Chapter 3: eyes like storms
740 Words
Chapter 3: Eyes Like Storms
The morning sun filtered through the tall glass windows of the gallery hall, casting long shadows across the floor. Solene arrived early, hair tied in a loose bun, dark circles under her eyes from painting until nearly 3 a.m. The smell of paint still clung to her hands, but she didn’t care. Her latest piece, one she wasn’t even sure she wanted to show, was done. It was raw, chaotic, real. Just like her.
She didn’t expect anyone else to be there yet. So when she heard the soft buzz of a power drill in the far corner, her brows furrowed. She followed the sound and found Eli kneeling beside a kinetic sculpture. His shirt clung to his back, and his hair was messily pushed away from his forehead. His hands were steady, focused.
Solene stood silently for a moment, watching. She hated that he looked so calm doing something so complex. She hated even more that she liked it.
“You don’t sleep either?” she asked, finally breaking the silence.
Eli looked up, startled but not annoyed. “Not much. Ideas don’t stop just because the clock does.”
She walked over, placing her sketchpad down on the table beside him. “Same.”
He stood, wiping his hands on a cloth, then glanced at her. “You look tired.”
“I am tired,” she said. “But it’s the good kind.”
He smiled. “The kind where your soul’s exhausted, but your heart’s full?”
Solene blinked. That wasn’t the kind of thing people said to her. Not guys like him. Not anyone.
She turned away, avoiding his eyes. “Something like that.”
Eli didn’t push. He never did. That was the thing about him. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t all over her like other guys who thought her attitude was some kind of challenge. He gave her space, even when they were close.
They worked in quiet for hours, occasionally exchanging thoughts about lighting, placement, and crowd flow. Sometimes their fingers brushed while reaching for tools. Each time, Solene flinched, not out of fear, but confusion.
Why did it feel so easy being around him?
By late afternoon, the space was coming together. Solene finally wheeled in her newest painting, covered with a white cloth. Eli watched her carefully.
“You gonna show me?” he asked gently.
She hesitated. “It’s not like the others.”
He nodded, waiting.
She sighed and pulled the cloth away.
The painting was fire and motion, blazing reds, messy strokes, shadows shaped like screaming mouths and hollow eyes. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t meant to be.
Eli stepped closer, studying it. “This is... painful.”
She braced herself.
“But it’s beautiful,” he added softly.
Solene’s heart lurched. “You don’t think it’s too much?”
He looked at her, eyes warm and steady. “It’s honest. That’s rare.”
She didn’t know what to say. No one ever called her work honest. They said it was intense, dramatic, even disturbing. But honest?
“That one’s about my dad,” she said before she could stop herself. “He left when I was twelve.”
Eli nodded, gaze still on the painting. “I can feel that.”
She felt exposed. Naked. Yet safe.
“What about you?” she asked. “Any dark past to match mine?”
He chuckled quietly. “Parents divorced when I was nine. I lived with my mom. Worked on cars with my uncle to distract myself.”
Solene smiled. “That explains the perfect arms.”
He smirked. “That’s all you noticed?”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it.
Silence settled again, but this time it was comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t demand to be filled.
As the sun dipped lower, bathing the gallery in gold, Eli leaned against the table beside her.
“I like working with you,” he said.
Solene glanced at him. “I don’t do this often. Letting people in.”
“I won’t force the door open,” he said. “But I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Their eyes met. For the first time, she didn’t look away.
Two storms. Two histories. Two people standing at the edge of something neither fully understood.
Same sun. Different worlds.
But maybe, just maybe, the distance wasn’t so wide after all.
- Writer
