The gallery lights seemed to hum, bathing everything in a warm, golden glow. Amelia took a deep breath, the scent of fresh paint and wood polish filling her lungs. Her fingers itched to touch the smooth, cool canvas of the painting – her painting. She knew, she just knew, that the curator had no right to display it. But standing here, watching couples gaze at her work, whispering compliments, her stomach felt light and fluttery. A gentle smile played on her lips as she watched a little girl point and giggle at the vibrant hues of the sunflowers.
She thought of her partner, Daniel. How, when he’s happy, his nose wrinkles. She imagined the way the sunlight would catch in his hair. The warmth that radiated from him. She felt the same type of warmth now. A woman, mid-30s, tilted her head, considering a small abstract piece. A feeling of profound satisfaction surged through her.
She noticed a man – older, distinguished – studying a piece she'd titled 'First Kiss'. He wore a thoughtful expression. Amelia wanted to run to him, to explain the story behind it, about the way her palms had sweated, and the way the world seemed to fade away. Instead, she stayed put, content to simply observe and to revel in the unexpected joy of it all.