A plane tree leaf drifted down onto Lin Qian's sketchbook just as she was sketching a figure against the cafe's glass window. Her pen suddenly paused. A pair of eyes appeared in the glass reflection—amber pupils holding fragments of light and shadow, like the entire Milky Way crushed into dust.
"Excuse me, is this your pencil?" The man's slender fingers held a charcoal stick, his cuffs stained with a faint scent of cedarwood. Lin Qian looked up, crashing into those breathtaking eyes, and her heartbeat missed a beat. He wore a faded denim jacket, with a fresh scratch on his neck that did nothing to diminish the gentleness in his brows and eyes.
"Your eyes are truly beautiful, like a sea of stars." The words slipped out before she realized how abrupt they were, and Lin Qian's face flushed red. The man simply smiled, fine wrinkles blooming at the corners of his eyes: "My name is Shen Zhao, from the oil painting department at the fine arts academy." He pointed at the unfinished portrait on her sketchbook: "Is that me?"
Chapter 100