Echoes Of Destiny | Multicouple ✓

25. ECHOES OF THE DEAD

Samaira
(Two years ago)

The sun had finally set, casting a soft twilight glow over the city as my first ever art exhibition came to life in full flare. The gallery was abuzz with activity, and a sense of accomplishment washed over me.

"Siya, thank you so much once again for arranging this event," I said, my gratitude flowing out for the hundredth time that evening.

Siya, my event coordinator, smiled warmly.

The gallery looked stunning.

Soft lighting highlighted each of my paintings, casting delicate shadows that enhanced their depth. The space was tastefully decorated, with elegant floral arrangements and soft music playing in the background, creating an atmosphere of sophistication and calm.

Just like I have always dreamt of, and Siya here made it even better, my first art exhibition.

"C'mon Samaira, you have thanked me about a hundred times now. I am grateful you contacted me for this big event of your life," Siya said, her signature kind smile lighting up her face.

"The gallery looks wonderful," I remarked, taking in the sight once more. "I couldn't have done all this without your help. It took time and effort from both our ends, but it was worth it."

Siya waved her hand dismissively, always the humble soul. "I'll check across the room; it seems people are eager to know more about you and your art pieces. Enjoy the night, Samaira." She departed to the other corner, leaving me to soak in the moment.

I stood in the midst of the gallery, just living the moment. My eyes gazed around, taking in the sight of people appreciating my work.

Months ago, Vrit had surprised me with the art studio, and today I was taking my first real step in building my portfolio as an artist.

Dreams. I had many of those, and I knew I would achieve each one of them and more. They had a way of coming true, one step at a time. And tonight was just the beginning.

A small smile graced my face at that thought. Today's exhibition was acting as a confidence booster for me.

Taking my phone out, I dialed Vrit's number. He was running late, which was unusual for him. He was always on time and always there to support me. But lately this week, we both had been so busy that we hardly ever contacted each other.

As the phone rang, I wandered through the gallery, glancing at the familiar faces of friends, and art enthusiasts.

Each painting held a piece of my soul, a fragment of my journey. The vibrant colors and intricate details of my art seemed to come alive under the warm lights.

After the call ended, I quickly texted a message to Vrit, my lips pursed, asking him where he was.

"Samaira," a voice called out, pulling me from my thoughts. It was Mr. Kapoor, a renowned art critic. "Your work is exceptional. The emotions you capture are palpable."

"Thank you, Mr. Kapoor," I replied, feeling a surge of pride. "It means a lot coming from you."

We chatted for a few minutes about my inspirations and future projects before he moved on to admire another piece. I glanced at my phone again, still no answer from Vrit.