Chapter 835 Accepting The Gift
"At first," Andrew continued, "when you stood in front of the ’Ragnarok’ painting, I thought it might’ve been simple admiration—just a coincidence. But when I spoke to you and stepped away, I watched you wander through the gallery. You didn’t just glance around. You sought out paintings I had hidden among the others—the ones that came directly from my dreams—and you picked them one by one, as if something was guiding you to them."
He met her gaze. "That’s when I remembered what my mother always told me: some people and things are bound by fate. And now... I think she might’ve been right."
"So, in short," Andrew said with a faint smile, "everything I said earlier was just... pleasantries. I didn’t know how to explain any of this without sounding childish."
He leaned back slightly, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his teacup.
"When I was five, I told my mother about what I saw—what I felt. But she brushed it off, said it was just a fever dream, something my delirious mind conjured up. Honestly, I believed her. For years, I doubted myself. I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t. My dreams felt so vivid—so raw—with emotions that didn’t feel like they belonged to a child."
His eyes lowered for a moment, lost in a memory.
"I didn’t know what to do with everything inside me, so I started painting. Every dream, every image, every feeling—I poured it all onto canvas. That became my outlet. And strangely enough, the more I painted, the lighter I felt. Like I was slowly exhaling something I’d been holding in for too long."
He gestured to the space around them.
"This exhibition—it’s for charity, to help children. And since people often say children are like angels, I chose the theme of angels and devils. I added a few new pieces, but most of what you see here are the paintings that came from those dreams. And just like that, I had an art gallery full of memories I never quite understood."