13 Don't overthink it. It's just for the sake of art

After a heavy rain over the weekend, the weather turned clear, and the air felt exceptionally fresh.

Cars sped by, splashing water from the roadside, as dragonflies danced in the air.

In the window of a coffee shop, a white cat basked in the sun, its eyes gleaming like jewels, and its face round and plump.

Sam always liked to glance at the coffee shop as he passed by. The white cat noticed him too, then lazily yawned and continued to lie down, its round body showing no desire to turn over.

Sam entered the school, never having seen the campus so quiet, as if only the sound of falling leaves existed.

He arrived at a teaching building and came to room 416, then pushed the door open.

The bright classroom was instantly filled with golden sunlight spreading across the floor.

And there was that stunning figure.

"Are you here? Very punctual."

Angel was there, dressed in familiar clothes. The white over-the-knee stockings might seem odd on other girls, but she was the perfect fit.

Under the contrast of the white stockings, her long and delicate legs were irresistibly charming.

While speaking, Angel's gaze remained fixed on a sculpture, and although she wasn't particularly close, Sam recognized at first sight that the sculpture resembled him.

But it was not yet complete, currently just a vague outline.

"Uh, a handsome person like me always likes to be punctual."

Angel pursed her lips, obviously not fond of such narcissistic remarks, but of course, this was part of Sam's plan.

If it could make her dislike him, perhaps it would be a good strategy to make her give up her infatuation with him.

Angel didn't speak. Sam stood not far behind her, observing her soft, long hair that flowed from the back of her head to her waist.

"Is this sculpture of me?" Sam asked softly.

Angel frowned slightly: "Hmm... but it doesn't feel quite right, many details are yet to be fully sculpted."

Sam understood her meaning, so he took the initiative: "Is this why you asked me to come here?"

On a nearby table lay an exquisite and pretty bag, containing unknown contents, but certainly not books on a weekend.

Angel stopped sculpting, and from behind, Sam could clearly see the dense sweat beads on the skin of her neck, not covered by her long hair.

Indeed, the weather was getting hotter.

She turned around, looking directly at Sam. Despite having met her before, Sam was still astounded by this extraordinary girl. A goddess-like beauty, unforgettable at a single glance.

Angel sat facing Sam, her hands resting on her pleated skirt.

"That's right, sometimes inspiration needs face-to-face interaction, mere imagination cannot solve everything." She seemed to have a unique perspective on her hobbies.

"So, what do you plan to do?" Sam didn't indulge in undue hope or meaningless entanglements.

Once the situation was confirmed, Sam already understood his approach. He knew that every action of his was related to his ultimate fate, so he had to maintain sufficient caution.

Angel's gaze was not gentle; on the contrary, it always carried a sense of indifference and determination.

She pointed to a chair opposite her. "Sit there for a while. Until my sculpture is complete, you will relinquish control of your body to me."

Sam didn't agree immediately but asked calmly. "I can sit there while you work on the sculpture, and I can even cooperate to a certain extent. But you must promise not to touch my body."

His request sounded almost like a vow of chastity, but Sam knew why he had to make it. 

He had anticipated Angel might disagree, but he didn't expect her to refuse so bluntly, without a moment's thought: 

"No."

Sam frowned. "You mean you will touch me, but I'm just your model, why would you need to touch me?" 

The intent seemed far from pure.

Angel slightly tilted her head, as if it were the most natural and confident thing. "Don't overthink it. It's just for the sake of art."

Bullshit for the sake of art! 

Sam was well aware that any physical contact could trigger unforeseen consequences. 

Like the normal world, the development of romantic feelings between men and women required a gradual process – from holding hands to kissing and even to sexual relations – all following a certain progression.

However, due to his special talent, many things became more unpredictable. For instance, in a relationship where only hand-holding was possible, if he got involved, it might directly escalate to sex, and it would likely be the woman initiating it.

Did the so-called conquest only signify possessing the other person's body, engaging in sexual relations? 

Sam knew it wasn't that simple. If some things weren't handled properly, the end could still be death.

The wind gently stirred the curtains, casting their shadows on the classroom wall in the sunlight.

Their gazes seemed to clash in the still air, like duelists, where the moment of action would decide victory or defeat, life or death.

Sam was the first to break the prolonged silence. "I'm just an ordinary person, not very versed in art. But physical touch makes me uncomfortable, so I refuse."

Seeing him speak so calmly, a slight surprise seemed to shimmer in Angel's eyes. 

Perhaps the idea of a boy refusing 'intimate contact' with her was something she had never considered. Even a fool wouldn't do that, right? But no, Sam wasn't a fool; he was actually quite smart.

"Do you really dislike me?" Angel suddenly asked.

Sam shook his head. "I don't dislike you, I just don't feel anything."

Sam had thought this through before speaking; after all, they hadn't really met many times. And Angel was particularly beautiful. To outright say he disliked her would only arouse unnecessary suspicion or lead to unforeseen complications.

"Don't feel anything," that should be enough for her to give up on him, right?

But Angel just smiled. "Sam, you're the first guy to see me and feel nothing."

Sam felt a headache coming on; things weren't going as he had expected. Why did she seem more interested in him now?

"It's normal. There are always exceptions, and everyone's aesthetic is different. I admit you are very attractive, the type most men would like, but..."

"But what?"

Angel smiled at Sam, who looked out the window with a thoughtful gaze. "I value the soul more..."

It sounded like a cliché and somewhat shameless statement. Aren't all men visual creatures? He just saw things a bit differently.

Angel wasn't surprised at Sam's response; she seemed prepared for it. "I understand. I won't touch you."

Was that an agreement?

Angel suddenly asked in a tempting tone, "But what if you touch me?"

Sam firmly shook his head. "No, that won't happen. First of all, I want to make it clear that I'm not saying this to play hard-to-get or to catch your attention."

Angel didn't seem angry, still as proud and confident as ever. "It's okay, please sit down, I'm going to start."

Sam didn't bring anything with him, so he didn't need to get ready. He calmly sat in the chair opposite her, watching Angel pick up her sculpting tool again. 

"I don't need to pose in any particular way, do I?"

Angel calmly looked up. "Face me and look at me."

A very normal yet strange request.

Sam didn't hesitate much. He sat facing her, looking into Angel's emotionless, indifferent eyes.

She would occasionally lower her head to sculpt, and have him adjust his position as needed.

Like lifting his head, or looking aside, and of course, simple movements like standing up. Sam cooperated with all these, without refusal.

Twenty minutes later, Sam suddenly spoke up. "After you finish this sculpting, you'll delete the photo as promised, right?"

Angel calmly lifted her head. "No, I won't."

"Why not?"

"Because I never made that agreement with you. I only promised not to call the police."

"That's quite cunning, isn't it? There's no reason for me to sit here and cooperate with you if that's the case."

Sam seemed somewhat angry, a natural reaction to being toyed with. He appeared ready to stand up and leave, but at that moment, he found himself unable to move.

Like a finely crafted piece of art, Sam, sitting with his back to the sunlight on the windowsill, had stopped moving entirely, even his eyeballs were motionless, like a frozen sculpture, no longer blinking.

Even the curtains had ceased their fluttering, as if the breeze had disappeared altogether.

The classroom was eerily silent.