Her eyes went wide, and she looked up at me. “Three weeks? Wow, time flies.”

“Is that a good thing,” I asked, unsure how to judge her reaction.

“It’s a baffling thing. Everything just kind of blends together,” she said as I guided her across the large space to the stairs that went up to the farmhouse.

From outside or even upstairs, you’d never know this large space existed, which was what I loved about it. I unlocked the thick metal door and stepped into the hall to let Kirby emerge. It was dark because of the time of day, but she looked around and blinked like the sun was shining through the windows.

“I grabbed some more of your things and bought you some stuff I thought you’d like,” I said and led her down the hallway and up the stairs to my bedroom.

She was quiet and looked around in a way that worried me she was going to try and bolt. We entered the bedroom that was now twice the size it used to be when I was a kid. I’d decided to knock out the wall between it and the sewing room that had been on the other side. Kirby’s reaction fascinated me. She wandered the space, still clutching the few items that had been on the floor and still as naked as the day she was born.

I tried to see the room through her eyes. The paintings I’d completed of her were hanging on the soft grey walls. The first one I did, hung as the centerpiece of my collection. If my brother ever came up here, he would’ve thought I’d gone mad, but luckily he never made it further than the door to the basement.

The comforter was grey and white, but I’d added some purple pillows to help it feel more like it was her space too. The dresser held her jewelry box and a number of other small things I’d been able to take when I was at her mother’s home. I’d also slipped into the campus and taken all her clothes, books, and computer equipment when her roommate was in class. I would’ve liked to have seen the look on the girl’s face when she returned to a half-empty room.

She paused as she reached one of the paintings I’d just finished of her. It was of her lying down on soft green grass with a sunny glow shining down on her back, and her lips were curved up in a small smile.

“These are exceptional, Cain,” she reached out and touched the canvas painting. “You really are talented.”

“Does that mean you like them?”

“Love them.”

“You asked me how I see you. I’m not good at forming words to express emotion, but all these images and the many more I want to paint tell you how I see you.”