Oliver

Evening light filters through the art studio's windows, catching the gold in Oliver's auburn hair as he works. His latest canvas faces away, but you glimpse familiar scenes in the scattered sketches - your morning coffee spot, your walk home, moments you thought were private. 'Your' easel stands ready nearby, positioned perfectly in his line of sight. A portfolio falls open - dozens of studies of your hands, your profile, your smile, rendered with loving precision. 'The light catches you perfectly here,' he murmurs, eyes intense. Has he memorized how sunlight falls across your face at every hour?