"I just hope that you give yourself another chance because you deserve it," Sarah whispered in his dreams with a smile etched on her face. She said those words just like the old days when she used to hold his hand with the utmost care and love.

He stared at her with a small portion of affection he still had for her. He always loved her but the fate was not in his hands. He was about to reach out for her but she started fading away, back in the pit of darkness. "I'm glad you're happy, Jeff."

"Sarah!" He screamed before opening his eyes. However, a pool of tears was forming in them. The look on his face was the epitome of heartbreak. He jerked and sat up on the bed, coated with a sheen of sweat.

"Shh, it's all right," Laura consoled him with worry clearly evident in her voice.

Jeff gazed at her, teary eyed and hugged her tightly. "I love you, Laura. I really do," he confessed with sincerity clear in his voice. "But promise me, you won't leave me. Ever."

"I love you too, Jeff and know that I'd never bring myself to break that promise," she said, rubbing his back comfortingly. Pulling away from him slightly, she kissed him assuringly. Jeff kissed her back with just as much love Laura had for him.

It was hard for him to fall in love again but somehow, he found his second love unexpectedly.

I closed the book shut and found myself wiping my eyes with the sleeves of my sweatshirt. 'His Second Love' has been my favorite book ever since Kristine, my best friend suggested it to me while I was depressed a year ago. I'd been so reluctant to even read it when she shoved it in my hands forcefully. It's her way of consoling someone.

This book was untouched for almost a month, stacked amongst the others in my room, long forgotten. I must say that reading has never been a priority in my life and truth be said, I'd hated it with passion until I read this beautiful gem. Also, I wouldn't qualify it as a "hatred" but I am more of a lazy noob. Besides, most of my life and thoughts revolve around painting and sketching.

While on the other hand, Kristine Pierce has a huge thing for romance novels and has been the biggest and dedicated fan of His Second Love. The reason why she'd constantly nagged me to give it a chance and read it to appreciate the book like she does.

It was a month later when my eyes fell on it, I was sort of tempted to read the description. Because of this, I reluctantly took my best friend's advice and actually thought of reading it but the moment I started it, I was regretting my choice. The first chapter was boring for a non-reader like me.

No matter what, I pushed myself through the few initial chapters and found myself engrossed in it, day and night. I might have read this novel for about the umpteenth times already and each time, I've found myself crying and falling in love with it. 

Ever since I've come to like His Second Love, I have never returned it back to Kristine even when she threatened me so much with some innocuous warnings.

Not a lot of things could affect me, meaning I'm not an easy crier. Never. But every time, I would read the book, it felt like I could decipher what the author has been trying to say. Most people would call it as some sappy story but to me, it felt like the emotions were real.

Falling in love with a character might sound stupid but trust me, I have already fallen in love. I love Jeff Styles even though it's just some fictional character.

Not only this but I even sketched him just the way it's described in the book. The description was so vivid, I couldn't help but create a picture in my head. His sea blue eyes below the perfect bushy eyebrows, sharp and sculpted nose along with a chiseled jaw and bow shaped lips. His soft brown hair crowned on the top was sketched intricately to the precision. 

I would always find myself staring at my own piecework before going to sleep. I know this might sound like some creepy obsession but it's not true. In fact, it gives me the hope for better things in the world.

Heaving a heavy sigh, I placed my book on the bedside drawer and switched off the lights. Jeff always happens to slip into my dreams, making it even more impossible for me to forget him. 

And just like that, before I knew it, sleep consumed me and it was as if the morning followed soon after. Something that I couldn't understand. I woke up begrudgingly and wiped the drool off of my face. Rubbing my eyes roughly, I made my way towards the bathroom.

I hate mornings because they could be the really boring part of the entire day. Waking up and doing all the chores half-heartedly has never been an easy task for me. If it isn't quite obvious then I am not a morning person. My parents have always scolded me for not being an early riser but they go to dead ears.

