The space between us
1350 Words
The sound of Evelyn’s brush against canvas was the only noise in the studio, save for the low hum of an old jazz playlist playing from her phone. But no amount of music could drown out the whirlwind of thoughts rushing through her.
She kept replaying the kiss.
Ryan’s touch. The way his lips met hers—not demanding, but deliberate. Like he wasn’t trying to possess her but to understand her.
And then she had pulled away.
Not because she didn’t want it.
But because she did.
"You’re painting angry," Jules said, stepping in with a coffee and a knowing glance.
Evelyn startled, her brush flicking red where there should’ve been yellow. She sighed. "That obvious?"
Jules shrugged, dropping onto the couch. "It's like emotional Morse code. So, you kissed him. Then ghosted him. Then found out his firm is handling a case for the gallery. Sound about right?"
Evelyn sat on the stool and buried her face in her hands. "God, I messed this up."
"Maybe. Or maybe you need to decide what you want from him. And what you’re afraid of."
Evelyn was quiet.
"He's not your ex, Eve. He's not going to take your light and leave you empty."
The reminder hit deeper than she liked.
---
Across the city, Ryan reviewed the gallery case file, the logo taunting him in the top corner.
He still hadn’t heard from her. Still no reply.
He hadn't even wanted to take the case at first. Conflict of interest, he'd said. But Joan, ever practical, reminded him that avoiding Evelyn wouldn't erase her. Besides, his firm was perfect for the job, and it involved international copyright issues—his specialty.
So here he was. Torn between professional boundaries and personal truths.
He was due at the gallery the next day.
---
When Evelyn saw Ryan walk into the gallery's glass entrance the next morning, her stomach flipped. He wore his usual confidence, dressed sharp, and talked to the curator. But the moment their eyes met, something faltered.
He nodded. Respectful. Distant. Professional.
She hated it.
After the meeting ended, Ryan walked past her without pausing but then turned back.
"Evelyn. Could we talk? Somewhere quiet?"
She hesitated. Then nodded.
---
They found themselves in the quiet courtyard behind the gallery, surrounded by sculptures and filtered sunlight. Ryan kept his hands in his pockets.
"I didn't mean to make things complicated," he said.
She looked at him. "You didn’t. I did."
Silence stretched between them.
"I liked kissing you," he said, voice low. "But more than that, I liked who I was with you. No performance. No pretense. Just me."
Evelyn's throat tightened. "That scares me," he said, moving closer.
"It scares me too. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't try."
She looked at him for a long moment, then looked away.
“See, you're from a rich family, you have your own empire, and to top it all, you're a lawyer, whereas I'm just an artist.”
He looked at her confused.
Returning his gaze, she tucked her hair at the back of her ear. "If we do this," she said, "we do it slow. No grand gestures. Just honesty."
Ryan smiled, caressing her face carefully. "If that's all it takes to get your attention then....Deal."
As they returned inside, Evelyn felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
---
That evening, Jules texted Evelyn: So?
Evelyn replied, "We talked, and we're good."
Jules sent a gif of a cheering crowd.
Meanwhile, Marcus stared at Ryan across their shared office, brow raised. "You look... lighter."
Ryan leaned back in his chair, phone in hand. "We talked."
Marcus grinned. "Let me guess. Gallery girl?"
Ryan smiled to himself. "Yeah. Gallery girl."
Outside, the city pulsed as usual. But for Evelyn and Ryan, something had shifted again—a tentative step forward, a chance to rewrite what fear had once erased.
And neither of them was ready to let it slip away this time.
The next day___
The gallery smelled of linseed oil and sawdust—a scent Evelyn had always associated with new beginnings. She arrived early the next morning, notebook tucked under her arm, sleeves rolled up, ready to immerse herself in anything but her feelings.
But the universe had other plans.
Sofia was already there, hunched over a tablet and scowling. “You’re here early.”
“I could say the same.”
Sofia glanced up. “We got a last-minute submission. From an up-and-coming artist. Looks good. You might want to check it out.”
Evelyn raised a brow. “You sound skeptical.”
“I’m never skeptical about talent,” Sofia said. “But this one has... presence.”
She handed Evelyn the tablet. On it was a series of paintings—raw, visceral, and vibrant. They pulsed with emotion. Evelyn clicked through the pieces, feeling something shift in her chest.
“This is really good,” she admitted.
“I know.” Sofia grinned. “And he’s arriving today to discuss his showcase.”
Just then, the gallery door chimed.
A tall man walked in—broad-shouldered, confident posture, soft curls falling into dark eyes. He wore paint-streaked jeans and a loose white shirt, sleeves pushed back to reveal ink stains on his arms.
Sofia smirked. “And that would be our guest.”
Evelyn stepped forward. “Hi. I’m Evelyn.”
He extended a hand. “Adrian. Adrian Knight.”
His voice was deep but mellow, like a cello played slow and deliberate. There was no arrogance in his eyes, just quiet focus.
“I’ve admired this gallery from afar,” Adrian said, glancing around. “Didn’t think I’d be standing here.”
“Well, you are,” Evelyn said, trying not to feel flustered. “Let’s talk through your submission.”
They moved to the central room, where a few interns were rearranging frames. Adrian unrolled two small canvases from a leather case—one of a boy standing at the edge of a river, the other a faceless woman wrapped in crimson light.
“They’re intense,” Evelyn said.
“They’re true,” Adrian replied simply. “I don’t paint for the market. I paint what haunts me.”
Sofia, watching nearby, raised her brows approvingly.
Evelyn swallowed the flicker of recognition in her chest. This man reminded her of herself years ago—unfiltered and relentless. Maybe that was why it stirred something unsettled in her.
They spoke for nearly an hour, discussing themes, layout, and lighting. Adrian was insightful and collaborative. And utterly magnetic.
As the meeting wrapped, he looked at her and said, “I hope we’ll have time to talk again. You get it.”
“Get what?”
“The silence beneath the color.”
Evelyn blinked, heart lurching.
---
Later that afternoon, Jules found her sketching by the window of her office.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Jules said, leaning against the door.
“I met someone.”
Jules lifted a brow. “Someone new?”
“An artist. Adrian. He’s incredibly talented. Intense.”
“And?”
“And nothing,” Evelyn said quickly. “It’s not like that.”
Jules sat on the windowsill. “Does he know about Ryan?”
“Look, I and Ryan are cool; it's just ..... complicated we're from two completely different worlds.” Evelyn said, clearing her table.
“Right. Just a kiss that rearranged your atoms.”
Evelyn exhaled. “I can’t even think straight, Jules. One minute I’m kissing a man who listens like he wants to memorize me, and the next I’m curating someone else’s passion.”
“You sound like you’re on a carousel with no off switch.”
“Exactly.”
Jules reached over, took her pencil, and drew a small heart at the corner of Evelyn’s sketchpad.
“You don’t have to choose today,” she said. “But don’t pretend your heart isn’t already part of the story.”
Evelyn smiled, weary and grateful. “Thanks.”
Jules grinned. “Just doing my job.”
- Writer
