GALLERY PT 1.
1694 Words
EVE’s POV.
I packed up my things as soon as the class ended, my fingers fumbling slightly as I zipped my bag. The evening air outside was cool, carrying faint smells of wet earth and exhaust from passing cars. I stepped out alongside the trickle of students, the campus bathed in the golden glow of street lamps that cast elongated shadows across the pathways. My phone remained stubbornly silent; Xavier hadn’t replied to my email from last night. I exhaled, a heavy, disappointed sigh escaping my chest. He had truly abandoned me. Did he even remember me the way I remembered him? I doubted it.
I wandered down the street and instinctively made my way to the small coffee shop that always seemed to find me, as if it had a sense of my moods. It sat quietly on the corner, dimly lit with a warm, inviting glow that contrasted sharply with the chill of the night. I slid into my usual corner booth, the leather seat soft beneath me, and placed my bag and notebook on the table. A steaming cup of cappuccino sat in front of me, the delicate aroma of coffee and cocoa wrapping around my senses. I opened my notebook and began reviewing the assignment I had been struggling with all day, losing myself in scribbled sentences and half-finished ideas.
Then, a familiar presence caught my eye. My chin lifted almost instinctively, and my gaze landed on him—Mr. The lecturer—entering the shop with that infuriatingly confident grin of his. I felt a shiver run down my spine. Please don’t ruin my already fragile mood tonight, I silently pleaded.
He walked toward the counter, calm and deliberate, ordering something in a hushed tone that carried authority without effort. I tried to concentrate on my notebook, flipping pages and attempting to submerge myself in my work, but the radio in the corner of the shop pulled me from my thoughts.
“The number of deaths and affected people of COVID-19 are reported to be multiplying in every hospital in the country…” the announcer droned on. “The National Committee on COVID-19 recommends strict adherence to mask-wearing and social distancing. The President has approved policies mandating service providers and customers alike to comply, with penalties for violations.”
I swallowed hard. COVID-19 had crept quietly into my life, a shadow I had barely noticed. People, including myself, had been careless—masks half-worn, sanitizers left unused. The weight of the announcement pressed on my chest.
“May I?” A voice interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I looked up. Mr. The lecturer stood there, his cup of coffee held casually in one hand, that signature grin on his face.
“The seat is occupied,” I replied quickly, burying my nose back into my notebook as if hiding could erase him.
“Really?” His tone held amusement, like he found my avoidance entertaining.
I picked up my phone to check the time, hoping to pretend I was waiting for someone. “He’ll be right back,” I muttered, trying to sound confident.
“Okay,” he said lightly and, thankfully, took another seat nearby. But even at a distance, his presence made the back of my neck prickle. Concentration became impossible; my thoughts ping-ponged between my assignment and the discomfort of him being so near.
Eventually, the coffee shop began closing. I packed my things, the quiet clatter of my bag on the table echoing louder than it should have. Stepping outside, I spotted him again, standing under the soft streetlights. Why was he here? My curiosity mingled with irritation as I walked toward him, hands tucked into my coat pockets.
“Are there night classes in Guentemalla?” I asked, attempting casualness.
“Nope,” he said simply, eyes hidden behind a dark reflection of streetlight.
“Since I’ve met you here, can I ask you something?”
He glanced down at his wristwatch, then back at me, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “She should be here any minute. Make it quick.”
“Oh! You’re waiting for someone?”
He nodded toward a sleek Jaguar pulling up in front of us. “Unlike you, the person I’m waiting for is punctual. Meet you tomorrow,” he said lightly, sliding into the car.
I watched it disappear into the night. My chest tightened. Was this some subtle test of patience, or did he simply not care about leaving me here? Night had fallen, and he didn’t even ask how I would get home.
With a bruised heart, I turned back toward the university, footsteps echoing softly on the empty streets. When I arrived at my classroom, to my surprise, one of my classmates was there, reading quietly.
He looked up and smiled, and I returned it with a small, grateful smile. “Hey,” I greeted.
“Miss Evelyn?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. I nodded. “Call me Eve,” I offered.
“Join me,” he said, motioning to the seat next to him. I hesitated for a fraction of a second before sliding in, placing my bag beside me and sinking comfortably into the chair.
