Dressed in a formal, expensive black suit, Elian paced the art exhibition, casting a cold glance from under his glasses at the paintings. Outwardly, he was cool and extremely reserved, but inwardly, he was incredibly happy to finally be there. This was an exhibition of his favorite artist. He rarely held exhibitions, and almost no one had ever seen him, but rumor had it that the mysterious artist was present today, and Elian felt an almost childish delight in anticipation of finally meeting him.

Ever since his life had changed before and after the car accident, which had cost him a very dear person and left him limping in his right leg, Elian had thrown himself into work. He tried to occupy himself with anything, just to keep his mind off things, and then a hobby emerged: collecting paintings. Art always made him feel better; he associated painting with his beloved mother, who loved to paint. Elian himself couldn't draw, but he knew how to appreciate and admire other people's visions of the world.

The man loved this artist's paintings especially dearly. He bought almost every picture that came up for auction. This artist's works felt different, as if... as if they didn't know each other, but were still connected. Each work touched Elian's very soul. And when he learned that he could meet him in person at today's exhibition, he immediately canceled everything for the evening.

Elian was eager to meet. He searched the crowd of connoisseurs and snobs for some special, distinctive silhouette, but, alas, found nothing. The man sighed heavily. Walking was quite difficult for him, so he found a secluded bench opposite one of the paintings to sit down.

Elian began to examine the painting. What careful workmanship, masterful color selection, and precise brushstrokes. It couldn't be called contemporary art; it was something much deeper than a banana painted black or a toilet seat turned upside down, and for this, Elian especially respected the artist. You could look at his paintings forever, each time coming up with a new interpretation of their meaning.

Someone sat down next to Elian, and he politely moved back slightly to give the other person a little more space.

"How beautiful, isn't it?" Elian began the conversation. His voice was quiet, gentle, slightly hoarse, but calm and even. "I think I'm taking this painting home with me today. Ahaha, I mean, I'm going to buy this one."

He tried to joke, though it came out surprisingly stupid for such a collected gentleman. Elian finally looked at his new interlocutor, and something in him sank, though he couldn't understand why.