For the next hour, Nadra mingled, her hand often meeting the warm grasps of strangers and friends alike. She listened to compliments, answered questions, and laughed at shared stories. Her cheeks ached from smiling, but the warmth she felt from each person kept her energy afloat. She caught sight of her mother, Zara, surrounded by a group of her work friends. As Nadra approached, her mom's friends turned to her, their eyes lighting up with admiration.
"Sweetheart, you did amazing!" one of them said, clasping Nadra's hand. "Your work is breathtaking."
Another patted Nadra's shoulder, fussing over her with motherly warmth. "Zara has told us so much about your talent, and I must say, she undersold you!"
Zara laughed, her smile bright and genuine, her pride evident. "Don't let it get to her head now. She's talented, but still my little girl."
Nadra chuckled, grateful for their support. As they chatted, her gaze drifted around the room until it landed on a lone figure in front of the silhouette painting. The tall frame, the broad shoulders, the hint of silver in his hair—it could only be him.
Heart hammering, she absentmindedly excused herself, her footsteps almost automatic as she crossed the room. She stopped beside him, keeping her eyes forward, mirroring his contemplative stance as they both gazed at the painting.
Without turning, she broke the silence. "Well well, Mr. Rayan. Fancy seeing you here."
Kamal turned, a slight, unreadable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ms. Nadra, isn't it?" His voice was rich and smooth, with an undertone of amusement. "You know, I don't usually come to these events, but this one…" he looked back at the painting, "intrigued me."
Nadra tried to maintain her composure, shrugging casually. "It must have been a remarkable invitation."
Kamal chuckled, the sound deep and slightly teasing. "Indeed. And I must say, this piece… it's captivating. The colors, the contrast—it's powerful. And familiar. Very familiar, in fact."
Nadra swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. "Funny, it was never meant to be on display. A last-minute replacement."
Kamal raised an eyebrow, his gaze now fixed on her. "Last minute? It feels quite intentional to me. Almost as if it holds a secret." He said, amusement colouring his words.
Nadra felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "Maybe it does. Art tends to tell stories we don't plan on sharing."
Their eyes locked, and a charge of electricity passed between them, a thread of connection she hadn't expected. Kamal's gaze softened, and for a brief moment, Nadra thought she saw a hint of something more—a curiosity, an interest, a lick of fire.
He tilted his head slightly. "So tell me, Ms. Nadra. Who were you thinking of when you painted this?"
Nadra's cheeks burned, but she jutted out her chin, feigning confidence. "A certain someone who seems to be stuck in my head lately," she replied, her voice coy yet steady.
Kamal's lips curved into a small, heated smile, his dark eyes unwavering as they met hers. "I'd say that certain someone is probably struggling to get you out of his head too."
The air between them thickened, each unspoken word crackling with tension. Kamal's gaze flicked down, lingering as he slowly took her in from her delicate heels to her shapely hips, and then upward to her chest before finally settling on her lips—full, pouty, and caught between her teeth. His eyes darkened.
He leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing her ear. "Do you want to go home with me tonight, Nadra?"
A shiver rippled down her spine. She flushed, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks and yet, her eyes betrayed her want. She breathed out a quiet, "Yes."
He studied her, the flare of desire in his eyes evident. "You know," he murmured, voice low and rough, "you should be running from me. I'm far too old for you."
But Nadra only leaned closer, her gaze challenging. "Then are you taking me tonight, or not?"
They held each other's gaze, the tension taut, almost unbearable. After a breath, he pulled back, heat blazing in his eyes. "Meet me downstairs in five minutes," he said, his voice thick, and then turned, walking away with a restrained intensity that left her pulse racing.
Nadra exhaled shakily, trying to steady her pounding heart. She made a quick, final sweep around the exhibition, her mind only half-present, then shot a text to Riyanda: Something urgent came up, I have to leave. With that, she took one last glance at the gathering, her mother and friends now deep in conversation, before slipping away in the direction Kamal had gone.