“I see you, you know. The way you paint with such love. And you always stare back at the painting as if you aren’t sure you’re truly worthy”—he hesitates—“of being loved back.” I push my tongue against my cheek, fighting the tears that are trying so hard to give me away. Hiroshi places his hand on my shoulder. “You are, Kiko. And the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be to accept what you cannot change.”
