Swallowing a lump in her throat, Eileen faced an empty canvas. What would she paint on that rectangle if this were truly her tiny square meter of Paris? She stared at it blankly. Jimin wanted a portrait of himself. That should be easy. He was her favorite subject. But she felt only pressure right now.
Montmartre. It meant the Mountain of the Martyr. A fitting name in this moment in time. Eileen felt like she was a martyr, sacrificing her self-respect on this mountain. Why was she so embarrassed? She’d spent her entire life sketching and painting. She was doing what she loved. So why did she want to flee back to the safety of her cave? What if Jimin was wrong? What if she wasn’t good enough? Her art was what she lived for. What would she be without it?
Suddenly, a voice was whispering in her ear, sweet breath raising tingles all along her nerves, “Eireen, relax. Just have fun. Pretend we’re back in our field, and you are painting me for the fun of it. No pressure, love.”
Love? Had Jimin just called her “love”?
She turned and caught his chocolate brown eyes with her own green ones. The look in his eyes calmed her, melted her. She felt languid now. And as she gazed at him, a vision began to paint itself on the canvas of her mind, and she instantly knew exactly how she would develop that idea on the white canvas in front of her. Now she simply had to exercise patience waiting for the artist to finish and relinquish her space to Eileen. So she spent the time gazing into Jimin’s beautiful eyes.
Honestly, she could spend all day here. The rest of her life, even. All eternity. Gazing into those captivating eyes.
It was too bad Jimin couldn’t read her mind. He would have realized that his eyes didn’t require eyeliner to be beautiful. Nor to lend him courage. He would have accepted that he was lovely just the way God had made him, and that he had finally found a woman who preferred him in his natural state. She would even have loved his black hair if she could but have seen it that day. She was enjoying the graceful curve of his cheek and the strong line of his jaw, his full lips that kept inviting her to kiss him, the straight slope of his noble nose, and his tousled hair. But his eyes were definitely, and always would be, her favorite feature. As she gazed at him, she committed each pore to memory, preparing to paint him. And to say goodbye.
A few moments later, Eileen stood in front of the easel and began to sketch a portrait of her one true love. Those words shocked her, yet that was how she felt. Jimin had crashed into her world. Literally. And he had brought so much happiness with him. He had become her only friend. And he was gorgeous. Sweet, kind, and funny. How could she not be in love with him already?
Stroke after stroke, color by color, she fleshed out Jimin on the canvas. The artist stood to the side, her mouth opening in shock and awe at the beauty that was unfolding before her. This girl had a rare talent, a true gift for capturing people. The artist’s eyes traveled back and forth between Jimin and his image on the canvas. It was uncanny. The image was so lifelike that she half-expected Jimin himself to leap off that canvas at any moment. This girl truly did belong on this hill with all these talented artists! She would put most of them to shame!
Jimin smiled at his reflection. Is this how Eileen saw him? She’d stolen his breath. He had never looked this good, not even in an airbrushed photo shoot set under perfect lighting. What was the difference? Then as he gazed at her face as she put on the finishing touches, he realized what it was. Love. This was what he looked like through the eyes of love.
Tears stung his eyes as his breath burned in his chest. Through the eyes of someone who truly loved him, he was astonishingly beautiful, far more than he’d ever dared dream to be.
“Chérie, you are a master.” Those words were spoken by the artist to Eileen. “Your friend is right. You should be on this hill. I’m half-tempted to relinquish my space to you. You need no formal training. Don’t take any. It would ruin your gift. You have something special. Don’t ever let anyone tell you different or convince you otherwise.”
Eileen stepped back and stared at Jimin’s portrait. It was the most beautiful piece of artwork she had ever completed. She didn’t want to give it away. She glanced at the portraits the artist had created of her and Jimin. They were quite good, but hers was…well, it was just stunning! Had she really created this? How was it so much better than anything else she’d ever done?
She turned to look at Jimin and found an odd note in his eyes.
“What do you think?” he whispered as he continued to lock eyes with her.
“It’s different than anything I’ve ever created before.”
“That’s because you birthed it out of love, chérie,” the woman spoke again.
Eileen’s eyes never left Jimin’s. She watched as several emotions shifted around in his chocolate depths. She could sense similar feelings moving around in her own soul.
The artist continued, “Love is always beautiful.”
Jimin smiled at Eileen as he turned to pay the artist for her time and supplies. “Merci beaucoup.”
“No. Thank you. I have been in the presence of greatness today. That is a true gift.” To Eileen she commented, “I expect to see you here with the rest of us artists soon. Put your name and phone number in my phone. I’ll be contacting you with details, so you can make your dream come true.”
Eileen gratefully accepted the woman’s phone and entered her information before retrieving her canvas and thanking her also.
As they turned to leave, Jimin’s eye caught sight of all the stone buildings surrounding them. The arched windows and fragile balconies embraced him with an unfamiliar comfort. He pictured himself in one of those rooms overlooking this square, a cup of tea in his hand as he turned towards Eileen to speak to her. What would his life be like if he were an ordinary Frenchman living in Paris with this beautiful girl? If perhaps he too had been born an artist and worked here in the Place du Tertre plying his trade alongside Eileen?
He sighed. It was a beautiful picture. The two of them seated side by side on top of the hill, painting portraits day by day, the bright sun shining down on them, the cool breeze ruffling their hair, the crowds approaching them desiring a piece of their art. He imagined the beautiful companionship of such moments, then he let the thoughts slip away. They were not for him. He wasn’t that sun-kissed artist, and Eileen wasn’t his to keep. He belonged to ARMY and Big Hit, at least for another seven years anyway. He was not even his own to give away.