Chapter 1
Maglor forgets to breathe. Yet, his heart beats louder than it ever has. His feet stumble and his hands shake. Yet his eyes remain focused on the sketchbook in his hands.
It is your sketchbook. The one you carry everywhere with you. The one you pull out to sketch the night skies and the beautiful sceneries of Aman. Or so he had thought.
However, he does not find vast night skies littered with complex constellations that you adore. He does not find majestic waterfalls or mesmerizing valleys full of flowers on the pages he has seen you work on during your outings.
Instead, he finds himself. Drawn, painted, sketched with a stroke of a paintbrush or a scratch of smudged charcoal. He finds himself staring at himself. Nothing amiss. Every detail painstakingly accurate even in the oldest sketches.
So, he flips through the pages. Tracing every line, every stroke. And for a moment lines blur into a melody. Love, love, love, love every inch of your creations sings. And he feels the urge to write the song of your sketches on his soul.
Yet, he stops. He freezes and the song vanishes. His eyes land on his finger. His ring finger with a betrothal ring gleaming back at him. His promise binds him as it does to you.
And so as he closes shut your sketchbook, he remembers. He remembers nights when he spent speaking of his love for other right next to you. He remembers your assuring smiles as he prepared to confess. He reminisces the tight hug you gave him when he announced his courting to other.
Maybe he loves you. But he finds his love short of yours. Kind of love that remains hidden in pages and charcoal stains. A love done so selflessly that it surpasses pain and heartbreak.
Maglor gently places your sketchbook on your desk and rushes out of your room. Unable to bear the enormity of your feelings. He runs away like a coward.