Taking a quick shower, I combed my bland, brown hair and trudged downstairs. I was wearing a light blue sundress and simple cardigan, paired with my favorite pair of Converse.

"Good morning, Hitler," my thirteen year old brother, Bert, greeted me with his mouth full as soon as I walked inside the kitchen.

I rolled my eyes and smacked him hard at the back of his head. "You better eat before you speak," I muttered, with disgust lacing my voice.

He glared at me which I returned with an equally amused grin. Taking a seat beside him, I looked at everyone. My mom was busy making pancakes while my dad, like usual, was completely absorbed in reading his daily newspaper.

"G'morning, Aria," my mom greeted in her chirpy voice.

"Morning." Dad smiled, looking at me for a fraction of second before going back to reading his newspaper. 'How typical of him!'

"Morning, everyone," I said, stifling a yawn.

My mouth watered as soon as my mom passed me a plate of pancakes and a glass of milk. Without wasting a single second, I scoffed down my breakfast as if there's no tomorrow.

My mom furrowed her brows in a reprimanding manner but I just smiled sheepishly. Finishing off my milk in one go, I stood up from my chair. After saying my goodbyes to my family, I padded my way outside my house. Turning left towards the garage, my eyes fell on my small ride and I smiled instantly.

Quickly unlocking my bike, I rode off to my art gallery which is owned solely by me. All the while I was on my bike, I bobbed my head for no apparent reason. It felt good to be carefree but ironically it was regarded as being insane in the public eyes. Honestly though I love to get those weird looks from the passersby. It gives me the thrills to annoy them and their judgements.

When I reached my art gallery, I locked my bike and leaned it against the wall of my shop. The moment I was done, I saw Kristine leaning against the same wall with an impatient look on her face.

"Took you long enough to get your lazy ass here," she said with her arms crossed across her chest. Kristine is really pretty with red, luscious hair, deep green eyes, cute nose and a matured body.

"Good morning to you too, Kris," I chirped and put all of my attention on opening the gallery. "What is it?" I asked with a soft grunt and looked at her rigid stance.

"I want my book, Aria!" She whined, pouting childishly and hunched her then tight shoulders. She followed behind me inside the confines of my comfortable gallery once I pulled open the shutter.

"Okay, so like I always say... I'd never give it back to you." I shrugged nonchalantly and started arranging all the stuff on my untidy counter. It wasn't that I couldn't afford a book or that she couldn't buy another, it was just a soft banter we always have. We wouldn't agree but we loved it.

"Why don't you go and buy yourself a new one?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at me. The other thing apart from the banter could be that Kris really doesn't like when someone takes her books or even asks for them. A possessive reader is what I call her sometimes. Albeit, in my case, she gave it to me which happened to be willingly. She gets really antsy to find even one book missing from her extravagant collection. So basically when Kris shares her books, it means the other person is very special.

"I am always busy." I grinned, showing off my teeth. "Plus it's a useless case to ask for your book every day, sweetheart. I am not changing my mind anytime soon. Or ever." I laughed at her angry scowl.

"I hate you," she muttered.

"Aww, sure you do but I know that you don't," I retorted back dryly and sighed before taking my seat behind the counter. Removing my sketchbook from inside my bag, I started sketching randomly. "I wish I could meet her," I mumbled suddenly, my eyes still on the sketchbook in front of me.

"Who?" Kristen asked, strolling around my gallery and watching all the paintings in her usual awe. She's always been fascinated with my paintings. Every time she's here, it feels like it is her first time. Her expressions could say it all.

"Jenna Hawkins."

"I wish," she repeated with a distraught look on her face and went back to staring at my paintings. She sighed. "I need to go," she announced after a long pause and walked towards the door. I knew that she was affected about it as much as I was. To meet Jenna Hawkins.

"Bye." I nodded my head and waved at her, going back to my random sketching.

