Perusing the group gathered at the front, Ayan found his attention drawn to a young man engaged in conversation with one of his classmates. His hair, a sleek black, was pulled neatly into a ponytail that hung beyond his shoulders, a rounded pair of glasses tucked neatly behind his ears. Two rings of gold fit snugly around the helix of his left ear. They shone brightly against his face – a deep shade of mahogany.

As if perceiving that someone was looking at him, the stranger turned his head, and his deep-set amber eyes met Ayan’s directly. For a brief moment, his gaze widened slightly, an unrecognizable emotion flickered across his face. Before he could even process the moment, the man swiftly averted his attention back to the student in front of him, as if nothing had happened.

“Ok, but what was that?”

Lyra’s voice, filled with avid bemusement, broke him out of his reverie. Turning, he saw that she was already leaned towards him, grinning widely, and eyes darting between him and the young man still seated calmly at the front. Pretending not to see her eagerness for gossip, he quickly gathered his things.

“I should probably pick a mentor,” came his fleeting excuse as he made his way to the front of the class.

By the time Ayan had registered the strange exchange he had just experienced, he found himself already standing in line behind the student at the man’s desk. At this distance, he could hear his voice clearly as he spoke – a low and silvery lilt as his words flowed into each other. He laughed at something the student said, a soft chuckle that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

When he regained a proper sense of his surroundings, Ayan realized he was already seated.

Sat across from him was the young man - his chin propped in one hand, lips curved in a slight smile. Honey brown eyes shone with curiosity, and Ayan could feel the sight of them searing into his brain. Seconds felt like aeons as he quickly took in the finer details of his appearance - well-manicured hands, a form-fitting white turtleneck, paired with a black blazer. And the most attractive feature was the beauty mark that sat comfortably under his left eye.

“Ayan?” the man sounded out his voice barely above a whisper.

His name sounded almost foreign, but upon looking up, the confusion on the man’s face reminded him that he had approached for a reason other than to stare like a fool. Reining in his sudden onset curiosity (that he could admit was definitely startling for everyone involved, including himself) he sought out his missing composure.

“You know my name?”

For a fleeting moment, the man's eyes were downcast, almost seeming like he was disappointed. Once again, however, it was quickly adjusted to clear eyes and a slight smile, so rapidly that Ayan wondered if he had seen right. The man chuckled, “I think everyone does after you entered.”

Remembering Lyra’s exclamation upon his entrance, he made a mental note that he would have to seek compensation for her transgressions at a later date. He could feel his face heat up from embarrassment and took his tablet out in an attempt to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“I’m a sculptor," he stated as he pulled up his photo gallery, stealing glances at the man’s expression as he showed him pictures of his work. He wasn’t one to brag about his abilities, but he was confident in his works. He could chisel and break down stone until something was formed, breathing life into his pieces. And yet, his nerves were still unsteady as he awaited an evaluation.

A gentle smile graced the man’s face as he looked on. “Your work is outstanding,” Ayan felt his heart leap, “but I’m simply a curator, wouldn’t you benefit more from working with someone directly in your field?”, his heart landed in his stomach. Technically, he was right, he should be seeking out someone who specialized in his discipline. It was the logical step if he wanted to advance his skills.

But he was never one to listen to logic.

 No one else had caught his attention, and he fully intended to explore his sudden gravitation to this individual.  A slight frown gathered on his brow as he contemplated his response. His intentions would only fall flat if he couldn’t find a sound argument for why he should be granted this opportunity. Smoothening his expression, Ayan looked directly at him and flashed his most cordial smile.

“I’m confident in my work, “he spoke steadily, observing his face for any signs of disapproval, “I’m sure there’s a lot I can learn from you that I won’t discover elsewhere." He breathed a silent sigh of relief seeing no obvious disinterest in his expression and continued to sell himself “besides, I think the piece I’m working on would be an excellent addition to any gallery. “

The man shut his eyes momentarily in contemplation, fingers rapping against his face. He hummed lowly as he opened his eyes to a sliver, casting his gaze at Ayan’s figure. A low sigh escaped him before he smiled sheepishly.

“Here’s what,” reaching into the breast pocket on his blazer, he pulled out a small business card, sliding it across the desk to Ayan, “come see me at my gallery. And bring some pictures of that piece you’re working on.”

Ayan released a breath that he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He ran his fingers over the card – standard sized, black and with a matte finish. The only text on it was an address in gold on one side, and a name he wasn’t sure how to pronounce on the other.

 “Inali,” came the man’s voice “the I’s are pronounced like an e. That’s my name.” He smiled, and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes returned. When he stretched his hand out, Ayan returned it almost immediately. Inali's hand was slender, warm and soft against his own callused palm.

“Nice to meet you Ayan.”