Gemotions

The gallery's grand entrance doors swung inward, and Elias practically bounced into the brightly lit space. He grinned, a wide, unrestrained expression that felt permanently etched onto his face. His heart hammered a lively rhythm against his ribs, a drum solo announcing his arrival. He hadn't slept a wink last night; the anticipation had been too potent.

His gaze immediately sought the familiar form. There it was: “Crimson Dawn,” his sculpture, bathed in the spotlight’s glow. A stranger stood before it, murmuring, hand raised in contemplation. Elias suppressed a giggle. His fingers twitched, desperate to reach out, to touch the cool, smooth surface. It was real!

“Beautiful, isn't it?" The gallery owner, a woman with a severe bun and even more severe opinions, approached him. Elias just kept smiling. He could barely contain the urge to leap up and down. He felt a light, airy sensation, as if gravity had loosened its grip.