I’d worn my long black pants that looked like cargo fitting, and they didn’t seem denim to me, even underneath the dim lights of the bar. Which sort of made less sense for an artist - which this girl could be - to start drawing here with her back against the vibrations of the rumbling speakers.

So I walked past a few waiters serving popular cocktails and drinks, and slid past a few more dancers who were getting involved with themselves and getting frisky. The girl hadn’t noticed me, and I’m sure nobody would since I was a no-name recognition that didn’t mind no attention.

When I finally got to the sharp corner, the other seats were occupied except for her table. She was alone, still drawing, but I was there.

Her table had been filled with tons of papers, drawings of open fields and a dastardly odd-looking tower that resembled a high kingdom. The work she was starting on was one rough draft of a crystalline ocean. There was a sense of depth and tranquil to it. Whatever that meant.

“Hi,” I said and smiled. She didn’t turn her head.

So she’s obviously involved in her drawing and didn’t hear you, stupid, I thought. Let’s try again.

“Hey,” I said again.

“Hi. Do I know you?” She lifted her chin and stopped her work, staring at me. I didn’t know why, but perhaps it’s just me trying to get over the looks of Stella on my mind, but she was gorgeous. She wore a golden necklace, but I didn’t pay much attention to that.

“Uh, no. I don’t think we’ve met,” I said. “But I think this is a good point for us to sort of get to know each other. What do you think?”

Before she had time to react I stretched out my right hand to her.

“My name’s Zyler. Zyler Buxton.”

Maybe she didn’t want to know my name and I was overplaying it, but either way, it was better to get names out first.

She smiled widely and returned to her drawing, leaving the bar’s cold breeze to slap my hand. I reeled it back in.

“Are you alone?” I asked politely. No reason to make her outright think that a geek would chase her skirt. But since she’s too pretty to be here, perhaps that she’s gotten more of that than most would have liked.

“Yes,” she said. She didn’t sound too monotonous, or a scared or afraid.

“I see.” I was running out of words and standing next to someone who was drawing, or eating their delicious meal didn’t help to aid the awkward situation. “Is anyone sitting here?”

She’s going to say “yes, now screw off”.

“Nope,” she said. “You can sit if you want.” Once again, her head didn’t lift and she was no stranger to talking little. I wasn’t a stranger too, but I wasn’t very good at it either.

There were four seats surrounding one glass table, and I took the one opposite of her. As I glanced down at her artwork, things were getting clear. Perhaps it was just the angle that I was standing from. It just disallowed me anything to see.

She finally looked up, surprised that I had indeed sat and proceeded to shift her tools and drawings aside.

“Would you like a drink?” She asked. The smile returned to her glowing red lips.

“Oh, I had enough. I came from another bar and I was looking for a friend.”

She tilted her head, grabbing her cup of outside coffee and drinking it. She was weird. Drawing in a bar and drinking something that wasn’t even served in the bar. The only other reason was that she was just there for the atmosphere. But who am I kidding? Atmosphere? If I were an art student, or professor, which I am invariably not, I would not even stick a foot into this place.

Though, not that I don’t think it’s a bad idea for an art student or professor to enter, it just wouldn’t work as well if you’re doing whatever it is you’re doing. Which is drawing. And it just doesn’t work here.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“Have you found your friend?” She placed the cup down after a few sips. Steam was still dispersing from the top of the cup, and so she must’ve just entered not long ago.

“Oh, he’s, uh,” I scratched the back of my head. Should I say? What’s the harm anyway? She’ll know sooner or later that I’ll be checking on Dale, but if she doesn’t care, then I should just keep my mouth shut. Or answer the question with a white lie. “Well he wasn’t here. I’ve been waiting for him for the last hour, and I saw you here, drawing so I just wanted to say hi.”

She pushed the pencil in her hand, back to lookless conversations. Am I really disgusting? Was that why Stella left me in the first place? I was a little too hard on women. I must have been. That’s why that bitch up and left-

“Was he late?” She asked, her eyes fixated on getting the curvature of the ocean waves right, stroking her pencil in a multitude of ways.

