850 The Person I Hate The Most...

Nine years after, London. 

A handsome young man, wearing a white short as his well-toned bare body bathed in early morning sunlight while standing in the east-facing gallery of his room. He was drawing something on the white sheet which hung to the wooden stand in front of him.

Lines of sweat appeared on his fair, broad, and well-sculpted back as it faced the mildly hot sun rays while the cold breeze coming from the vast water bed ahead cooled it down. 

His black hair turned moist with the sweat as they covered his forehead. His focus was on the portrait he was drawing, forgetting the world around him.

Suddenly two young men barged into his room and came to the gallery as one of them, who wore the casual blue jacket over the white T-shirt and jeans, spoke as he stood at the gallery's entrance. 

"Not again, man! You must be drawing the same woman again."