The humid air of the museum clung to Elias like a second skin. He adjusted his glasses, peering at the chipped vase in the display case. He knew the argument with Maya would come, he always did, but he felt unhurried, ready. He’d learned a long time ago that getting angry just made everything worse.
“Remember this?” Maya's voice, bright and already tinged with that familiar edge of anticipation, cut through the quiet. She stood across from him, her arms crossed, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips.
Elias focused on the inscription on the vase, pretending to be absorbed in its meaning. It had been ten years, yet the memory of the museum trip, and the story of the vase, was as fresh as the day they’d seen it. "Of course," he responded, his voice even, carefully measured.
"You said the museum was boring, remember? You were practically dragging your feet, complaining about the heat.” Maya's tone was light, mocking, but Elias knew the weight of it.
He took a slow breath, letting it out through his nose. He remembered a different story, one of excitement. He had been beside himself with joy. "I recall being very interested in the artifacts." He let her words wash over him.
"You were miserable, Elias! You were practically begging to leave. And then you spilled your water on that lady and caused a scene!”
Elias touched the worn leather of his satchel, recalling the whole incident with clarity. She had completely fabricated the event. He closed his eyes. “That’s not exactly how I remember it.”