Chapter Seven: Almost Touched
863 Words
The rain had finally relented. Not completely, but enough for the city to shake off its wet skin and stretch. Potholes still held small lakes, and the air was sticky with leftover humidity, but the sky no longer wept.
Maya stepped out of the keke at Rumuola Junction, her tote bag bumping against her side with each step. She hadn’t planned to come this way. She told herself she’d just walk a little — get air, clear her head. But somehow, her feet wandered.
When she reached the art center’s compound, her heart did that strange flip again. Like it didn’t know whether to be nervous or relieved. The painted iron gate stood open, laughter spilling faintly from inside. She didn’t go in.
Instead, she turned toward the side garden, where hibiscus bloomed against the fence. She liked it here. It was the only spot no one ever hurried through. She stood still, letting the silence find her.
The scent of damp soil clung to everything. Her sandals sank slightly into the soft earth.
“Should’ve just stayed home,” she muttered, more to herself than anything.
The sound of a door swinging open startled her.
“Maya?” came Chika’s voice, light and teasing.
Maya didn’t turn. “Didn’t you say you weren’t coming today?”
“I changed my mind. Same as you, apparently.”
Chika joined her under the mango tree, eyes scanning Maya’s face with that best-friend x-ray vision.
“You okay?” she asked, voice gentler now.
“I don’t know. I’m tired of being in my own head.”
Chika leaned against the trunk, arms folded. “You’ve been stuck in there a long time.”
“I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. Coming here, not going in. It’s like I want something but don’t want to want it.”
“You want peace,” Chika said simply. “And you’re scared to let anything in that could mess with it — even something good.”
That struck too close. Maya looked away.
There was a pause, long and familiar.
“You know,” Chika said slowly, “Luca asks about you. Not directly, but you can tell. He always checks the back row, leaves a space open.”
Maya's breath hitched, uncomfortably.
“I don’t know what to do with that,” she said, voice small.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Chika replied. “But maybe don’t keep running when no one’s chasing you.”
Inside, Luca stood barefoot on the cool tiles, sorting through mismatched paintbrushes. He kept a basket just for the ones with bent bristles — never threw them away. Something about the imperfect ones made him work better.
He hadn’t been able to concentrate all morning. His lesson plan was half-finished. A new canvas sat blank in the corner.
Maya had been on his mind again.
It wasn’t even anything dramatic. Just a flicker. The way she used her hands when she spoke. The way her eyes scanned a room, like she was trying not to leave fingerprints on it.
He didn’t know her story, but he knew the look of someone trying hard not to be seen and hoping someone would still see them anyway.
He heard the side door open.
“Early today?” Chika’s voice called out.
Luca smiled without looking up. “Could say the same about you.”
She walked in, already scribbling in her notebook.
“She’s here, you know,” she said after a moment.
That made him pause. “Maya?”
“Outside. In the garden.”
He wanted to ask if she looked okay. If she smiled. If her hands were fidgeting. But he didn’t.
“She didn’t come in?” he asked instead.
Chika shrugged. “Not yet.”
He nodded, tried to go back to sorting, but his hands trembled just a little.
Maya was pacing now. Small steps. Not nervous — just uncertain.
She walked toward the entrance, fingers tracing the canvas strap on her bag. She reached the edge of the garden—
And heard his voice.
It wasn’t loud. Just… close. He was talking to one of the students, saying something about colour mixing. He laughed. That laugh — low, warm, like it had seen hard days and chosen to stay soft anyway.
She peeked from behind the column.
He was standing by the steps, sleeves rolled, charcoal dust on one cheek. He hadn’t seen her.
But that made it worse.
She turned, heart racing, and slipped back toward the gate.
Later, Chika found Luca sitting on the steps with a half-empty bottle of water.
“She left,” he said without needing to look at her.
Chika nodded. “Yeah.”
“She okay?”
“She’s trying,” Chika said. “That’s more than she was doing before.”
Luca smiled faintly. “Trying is brave.”
They sat in silence.
Somewhere nearby, kids laughed. A radio played a gospel tune on low volume. The sky was turning gold.
“Maybe next time,” Chika said.
Luca nodded. “Maybe.”
She turned, heart racing, and slipped back toward the gate.
- Writer
