"At first," Andrew continued, "when you stood in front of the 'Ragnarok' painting, I thought it might've been simple admiration—just a coincidence. But when I spoke to you and stepped away, I watched you wander through the gallery. You didn't just glance around. You sought out paintings I had hidden among the others—the ones that came directly from my dreams—and you picked them one by one, as if something was guiding you to them."
He met her gaze. "That's when I remembered what my mother always told me: some people and things are bound by fate. And now… I think she might've been right."
"So, in short," Andrew said with a faint smile, "everything I said earlier was just… pleasantries. I didn't know how to explain any of this without sounding childish."
He leaned back slightly, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his teacup.
