Chapter 11 – Echoes
1186 Words
The old gallery stayed in Mira's mind long after she left.
It wasn't because of the paintings.
Or the dust.
Or even the silence that seemed to cling to every wall.
It was because of him.
The stranger.
His calm voice.
His strange answers.
And the way he had said her name so naturally, as if he'd known it all along.
She had replayed the conversation at least ten times on the walk back to her hostel.
Goodbye, Mira.
How did he know?
She was certain she had never introduced herself.
---
The next morning, the Fine Art studio smelled of fresh paint and charcoal.
Students moved around the room carrying canvases while Professor Adeyemi inspected everyone's progress.
Mira dipped her brush into a mixture of blue and gray, trying to recreate the old gallery from memory.
The empty room.
The cracked walls.
The forgotten paintings.
She had almost finished the outline when a shadow fell across her canvas.
Professor Adeyemi.
He studied the painting quietly.
"You remembered the light."
Mira looked up.
"Sir?"
"The afternoon light through those windows."
He pointed to the corner of the painting.
"Most people wouldn't notice it."
She smiled politely.
"I liked the way it looked."
Professor Adeyemi nodded.
His expression lingered on the gallery longer than it should have.
"You found it on your own?"
"Yes."
"You went inside?"
"I did."
His eyes met hers.
"For how long?"
"Maybe an hour."
He was silent.
Then he simply nodded.
"Interesting."
He walked away before she could ask another question.
---
"That was... strange."
Mira turned.
Ethan had appeared beside her without making a sound.
"What was?"
"The professor."
She looked toward the front of the class.
"He seemed interested in your painting."
"Maybe."
"You don't sound convinced."
"I don't know."
Ethan looked at her canvas.
"You really like that place."
"I've only been there once."
"Still."
He smiled.
"It must've made an impression."
"It did."
She didn't explain why.
Not because she didn't trust Ethan.
She simply wasn't sure how to explain meeting someone who seemed to know things he shouldn't.
---
Classes ended just before three.
Instead of returning to her hostel, Mira walked toward the library.
She wanted to find old photographs of the campus.
Maybe there would be something about the gallery.
Something that explained why it had been abandoned.
The librarian pointed her toward a shelf filled with university yearbooks and campus records.
Mira spent almost an hour turning dusty pages.
Old graduation ceremonies.
Student exhibitions.
Faculty photographs.
Then she found it.
A photograph taken nearly twelve years earlier.
The old gallery.
It looked completely different.
Bright.
Crowded.
Filled with paintings and students.
She smiled.
So it hadn't always been forgotten.
As she continued flipping through the pages, another photograph caught her attention.
Professor Adeyemi.
He looked much younger.
Standing beside a group of Fine Art students.
Mira leaned closer.
One face looked vaguely familiar.
Before she could study it properly, another student approached the shelf.
"Sorry."
He reached for a book.
Mira moved aside.
When she looked back, the page had accidentally folded over.
She sighed.
"I'll come back later."
---
Outside, dark clouds gathered over the campus.
The wind carried the smell of approaching rain.
Mira hurried along the pathway leading toward the hostel.
Halfway there, she stopped.
She had the unmistakable feeling that someone was behind her.
She looked over her shoulder.
Students crossed the courtyard.
Two lecturers talked near the fountain.
Nothing unusual.
She continued walking.
Again...
Footsteps.
Slow.
Steady.
She turned quickly.
No one.
Her heart beat a little faster.
You're imagining things.
She adjusted her bag and walked on.
Unknown to her, a man stood beneath the balcony of the humanities building.
Far enough away not to attract attention.
Close enough not to lose sight of her.
He watched until she disappeared into her hostel.
Only then did he leave.
---
The following afternoon, Mira returned to the old gallery.
She wasn't sure why.
Maybe curiosity.
Maybe she wanted answers.
The door creaked as she stepped inside.
The room was empty.
"Hello?"
Only silence answered.
She wandered farther in.
The painting of the woman by the window was still there.
So was the old chair.
But the stranger was nowhere to be seen.
Mira let out a quiet breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Maybe he wasn't coming today.
She opened her sketchbook and began drawing.
Minutes passed.
Then a voice came from behind her.
"I was wondering if you'd come back."
She spun around.
The stranger stood near the doorway.
Exactly where he had been the first day.
"You startled me."
"I'm sorry."
His voice was calm.
"I didn't mean to."
Mira closed her sketchbook.
"I thought you weren't here."
"I wasn't."
"You just arrived?"
He nodded once.
She wasn't sure why she found that difficult to believe.
---
"You've started painting the gallery."
He looked toward the sketchbook resting on her lap.
Mira frowned.
"I haven't shown you."
"You didn't need to."
"You saw it?"
"I noticed the paint on your fingers."
She looked down.
Blue and gray.
The same colors she had used that morning.
"You're very observant."
"So I've been told."
They walked slowly through the gallery.
"This place used to matter."
The stranger's fingers brushed lightly over the dusty frame of a painting.
"It still does."
"To who?"
He looked at her.
"To people who remember."
Mira waited.
He didn't continue.
"You always stop talking when things become interesting."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"And yet you keep listening."
---
The rain began suddenly.
Heavy drops struck the old windows.
"I guess we're trapped," Mira said.
"For a little while."
She sat on the wooden bench.
The stranger remained standing near the window, watching the rain.
Without thinking, Mira asked,
"Have you ever painted?"
He was quiet for several seconds.
"Once."
"What happened?"
"I stopped."
"Why?"
His reflection stared back from the glass.
"Some memories are easier to carry than to paint."
She looked at him, but didn't ask another question.
For the first time, he sounded... tired.
Not mysterious.
Just tired.
---
The rain eased after nearly twenty minutes.
Mira packed her things.
"I should go before it starts again."
The stranger stepped aside, allowing her to pass.
As she reached the doorway, he spoke.
"You dropped this yesterday."
He held out a charcoal pencil.
Mira blinked.
She accepted it.
"Thank you."
She looked at the pencil.
It really was hers.
She remembered searching for it the night before.
"Where did you find it?"
He glanced toward the corner of the room.
"Near the bench."
She nodded.
"Thanks."
As she walked away, she didn't notice the stranger watching until she disappeared beyond the trees.
Only then did he quietly slip a small notebook from inside his jacket.
He opened it to a page filled with careful handwriting.
At the bottom, he wrote one more line.
«She came back.»
He closed the notebook and looked toward the path where Mira had vanished.
His expression remained unreadable.
But whatever had begun with a chance meeting in an abandoned gallery...
It was only beginning.
- Writer
