~Luca's POV~
A twist unfolded that evening inside the gallery - meant to mark my grad school days - which slipped far from plan.
A handful of pieces lined the walls. Right at the center, the highlight waited. City papers had come by. Next to me, my teacher grinned as if claiming a prize. Each long evening, each torn-up version, now rested under museum glow.
Besides Brooklyn, not a thing showed up.
Perhaps she'd appear. Then again, I didn't expect her to. Weeks had passed since our last word - unless you counted those meetings. A full stop. Each giving the other room. Quiet manners shared by folks who once chatted daily.
Still there she was. Facing the piece started straight after our fight. Close, though not too close - near enough to notice how twisted metal carried pain alongside beauty. The instant refused to pass, hanging instead, much like air stuck between inhale and exhale.
