The gallery wasn't what Mara expected.It was tucked between an old bookstore and a florist, its glass front fogged from the breath of the crowd inside. Warm light spilled out into the cold evening, carrying the smell of rain-soaked pavement and wildflowers from next door.
Mara hesitated at the entrance, clutching her umbrella like a shield. She hadn't been to anything like this since her mother's memorial show—a lifetime ago, when grief still sat raw beneath her skin. But something about Eli's text—"I'd really like you to come"—had tugged her out of her apartment and into the night.
Inside, the gallery hummed with quiet conversation and the soft shuffle of shoes on polished floors. Each photograph on the walls told a story: children laughing in alleyways, city lights caught in puddles, strangers frozen in beautiful, fleeting moments. But one wall stopped her completely.
Every photo there was of her.
Mara in the café, smiling with her eyes half hidden behind a mug.Mara walking through rain, her coat flaring like wings.Mara laughing beside the window, sunlight slicing across her face.
She froze, heat rushing to her cheeks. "You—these are—"
Eli appeared beside her, holding two glasses of champagne, his expression cautious. "You said you hadn't seen yourself in color for a long time," he said quietly. "I wanted to show you that you still glow."
She didn't know whether to be touched or terrified."You took these without asking," she said, voice trembling."I know," he admitted. "I didn't mean to at first. I just… couldn't stop seeing you everywhere."
Her heart stuttered, torn between awe and unease. The room felt smaller, the air too thick. "Eli… that's—intense."
He nodded, lowering his gaze. "You're right. I got lost in it. But Mara, when I look through a lens, I see truth. And the truth is, you make everything else make sense again."
Before she could respond, a woman's voice cut through the hum of the room."Eli?"
They both turned.A tall woman stood in the doorway—dark hair, tired eyes, a delicate gold ring glinting on her hand.
Eli went still. Completely, utterly still.
"Clara," he breathed.
The woman gave a fragile smile. "It's been a while."
Mara's fingers tightened around her umbrella, her pulse quickening.Something cold settled in her stomach as she looked between them.
"Who is she?" Mara asked, though the answer was already forming like a storm on the horizon.
Eli's silence was all the confirmation she needed.
Outside, the rain began again—gentle, relentless, and full of memory.