In The Space Between Us

Big Large Art Gallery

Chapter 1

The early morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of Maya's Brooklyn apartment, casting soft, golden rays across the wooden floor. The space was small but filled with warmth—a curated collection of colors, textures, and memories. Framed paintings of vibrant landscapes lined the walls, each one a window into a different world. A handwoven rug from her last trip to Jaipur covered the floor, its intricate patterns a comforting reminder of home. Plants in terracotta pots clustered by the window, their green leaves thriving under her care.

Maya sat cross-legged on a cushion in the center of the room, a cup of masala chai cradled in her hands. The spicy, sweet aroma filled the air as she took a slow sip, her mind already drifting to the tasks ahead. Today was the day of the gallery opening—the culmination of months of work, countless sleepless nights, and an endless stream of ideas that had demanded to be brought to life.

Her sketchbook lay open beside her, pages filled with rough drafts, hastily scribbled notes, and half-formed thoughts. It was her constant companion, a silent witness to her creative process. The latest entry was a swirling mass of colors and shapes—a visual representation of the emotions she couldn't quite put into words. The art she had created for this exhibition was deeply personal, an exploration of her identity, her heritage, and the intricate dance between the two.

Maya's thoughts drifted to her family, who had always been her strongest supporters, even when they didn't fully understand her choices. Her parents had emigrated from India with the hope of giving their children a better life, a chance to pursue dreams they themselves had never dared to imagine. Yet, despite their support, Maya often felt the weight of their expectations, the subtle pressure to honor the traditions and values they had carried across the ocean.

In Queens, Maya's mother was busy in the kitchen, her movements as rhythmic and comforting as the simmering spices on the stove. The walls of the kitchen were adorned with traditional Indian decorations, and a small shrine in the corner flickered with the light of an oil lamp. Her simple cotton saree swayed gently as she stirred a pot of dal, the aroma rich and inviting.

"Maya, are you sure you want to go through with this?" her mother asked, her voice tinged with concern. "New York is a big city, and the art world can be so uncertain. Maybe you should think about something more... stable?"

Maya took a deep breath, her voice steady but soft. "Ma, we've had this conversation before. This is what I love. I need to try, even if it's uncertain."

Her mother looked up, worry etched on her face. "I just want you to be safe, to have a good life. Art... it's not like becoming a doctor or an engineer. There's no guarantee."

Maya reached out to touch her mother's hand, her tone gentle but firm. "I know, Ma. But I'm not like everyone else. This is who I am. It's how I express what I feel, what I see. You always told me to follow my heart."

Her mother's expression softened slightly, though concern remained in her eyes. "Yes, I did. I just... I worry. You're my only daughter. I want to see you settled, happy."

Maya smiled, her eyes reflecting her love and determination. "I will be, Ma. I promise. And who knows, maybe tonight's exhibition will be the start of something big."

Her mother sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "You're stubborn, just like your father. Go on, then. Show the world what you can do. But don't forget, you'll always have a home here."

Maya nodded, her heart warmed by her mother's support. "I know, Ma. I could never forget."

She set her cup down and reached for her phone, checking the time. She still had a few hours before she needed to head to the gallery, but the familiar flutter of nerves was already building in her stomach. This was more than just another exhibition. It was a statement—a declaration of who she was and who she was becoming.