I sit through dinner, watching Stel

I sit through dinner, watching Stella talk to my parents, who seem to love her almost as much as I do. My dad eats four biscuits and reaches for a fifth, but my mom slaps it out of his hand—and then takes it for herself. Stella’s practically glowing, and as I watch her, I realize how much lighter she looks, like this huge weight has been taken off her shoulders. She was so brave to risk this. But then, Stella is brave. She’s faced each one of her fears head-on. She makes me want to be brave.
When we finish up, my dad and I wash the dishes while Stella chats in the dining room with my mom, and when it’s time for us to go, my mom pulls me aside. “I like her,” she whispers.
“That’s obvious,” I say with a chuckle. “And I’m glad. I like her, too.”
“It’s more than that.”
I nod. “It is.”
“And she sees right through you. I can tell.”
“She does.” But it makes me smile. “And she likes what she sees.” She loves what she sees. I’ll never forget that moment, not if I live a thousand years.
I kiss my mom goodbye, hug my dad, and follow Stella back to town. We head up the stairs to my apartment, and my heart starts to beat a little faster. “I was wondering,” I say, pulling her jacket from her shoulders and hanging it over the back of a chair, “if you’d consider helping me finish my painting.”
She turns to me, surprise etched across her face. “Me?” She starts to laugh. “You’ve seen me sketch.”
“I think we work well together.”
Her expression brightens. “Me, too.” She looks down at her slacks and sweater, which probably cost more than a month’s rent. “Can I change?”
“Can I watch?”
She laughs. “If you want. Can you loan me a shirt?”
“Do you really need a shirt?” But I take her hand and lead her toward my easel, stopping at my chest of drawers to grab her a t-shirt. I kiss her, sliding my hands up her ribs and stripping the sweater off, then help her into the shirt. “That’s going to come off in a little while.”
“I’m counting on it,” she says quietly, but I hear the vibrations of her voice all the way down to my toes.
She moves closer to the painting, and I turn on the lights over it, so she can really see it. My muscles are tight with anxiety. She gasps as she begins to read, and her fingers flutter over the curves and lines. She turns to me. “I knew it was the glass porch. I recognized it this morning. But—” She blinks away the sheen of tears. “I didn’t see what it said.”
“And?”
“It’s so beautiful, Daniel.”
“Help me finish it?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I want to see it.”
I sit down next to my open toolbox with her between my knees. I pull out my stack of pages, all the quotes I want to use to blow the glass cage apart, to let it crumble so the person inside can get free. Stella is quiet as she cuts the pages into the shapes I’ve drawn. Our fingers slip over each other as we use impasto gel to adhere the paper to the canvas. Her cheek next to mine, I mix my colors, and she watches as I paint, thin washes of color over the pages, thick ridges of acrylic near the edges. I get a little lost in it, the warm smell of her in my nose, the curve of her back against my chest, her soft voice in my ear as she reads the quotes aloud. She smiles as we put the last one into place:
“‘I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her.’”
“It’s perfect,” she says. We sit back from it, taking it all in. “Is that how you see me? That I was trapped in there, and you helped me get out?”
“Is that what you think it is?”
She tilts her head. “That’s what happened.”
I slide my paint-stained hands over her waist. “That’s not the only thing that happened.”
She leans on my shoulder and looks up at me. “You tell me what it means then.”
“Well, art can mean anything to anyone, right?”
She rolls her eyes. “Stop that. Just tell me what it means to you.”
I pull her closer. “When I look at this, I see the day I met this ghost girl in a mansion. I thought I was fine until that day, that I could live my life like a game, that no one would know or care that I wasn’t really there. But she made that impossible.”
“Because I was mean,” she says quietly.
“A little,” I say with a smirk. “But you were also honest, and real, and you saw right through me.”
“And?”
I sigh. “I realized that I was trapped, too. Inside myself. But then you took me apart.” I gesture at the right of the painting, where the whole glass structure is collapsing and disintegrating.
“Oh,” she says. “That sounds ominous, actually.”
“It’s been a little unsettling,” I say honestly as I stare at the barely controlled chaos on that side of the painting. “But it forced me to choose. Stay hidden inside, or step outside and see what happens. I have no idea how it’s going to go.”
She touches my face, trailing her fingertips down my cheek. “Should I feel guilty? I mean, it looks like I destroyed your hiding place.”
I smile as her love for me sits warm in my chest, as my love for her winds like steel up my spine, making me feel like I can do anything, as long as she sees me here. “No, Stella.” I tip her chin up and kiss her. “You rescued me.”
She strokes my hair away from my forehead. "Daniel, I think we rescued each other.

