The ground floor to Inali’s place proved to be just as charming as his personal quarters. As they descended the stairs from his room, warm lights overhead illuminated the space before them. At a glance, Ayan could see that the walls along each side were mounted with shelves from floor to ceiling. To his left, the shelves were squared – holding small artefacts, each unique in their design. Hues of gold, bronze and silver; flashes of turquoise and other precious gems, all reflected at him as his eyes darted from square to square. The shelves to his right were wider and longer. In them, he could see armours and clothing of intricate designs, pottery and other pieces that were large and demanded the space they occupied.  

Inali stood at the head of the room, behind the front desk; which was dark and wooden like the floor underfoot. His eyes gleamed with a warm smile as they trailed after Ayan moving with eager curiosity from one display to the next. Soft chuckles escaped him, looking on with amusement at Ayan muttering to himself, making notes on his phone as his head bobbed up and down. 

As if sensing the gaze on him, Ayan suddenly remembered that he wasn’t alone in the room. He turned his attention to Inali, in time to see the gentle smile on his face, with a warmth in his eyes that felt familiar. Averting his eyes Ayan put his phone away, hoping that the distance between them was sufficient to mask the blush that he was sure accommodated the heat he felt from his ears.

“I'm glad you like them.” 

Inali spoke first, and the shift in the topic was enough to bolster Ayan’s confidence. Bridging the space between them he walked forward.

 "Like is an understatement.... how did you manage to find so many diverse pieces.” 

He asked eyes bright with genuine interest. He had come prepared to sell himself and his work but was pleasantly surprised at the marvel of Inali’s collection. Each piece was a statement that he found himself analyzing, reeling in the details that had been meticulously carved into them.  

“I've had a lot of time to travel.”

 

Inali responded casually, and though the expression on his face remained unchanged Ayan couldn’t help but notice that his hands on the desk were both clenched tightly.  

The sight stayed with him, even after Inali had led him through the side door that opened to reveal a small garden patio. A tall hedge to the front obscured the space from the outside. A stone pathway from the building led through the lush garden space to a quaint sitting area. In the centre sat a round table – a glass top and bronze legs; big enough for 4 seats. A canopy of vines above head filtered the sunlight through, making the space as warm and welcoming as its owner. 

“I think we can discuss your mentorship more comfortably here.” 

Inali steered their conversation back to formal matters, taking a seat at the table and motioning Ayan to join him. And as he shared the work he painstakingly prepared, Ayan found his attention drawn to every shift of Inali's body language, still unable to ignore what he had seen.  

Through his observation, the thought that something was wrong cemented in his mind. Each time his reach extended too closely; he could see his jaw clench slightly. Glancing at his shoulders, he could tell they were drawn tight.  

“Can I ask what was your inspiration?”  

Inali’s question snapped Ayan’s attention back to their conversation. He glanced briefly at his expression. The smile that greeted him felt warm and genuine – eyes brimming with curiosity as he awaited a response to his question. Ayan decided to shelve his concerns for the moment.  

He knew two things – something about his presence brought Inali discomfort, but despite that, he had shown him care and accommodation. And though he was yearning to ask his rationality reminded him that they were barely acquaintances. It seemed presumptuous to think that Inali’s issue had anything to do with him and he felt he would be crossing a line if he were to point it out.  It seemed wiser to focus on the good will that had been shown to him thus far. And maybe when they were closer, he could voice his concerns.

Finally immersing himself in the conversation Ayan felt himself smiling as he thought of his so-called inspiration.  

“I guess you could say they're my muse.”

 He spoke, his tone soft and fond, and he could see Inali’s eyes lit up. He felt his heart skip a beat, thrilled at the thought of having garnered his attention. Seeing success at gaining his mentorship at his fingertips he continued with excitement, this time his attention on each of Inali’s expressions.  

By the end of their discussion, he had memorized each aspect of his smile – the way his lips drew slightly more to the right; the way his eyes creased at the corner when his smile was particularly wide – Ayan's gaze fixated on the beauty mark under his left eye. He had even gained the privilege of hearing him laugh, a low timbre that hadn't left his head since.  

What had surprised him the most, however, was how freely he had explained what this piece meant to him. He usually answered vaguely when asked where he gathered inspiration. He liked that about art – he could spew any pretentious sounding narrative sometimes and no one would question him. The typical spectator cared more about how his pieces looked than the meaning behind them, and his fellow classmates were more interested in discussing techniques and mediums. Yet it was different with Inali. He seemed eager to know, and Ayan wanted to satisfy his curiosity. He found that the words came more easily than he expected.  

“I want to get to know them better.”  

He smiled wryly as he continued, “We can't exactly meet so I thought I could at least have a tangible version of them near me.”  

It sounded far simpler when he phrased it like that he realized, but at the core of his feelings, he knew there was nothing more to it than that. If he could finish this piece, he felt as though his dreams would finally be whole; that the nagging feeling that he was missing something important would finally be answered. When he was finished, he chided himself for his previous lack of confidence, he would finally know what that person looked like. 

 

“They must be someone important then,” Inali turned his head as spoke, his voice soft.  

His gaze seemed distant and for a moment Ayan felt his concern creeping back up. Before he could respond though, Inali quickly turned to meet his gaze, and he could see that his eyes were steady and bright. He leaned forward; head propped in both hands as he smiled and at this point, Ayan had lost count of how many times his heart had skipped a beat in this one day. 

“I look forward to getting to know you Ayan.”