“Yeah. He was fired, too.”

She paused her actions, and in way started chuckling softly. “I’m sorry, I just found it funny that he was both late and fired,” she explained herself.

“No, no worries. I didn’t expect it to, if I’m honest,” I said.

I just kept watching the way she drew, but then her jet-black hair got in the way a couple of times when she eventually tried to nail down the perfect angle for one of the trees she was drawing. It had all been in black too, with no colours, except for her other finished drawings. Well, they weren’t as finished as they were with longform colours, but they were kind of finished.

“May I ask what it is you are drawing, miss?” I asked, hoping that she’ll give me answer that wasn’t to turn me away.

“The Mystic Isles,” she replied quickly. “It’s a cool place.”

Her tone was a little raspy when she said it. Had she been there before? I took another glance at it. The Mystic Isles. The name might have implied a great deal about the place, but the way she drew would catch someone by surprise of that name.

“Where is it? I’ve never seen it before?” I asked.

She didn’t answer. I can understand why. I don’t usually tell people that the stories are write are actually stories about them. Especially Dale. He’s name has been dropped in and out of my short stories, and he’s the bumbling villain too, getting slapped and slammed by the superheroes. But she was keeping her cards close to herself, and somehow I didn’t want to pry.

Not like I usually do. It’s bad manners to keep knocking on a closed door when the people inside have already told you to screw off.

“What about the other drawings? The one with the tower,” I pointed to it so she knew. There were a couple of them, all in different sizes and different perspectives.

“That’s the castle of Estoria,” she responded and lifted her head towards me. “Perhaps you’d like to know where it is too?”

I nodded, looking into those deep sapphire eyes that sparkled. Somehow they reminded me of Stella. Perhaps it was the colour, or perhaps it was because I was entranced. Well, what do you know? I’m a little sucker for good eyes.

“I can’t tell you, and I can’t show it to you, too,” she said.

“So why are you drawing them? Do they hold some sort of memory?”

“Yes,” she responded optimistically, her eyes watching her drawing as if they had come to life. The waves crashing upon the open sea. Tall swaying trees. There was hidden emotion that I may have tapped into. “I draw these places to remind myself that I was there,” she continued.

“I see.”

Her mobile, tucked away into the folding pictures on the side rang, and as she checked the caller her expression changed.

“Hello?” She greeted with fine enthusiasm.

Slowly, as the call went on, I noticed that the wide smile across her face was now wiped clean. She lowered her head as she saw me looking. Feeling guilty, I turned to the dancers, pretending that I hadn’t intruded into her conversation. She was just saying “yes” and “okay” sporadically throughout the call. If anything, that was a bad sign. I’ve been on the worst end of a few, so I knew a little about it.

She tossed her phone aside when the call ended, red faced. She was hiding her expressions, probably for fear of me knowing that she had been this way, or of some sort. But, needless, I don’t really care. I think I should, though.

“What was that about?” I said.

She wasn’t speaking again. Or rather, she wasn’t speaking to me. Or did she not speak to everyone, and anyone? I don’t know. At this point in time, the girl not speaking to me was probably aided by that phone call, so it wasn’t just the usual speaking.

She began packing her drawings, her pencils, her tools and slotted them orderly into a bag that she carried, preparing to leave.

“Wait,” I said. I don’t know why. “Can I bring you to some place?”

She stopped and stared, her blue eyes now doused with fury. I wasn’t even sure if she would go there, let alone the place hopefully cure her problem -- whatever it was.

“If you want,” I continued.

Her bag had been loosely slung, sloshing around her waist and her tools and drawings exposed out from the open gap.

“Where?” She asked.

“It’s just up from here.” I grabbed her right hand. “Let’s go.”

I didn’t see if she was angry or if she was embarrassed that I had taken her hand without asking. After all, I had only wanted to make her feel better. It wasn’t love, or anything. It couldn’t be.

We dashed through the dancers, up the stairs of the bar and out onto the streets where my sleek black jacket flew in the wind, all while Christopher Cross’s Ride Like the Wind lead our charge.