“How are you?” he asked, eyes warm.
“I’m fine, thanks. I assumed everyone would be home with family. Didn’t expect to see anyone here,” I replied.
“My wife and kids just left for vacation. I’d have gone with them, but I have a project to finish first,” he said, a faint shadow of longing in his voice.
“Oh… I’m sorry about that,” I murmured.
“What about you? Don’t you have family?”
“I do. They’re in Xenonia,” I replied.
By the next minute, we were both absorbed in our tasks. Silence fell between us, but it was comfortable, the type that allowed focus without isolation.
“Anyway, Miss Evelyn?”
“Yes?” I turned toward him.
“Have you and Mr. Zack met before coming here?”
“No. Never. What makes you ask?”
“Well, not only me, but you surprised many,” he said, leaning back.
“Many? Five people counts as many?” I laughed quietly.
He sighed, closing his books with deliberate slowness. “Have you ever wondered why there are no ladies in his class? Or why he works in his gallery rather than the office like other lecturers?”
I shook my head. “I’ve heard not many students survive his class, but I never noticed why he avoids the office.”
He exhaled, a slow, measured sound. “Ladies tend to gravitate toward him. Young, handsome, and wealthy, with talent and charm. Naturally, conflicts arise. They fight, sabotage each other, or even bribe authorities to remove rivals. If a lady makes it to the intermediate class, she’s often sent to another campus to avoid chaos.”
I burst into laughter, picturing the absurdity. Attractive enough to inspire envy, but fights over attention? It sounded ridiculous.
“Has he ever dated any of them?” I asked impulsively.
“Nope. Not in five years. No one has seen a girlfriend, wife, or family. He keeps to himself, untouchable in his world.”
I nodded slowly, understanding why he carried such a regal aloofness. “He must be lonely.”
“One more thing,” my classmate said with a mischievous glance. “I saw him smiling at you in his gallery. I’ve never seen him smile at anyone else. Your charms must work on him.”
I laughed again, a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Charms? God forbid. I wouldn’t date him if he were the last man alive.” I added that last thought silently, a mental note.
He chuckled softly. “Everyone at the university talks about you two. Be ready for rumors.”
I watched him pack up and walk away, the weight of curiosity pressing in. I couldn’t help but feel pity. Did he have family? Was he lonely, truly lonely? Shaking my head, I forced the thoughts aside.
The night had deepened. Streetlights painted the sidewalks in long, wavering shadows. I decided a walk might settle my mind.
“Who are you?” barked a voice from behind. I turned to see a small, old man, bundled in a thick coat, eyes twinkling.
“Oh! It’s you, Miss Davinci,” he chuckled warmly.
“I’m Evelyn. Please, call me Eve,” I replied.
“Ho ho ho!” His laugh was rich and booming, a perfect Santa impersonation. “So, Miss Eve Davinci, what brings you out at this hour?”
Was he drunk? Or just eccentric? Why Davinci? “I just came for some fresh air,” I replied cautiously.
“Ah! Mr. Davinci left a minute ago. No wonder you two are both night owls,” he chuckled again.
“Who’s Davinci?” I asked, curiosity pricking.
“Everyone knows him here. I work at his gallery. Come, I’ll escort you,” he said kindly.
I followed, intrigued. As we walked, he spoke of his family, the wife who had left, and the little daughter he tried to raise alone. His stories were filled with pride, pain, and resilience.
Finally, we halted in front of Mr. Lecturer’s gallery. “You mean Mr. Zack, when you said Davinci?” I asked.
“Come in,” he said, opening the door. “Don’t mention I was here.” He walked away, leaving me to explore the gallery.
As I moved toward my favorite collection, a voice behind me made me start.
“Ah! What do we have here?”
I slowly turned. Mr. Lecturer leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his presence commanding attention.
“You startled me,” I said.
“Aren’t I the one startled? Someone barges in uninvited?”
“The door was open,” he countered, cool and indifferent.
“That doesn’t give you the right,” I muttered.
He smirked, that infuriating playful smirk. “What?”
“I can see why you’re alone,” I said through gritted teeth, turning to leave.
- Writer
