The morning sun peeked through my window, but I wasn't in the mood for reading. Instead, I grabbed my sketchbook and pencil and headed outside. Just as I was about to immerse myself in my art, my mother called me to have breakfast.

"Why do you always sit under that tree every morning? Is there someone you meet there?" she asked.

I quickly shook my head while swallowing my food. "It's so peaceful there. It helps me clear my mind and feel refreshed," I explained.

Mom casually mentioned that Billy asked if I'm free tomorrow afternoon.

"Why?" I asked, curious about his sudden interest.

"I'm not sure. He asked me yesterday. Maybe he wants to take you somewhere so you won't get bored," Mom replied.

"I'm not bored, Mom. I really enjoy being here, under the tree," I replied, gazing outside.

"Listen, Freen, you're growing up. Give Billy a chance tomorrow. If you don't like him after that, I won't push you anymore. Deal?" she proposed.

I pursed my lips, contemplating her words, and finally nodded in agreement.

How could I tell my mom that the person I truly care about is right outside? How could I confess my feelings? Is this just a fleeting crush, or is it something deeper? Why do I miss her so much even though we were together yesterday? Every time she's not around, I can't help but yearn for her presence.

I tried to resist these feelings, but it was impossible. Becky made me experience emotions I had never felt before.

After breakfast, I went to our backyard and sat beneath my favorite tree. From there, I spotted Becky in her usual spot, sipping tea and engrossed in a book. She seemed completely absorbed, so I decided to capture her image on paper once again.

As I stole glances at Becky, gracefully perched on her beloved, well-worn armchair, the morning sun bathed her features in a golden glow. The soft contours of her face were accentuated, creating a mesmerizing sight.

She held a delicate porcelain teacup, emanating warmth that offered solace on this serene morning. Swirling steam curled upward, enveloping the scene with a hint of magic. The aroma of freshly brewed tea mixed with the scent of aged books that surrounded her, forming a comforting atmosphere. With a smile, I depicted the mist gently rising from her cup in my drawing.

Becky remained lost in the pages of her book, her eyes tracing the lines of text as her mind embarked on a literary journey. Occasionally, her brow furrowed, reflecting her deep immersion in the captivating story. Each stolen glance revealed her beauty, and her expressive eyes mirrored the emotions she experienced within those pages.

My pencil danced across the paper, striving to capture the essence of the moment. With each stroke, I tried to etch the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, and the sparkle in her eyes. I yearned to immortalize her grace, pouring my emotions into the lines and shadows that brought her image to life.

Time stood still as I continued sketching, spellbound by the unfolding artistry. Every stroke felt like a whispered declaration of my affection, a silent confession of love. Through my art, I aimed to convey the depths of my admiration and adoration for the woman who had unknowingly captured my heart.

Before closing my sketchbook, I left a note beside her portrait: "Why can't I take my eyes off of you?"

Reluctantly, I closed my sketchbook, leaving the masterpiece unfinished. How could I ever capture the true beauty that was Becky? Yet within those incomplete lines, I knew my heart had found a permanent place, forever etched in the sketch born from stolen glances and an abundance of love.

With a bittersweet smile, I tore the sketch from my book and left it on the tree, allowing the wind to carry it away. I entered our humble abode, feeling a mix of emotions.

As the sun began to set, I glanced out my window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Becky. To my surprise, she was with someone, but it wasn't Billy. He was a stranger, a new face. After a while, the guy stood up and left, and Becky waited until he was out of sight. Then, she covered her face and began to sob.

Why was she crying? And who was that guy? Could he be the brother she often mentioned, the one who made her cry?

Becky's sobs grew louder, and I felt her pain deep within my heart. Although I longed to comfort her, my feet felt glued to the floor, unable to move, despite my mind's desperate plea to go down and embrace her.

Finally, Becky stood up, wiped away her tears, and went inside her house. Is she okay? I couldn't help but worry about her well-being.