ʟɪɢʜᴛ ꜱᴘᴇᴇᴅ | 𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙖𝙚𝙜𝙚𝙧

21. 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨ₑ

021, 𝙞 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙗𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨

pls ignore any typos I'm sick and half asleep <3 

edit: typos should be gone now !!

.⋆𐙚 🍒

I'VE ALWAYS FOUND COMFORT IN THE IDEA THAT EVERYTHING HAPPENS FOR A REASON—

That every moment of chance, every fleeting word, is a pattern too intricate for me to see. Like the way a river carves its course into the earth, slow and patient, I want so desperately to believe that the shape of my life is anything but random. That every fracture, all the ache, carries some hidden meaning waiting to be uncovered.

It's a thought that feels like both salvation and a curse. Because if everything happens for a reason, then even the heartbreak must be necessary. Even the nights I spend tracing the scars on my own skin, the mornings I wake up tasting regret on my tongue—there's a reason for all of it.

I want to believe that fate is more than a cruel trick of timing. That it's not just a series of accidents masquerading as destiny. That the universe conspired to bring us exactly where we're meant to be, even when that path is paved with so much loss and anger.

Some souls feel so familiar it's as though you've carried them with you from another life. The idea of other realities layered beneath this one, where maybe we've met before and just missed each other by a breath, a heartbeat out of rhythm. Where the universe stitched us into each other's story over and over again. That even if we're born a thousand times, even if the timing is never quite right, there are names etched so deep into our souls that we'll always find our way back to them.

I keep that thought close as I step through the gallery doors. The hush of the evening wraps around me, a velvet darkness broken only by the flicker of candles and the soft murmur of conversation. The scent of lilies clings to the air—sweet and clean—and I let my breath slow, savoring the moment before it slips away.

I slip off the trench coach from my shoulders handing it to one of the attendants, my fingers brushing against the soft fabric as I let it go. In the tall mirror beside the doorway, my reflection waits—hair done, lips a shade of black honey, the wine-red silk catching the warm glow of the lights. It spills over my body in a hush of color, pooling at my feet and sliding around every curve. Hitch had insisted on this dress—a deep, liquid red that I'd planned on wearing to senior prom but had never actually worn, shoved into the very back of my closet.

It moves with me as I step forward.

The gallery thrums with quiet energy—the clinking of glasses, the distant sigh of a string quartet. My head keeps with time with the music, a low, steady beat beneath my ribs. Somewhere inside these walls, Jean's painting waits—hidden behind the veil of expectations and the secrecy he's insisted on. He'd locked himself away all week, kicking out Connie and Sasha, and even shutting out Marco's questions. Whatever he's put onto that canvas, is something he wasn't ready to share until tonight.

I pause by the edge of the room, smoothing a hand nervously over my hip. The invitation Jean had sent in the group chat with everyone had stated it was a fundraising event—a black tie affair, a night for art and elegance and the chance to see and be seen. And standing here now, it's clear that there are so very powerful people in attendance.

Moving through the gallery, the low murmur of voices and laughter settled around me.

|| 𝙉𝙊𝙒 𝙋𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙄𝙉𝙂... 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙊𝙉𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙂𝙊𝙏 𝘼𝙒𝘼𝙔, 𝙆𝘼𝙏𝙔 𝙋𝙀𝙍𝙍𝙔 ||