Chapter 4-The exhibition
Amara hadn’t planned to stop.
She was walking home from her checkup, the air cool on her skin, when she saw the small crowd gathered outside the glass-front gallery.
Golden evening light spilled across the pavement, catching on the bold white letters printed on the window:
"THROUGH HER EYES: The Works of Lena Hart".
Her steps faltered. Lena. The name meant nothing to her, and yet the sound of it stirred something inside, like a soft tug behind her ribs.
Almost without thinking, she drifted toward the open doors.
Amara stopped before one image in particular. A coffee cup, half-empty, sitting on a seaside railing.
The background was blurred, but the ocean was unmistakable, waves rolling endlessly behind it.
Her chest tightened. She knew that view. She had felt that view in her dreams, though she had never been there.
unknown
Beautiful, isn’t it?
The voice came from beside her. Low, calm, a little rough around the edges. Amara turned, startled.
The man was tall, broad-shouldered but not imposing, dressed simply in a white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hazel eyes lingered on the photograph, not her, but there was something about the way he stood — like he was both present and very far away.
Amara Bello
Yes,*Amara said softly, finding her voice*.It feels… alive.
For the first time, his eyes flicked to her. A quick, assessing glance, not unkind but measured, as though he were trying to decide something about her.
Then, just as quickly, his gaze returned to the photo.
unknown
She had a gift,*he murmured*.
unknown
My sister, *he said*. Lena Hart. These were hers.
Amara’s breath caught. The donor, though she didn’t know it yet.
She stared at the photograph again, suddenly aware of the faint thump of her borrowed heart against her ribs.
Amara Bello
I didn’t know her, *she admitted, her words careful*. But… looking at these, it feels like I do.
He turned his head slightly, studying her more closely this time. For a moment, his expression softened, a flicker of warmth breaking through the shadow in his eyes.
Daniel Hart
I’m Daniel,*he said finally, offering his hand*.
Amara hesitated only a second before slipping hers into his. His grip was steady, warm, grounding.
Amara Bello
Amara,* she replied*.
Something passed between them then — not recognition exactly, but a quiet awareness, like two strangers standing at the edge of a story neither of them yet understood.
Comments
✨🦄𝕛ꪖડꫝꪑⅈꪀ🦄✨
Keep it up !! ☺️💐
2025-08-19
0