pass."

He sighed and resumed walking.

Naturally, I followed him.

"Okay, fine. You can give me your answer later. In the meantime, let's exchange some basic information. Starting with your name. I know your surname, but what about your first name? Come on, I deserve to know at least that much."

He abruptly stopped walking.

"You're the most annoying person I've ever met. Trust me."

He took a breath before introducing himself.

"I'm Ethan Dickson. I study at one of the finest colleges."

I stared at him.

"That's it? Seriously? That's all the information I'm getting?"

He continued walking, muttering under his breath, "My day just keeps getting better."

"Come on, Ethan! Tell me more. What's your favourite food? What about beverages, colours, places you'd like to visit, and everything else? I need to know these things!"

He ignored me.

I wasn't about to give up so easily.

"Come on! Spill the details. I need to start dealing with your father in the best way possible. He already hates me, but I'll find a way around that. That's not a big deal."

I paused dramatically.

"The real challenge is his damn son."

Ethan glanced at me.

He didn't say a word.

He simply smiled.

And, just like that, I was completely whipped.

THE END