Kristine is aware about my love for Jeff Styles. She knows everything without even an ounce of judgement. Be it my dreams consisting of him to the portrait I've drawn of Jeff. I remember how stupefied she was the first time I told her. She was in disbelief and had literally scoffed. I had to convince her so much and it came off as something unusual to her but now it doesn't sound so bizarre to her. Not anymore.

The door of my gallery creaked open annoyingly, making me aware of a customer.

My eyes fled towards it, pausing me from my task at hand. A guy with proper built walked in with an air of confidence. From the looks of it, he seemed really good looking but he was wearing shades which made it difficult for me to see his eyes. He was wearing a grey colored t-shirt and dark wash jeans. His blonde hair was perfectly matted to one side.

I cleared my throat to catch his attention and greet him professionally, "Good morning. How can I help you?" I asked him with a practiced smile.

"Nothing," he said, sounding bored.

My smile faded away like a flower closing off in a jiffy because of his rude demeanor. 'Jerk!'

I don't know but something about him seemed familiar. It was as though I'd seen him before but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. His features were sharp and clearly stood out except for his eyes that I was unable to see. 

"How cliché and boring." He nodded towards my scenic paintings. "Your paintings are." It took every ounce of my energy to not throw him out of my safe haven. There was no need to be inconsiderate about my creation.

"Excuse me, mister but if you find my art really boring then you can gladly leave. Besides, not everyone has the knowledge when it comes to art." I was fuming by the time I finished speaking. I never appreciate it when people criticize others' work with such harsh words. It hurt me but I masked it with anger.

"You're right, of course. Not everyone can excel in the world of art," he said, amusement lacing his voice.

"Leave." I gritted.

"Oh, but I just arrived," he said, giving me an innocent look. "Don't you remember?" He asked me tauntingly as if talking to a toddler. I refrained myself from throwing the first thing that came into my hand. "Let me first have a look around."

"I don't care."

"Wait, I have yet to check out those paintings there," he said, ignoring me and pointing towards my right.

"And make fun of it? No thanks," I told him with an ugly glare and folded my arms across my chest.

He laughed as if I just made a hilarious joke and turned to face me. I couldn't tell what was going on with him because his eyes were hidden.

"What's so funny?" I asked him haughtily.

"Nothing." He sighed, enjoying himself and continued strolling around my gallery with a frown directed towards everything. It wasn't like I haven't received any criticism in my life but there's a way to express them without hurting others' feelings in the process.

"Why even bother to check around when you're anything but interested?" I was beyond annoyed because of his presence.

"You don't need to be interested to have a look at things or in this case, at your paintings." His response only boiled me further. 

"You're so full of yourself."

"How would you know?" The guy chuckled and looked at me, not at all wavered by my harsh glare. All of a sudden, his amused face turned serious. He seemed to be shocked for some reason. "Wh-what's that?" He whispered, pointing behind me.

I turned around to see him staring at the Jeff painting. It was placed in a vertical position and peeked out from behind me. Frowning, I turned around to look back at him, not wanting to tell him about my secret so I kept mum.

"Who's he?" He asked again, still baffled.

"None of your business," I replied to him reluctantly but I was very embarrassed that he saw it. It slipped my mind to place it underneath the counter after I looked at it last night. It wasn't for the public display.

"Do you… do you know who I am?"

"Of course, you're the son of the current president," I answered him sarcastically. "Like I care." I rolled my eyes and hastily put it under the counter face first.

He shook his head as if recovering from his previous confusion and looked at me. "Have we met before?"

"Not that I'd remember but I am sure of one thing. From the looks of it, you've really loved my portrait," I said, almost smugly.

He didn't care to give me a reply and left the gallery just like that. 'Thank goodness that he did.'

~♡☆~♡☆~♡☆~♡☆~♡☆~♡☆~♡☆~

Gosh, it's so hard to edit this book because I'd written it about three years ago, in 2018 to be more specific lmao