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Aku duduk melalui makan malam, menonton Stella berbicara dengan orangtua saya, yang tampaknya untuk mencintai dia hampir sama seperti saya lakukan. Ayah saya makan empat biskuit dan mencapai untuk kelima, tapi ibuku menampar dari tangannya — dan kemudian mengambil itu untuk dirinya sendiri. Stella praktis yang bersinar, dan saat aku menonton dia, saya menyadari betapa ringan dia terlihat, seperti berat besar ini telah diambil dari dia bahu. Dia adalah begitu berani risiko ini. Tapi kemudian, Stella berani. Dia telah menghadapi setiap salah satu takut langsung. Dia membuat saya ingin menjadi berani.Ketika kami selesai, saya dan ayah saya mencuci piring sementara Stella chatting di ruang makan dengan ibu saya, dan ketika saatnya bagi kita untuk pergi, ibuku menarik saya ke samping. "Saya suka padanya," ia berbisik."Itu jelas," kataku dengan tertawa kecil. "Dan aku senang. Saya suka padanya, terlalu. ""Ini adalah lebih dari itu."Aku mengangguk. "Sudah.""Dan dia melihat kanan melalui Anda. Saya dapat memberitahu.""Dia tidak." Tapi itu membuat saya tersenyum. "Dan dia suka apa yang ia lihat." Dia mencintai apa yang ia lihat. Aku tidak akan pernah melupakan saat itu, tidak jika saya tinggal seribu tahun.Saya selamat tinggal ibu saya mencium, memeluk ayah saya, dan ikuti Stella kembali ke kota. Kepala kita naik tangga untuk apartemen saya, dan hatiku mulai berdetak lebih cepat. "Aku bertanya-tanya," Aku berkata, menarik nya jaket dari bahunya dan menggantung melewati bagian belakang kursi, "jika Anda akan mempertimbangkan membantu saya menyelesaikan lukisan."Dia berubah bagi saya, kejutan terukir di seluruh wajahnya. "Saya?" Dia mulai tertawa. "Anda pernah melihat saya sketsa.""Saya pikir kami bekerja sama dengan baik."Mencerahkan ekspresinya. "Saya, juga." Dia tampak nya celana dan sweater, yang mungkin biaya lebih dari satu bulan sewa. "Dapatkah saya mengubah?""Dapat saya menonton?"Dia tertawa. "Jika Anda mau. Dapat Anda pinjaman saya kemeja?""Apakah Anda benar-benar perlu kemeja?" Tapi aku mengambil tangannya dan membawanya ke arah kuda-kuda saya, berhenti di saya laci untuk mengambil dia sebuah t-shirt. Aku mencium, geser tangan atas dirinya rusuk dan pengupasan sweter, kemudian membantu dia ke dalam kemeja. "Yang akan datang dari dalam beberapa saat.""Aku menghitung itu," katanya dengan tenang, tapi aku mendengar getaran suaranya semua jalan ke jari kaki saya.Dia bergerak lebih dekat untuk lukisan, dan aku menyalakan lampu atas itu, sehingga ia dapat benar-benar melihatnya. Otot-otot saya ketat dengan kecemasan. Dia terengah-engah seperti dia mulai untuk membaca, dan jari-jarinya bergetar atas kurva dan garis. Ia berubah bagi saya. "Aku tahu itu adalah Beranda kaca. Saya mengakui itu pagi ini. Tapi — "dia berkedip kemilau air mata. "Saya tidak melihat apa yang dikatakan.""Dan?""Hal ini begitu indah, Daniel.""Membantu saya menyelesaikannya?""Ya," ia berbisik. "Saya ingin melihatnya."I sit down next to my open toolbox with her between my knees. I pull out my stack of pages, all the quotes I want to use to blow the glass cage apart, to let it crumble so the person inside can get free. Stella is quiet as she cuts the pages into the shapes I’ve drawn. Our fingers slip over each other as we use impasto gel to adhere the paper to the canvas. Her cheek next to mine, I mix my colors, and she watches as I paint, thin washes of color over the pages, thick ridges of acrylic near the edges. I get a little lost in it, the warm smell of her in my nose, the curve of her back against my chest, her soft voice in my ear as she reads the quotes aloud. She smiles as we put the last one into place:“‘I took her hand in mine, and we went out of the ruined place; and, as the morning mists had risen long ago when I first left the forge, so, the evening mists were rising now, and in all the broad expanse of tranquil light they showed to me, I saw no shadow of another parting from her.’”“It’s perfect,” she says. We sit back from it, taking it all in. “Is that how you see me? That I was trapped in there, and you helped me get out?”“Is that what you think it is?”She tilts her head. “That’s what happened.”I slide my paint-stained hands over her waist. “That’s not the only thing that happened.”She leans on my shoulder and looks up at me. “You tell me what it means then.”“Well, art can mean anything to anyone, right?”She rolls her eyes. “Stop that. Just tell me what it means to you.”I pull her closer. “When I look at this, I see the day I met this ghost girl in a mansion. I thought I was fine until that day, that I could live my life like a game, that no one would know or care that I wasn’t really there. But she made that impossible.”“Because I was mean,” she says quietly.“A little,” I say with a smirk. “But you were also honest, and real, and you saw right through me.”“And?”I sigh. “I realized that I was trapped, too. Inside myself. But then you took me apart.” I gesture at the right of the painting, where the whole glass structure is collapsing and disintegrating.“Oh,” she says. “That sounds ominous, actually.”“It’s been a little unsettling,” I say honestly as I stare at the barely controlled chaos on that side of the painting. “But it forced me to choose. Stay hidden inside, or step outside and see what happens. I have no idea how it’s going to go.”She touches my face, trailing her fingertips down my cheek. “Should I feel guilty? I mean, it looks like I destroyed your hiding place.”I smile as her love for me sits warm in my chest, as my love for her winds like steel up my spine, making me feel like I can do anything, as long as she sees me here. “No, Stella.” I tip her chin up and kiss her. “You rescued me.”She strokes my hair away from my forehead. "Daniel, I think we rescued each other.