ON the edge of the creek, a painter sat, the silent swishes of her brushes capturing that splendid scene. She got up and stepped back to admire yet another captivating piece of art.
Art was her life, a deep love that uplifted her spirits and brought a smile to her lips.
Aruna put down her brushes and sat by the water’s edge, staring across the silent creek as the sun slowly disappeared over the horizon. She inhaled deeply, absorbing the soft fragrance of tranquillity that had become a close part of her life since she moved to this interior region. She had needed to be alone, to be away from the world after that horrific accident, to find some peace and ease the pain.
She still woke up at night, though, hearing her own screams and feeling the impact of the collision that sent the car flying, trapping her inside.
Fate had literally torn up the script of her dreams, her world crashing into darkness as she lay in a coma for two weeks.
Her fiancé, Bryan, had miraculously escaped severe injuries, while her family was left fearing she might not survive.
“If only he had not been speeding,” she kept saying to herself when she regained consciousness. “If only he had listened to me when I asked him to slow down.”
But that could not change anything now. When she was finally shown the damage to the left side of her face, she screamed in horror and, at that moment, wished she had died.
Bryan, after recovering from his injuries, visited her often, offering the comfort she desperately needed. But after seeing her face, his visits became less frequent, his messages fewer, and, a month after her discharge from the hospital, he broke off their engagement.
Tears misted her eyes as she sat by the creek, a lonely figure, and she whispered quietly, “So much for love.”
It had hurt her deeply, but she had to stay focused on what mattered most—saving for the plastic surgery to reconstruct her face. The cost at one of the best clinics overseas was far more than her family could afford. Time slipped away as they struggled to acquire the funds, and the stress began to affect her mental health. Aruna felt she needed to be alone—somewhere far away.
An old friend of her uncle owned a cabin in the woods, a safe and secure place. The peace and the embrace of nature did wonders for Aruna’s state of mind. She began painting again and sent her pieces to art studios to sell. It did not bring in much money, but she was thankful for every bit that could be added to the fund for her surgery.
“I guess I need a miracle,” she sighed as she settled down to sleep. “I wonder where that could come from?”
She had cut her long hair and styled it so it fell over the damaged side of her face. It helped to conceal the scars whenever she encountered tourists visiting the region. Sometimes, while searching for the perfect spot to set up her easel, she would cross paths with them. She never looked at anyone directly but simply raised a hand in greeting, keeping her head lowered.
Time went by, and one day in mid-August, she set up her easel near a small waterfall, focused on capturing its beauty.
A smooth, deep voice startled her from behind. “That’s a beautiful scene.”
She almost dropped her brushes, not realising that a small group of tourists had arrived at the waterfall.
“Yes, it is,” she replied, quickly pulling her hair over her face and keeping her head lowered so she wouldn’t have to see who was speaking.
He noticed her nervous reaction and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
She nodded slightly in acceptance of his apology and watched as he joined his friends at the waterfall.
“Wow,” she whispered to herself, then quickly packed up and left.
For the next two days, she worked on other pieces before returning to the waterfall, hoping no tourists would be there this time. She was sitting on a rock, her bare feet dipped in a rushing stream when she heard voices.
Turning around, she saw the same tourist, the one who had spoken to her, now returning from a hike with a native guide.
He raised a hand to her. “Hey.”
She hesitantly raised her hand a little, hoping he wouldn’t come over. But he did.
“How’s your work going?”
“Good,” she answered with a small smile, not lowering her head too much this time.
A sudden gust of wind blew her hair away from her face, revealing the scars she had tried so hard to hide. The shocked look on his face made her stomach sink, and she immediately turned away.
Back at the cabin, frustration overwhelmed her. “It’s what I’ve been avoiding for so long!” she cried, throwing her paint and brushes across the room.
Her mother, who had been spending time with her that week, tried to comfort her, holding back her own tears.
“I can’t talk to anyone,” Aruna sobbed. “I can’t look them in the face. How much longer do I have to live like this?”
Her pain was heartbreaking, but her mother, crying quietly, managed to calm her down.
A few days later, she refocused on her work, finishing the waterfall painting and sending it, along with a few other pieces, to an art exhibition. All her paintings sold, but, once again, not at a high price.
Then, three months later, she received astounding news.
Her waterfall painting, bought by a tourist in Georgetown, had been entered into an art exhibition in New York. It had been submitted with her name as the artist and sold for an astonishing sum.
Aruna couldn’t believe it!
“Is this the miracle I was waiting for?”
The money covered the full cost of her plastic surgery overseas, and four months later, she stared at her reflection in the mirror—seeing a new person, beautiful once again.
There was now a blessed light in her life.
“Thank you, dear Lord,” she whispered, “for the new me, for a second chance at life… and to that mysterious person who helped my painting sell.”
That December, she attended an art exhibition showcasing her work when a familiar voice spoke behind her.
“Beautiful artwork.”
She turned around and felt a sudden warmth in her heart.
It was him—the tourist from the waterfall.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile.
He looked at her for a moment and then, pleased, said, “Now I get to see the artist and her smile.”
“Sorry about that time… I wasn’t in a good place.”
“I know. But I saw a girl who, despite her sadness, was passionate about her work.”
Aruna felt happy to be able to talk to him now. He told her he was back in the country looking at investment opportunities.
As they stood there talking, the organiser of the exhibition approached them.
“Mr Brody, I see you’ve met the artist of the last painting you bought.”
Aruna looked at him, surprised. “You bought one of my pieces?”
“Yes—the waterfall scene.”
“What?” She stared at him in disbelief. “And you entered it in the New York exhibition?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Oh my God,” Aruna gasped, sitting down as her knees went weak.
“Why did you do that for me?”
“The pain I saw that day on your face touched me, and I decided to find a way to help.”
With deep gratitude in her eyes, she stood up and hugged him. “Thank you so much.”
“Well, I guess it was worth it,” he said with a little laugh.
She stepped back, her heart full of joy. A stranger had shown her kindness in her darkest moment and had helped her in a way she never expected.
He extended his hand. “I never got to tell you my name—I’m Matthew. And I’d like to be your friend.”
She smiled warmly and took his hand.
“I’d love that.”