I'm For You

-2-

The small, tucked-away gallery in the heart of the city was a refuge for people who sought beauty in places not covered by the gloss of magazines or towering billboards. It was the kind of space where people could wander, quietly absorbing the colors and emotions that bled from the canvases on the walls. Crystal never thought his work would make it here, he was hardly known, his name buried under the more established artists. But there it was, hanging near the far corner, as quiet and unassuming as the artist himself.

The painting was abstract, a storm of color and texture that mirrored the emotions Crystal could never quite put into words. Deep blues swirled into vibrant reds, while bold streaks of gold slashed through the center. And there, hidden within the layers, was a face, a face that he hadn't consciously meant to paint but couldn't escape once it had appeared on the canvas.

Her face. Gigi's face.

Crystal had painted her from memory, though he had never met her. It was a fragment of a fleeting image he had seen in a magazine months before, but the look in her eyes had lodged itself in his mind like a splinter. He didn't know why, but something about her gaze felt…familiar, like she was looking right through him even though she couldn't possibly know he existed.

Today was the first time Crystal had exhibited this piece publicly. As he stood there, watching people pass by with polite nods or a brief glance, he wondered why he had chosen to submit this particular work. He wasn't expecting it to speak to anyone the way it spoke to him. After all, it was just another painting in the crowd, easily overlooked.

Meanwhile, across the city, Gigi's day had already begun to blur together in the way her days always did: a whirlwind of hair, makeup, and fitting rooms, each moment choreographed down to the second. Her life had become an endless series of events, fashion shows, photoshoots, and interviews, all of which required her to be at her best, polished and perfect. But lately, the motions have felt hollow. It was as though she was moving through her life at high speed but never quite touching it.

After her latest runway show, Gigi found herself with a few hours to kill before her next commitment. Her driver was ready to whisk her away to yet another exclusive venue, but instead, she told him to drop her off in the arts district, needing a break from the spotlight. She walked through the cobbled streets in sunglasses and an oversized jacket, hoping to disappear into the anonymity of the city.

That's when she stumbled upon the gallery.

It wasn't part of her world. Gigi was used to the high-end galleries, the ones filled with champagne, high society, and price tags bigger than most people's yearly salaries. But something about this place felt different. It was small, intimate, real. On a whim, she decided to step inside.

The moment she entered, a hush seemed to fall over her. Here, away from the flashing cameras and echoing catwalks, was a world of quiet beauty, where people spoke in soft murmurs and let the art speak louder than words. Gigi wandered the space, her long blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, eyes scanning the walls as if searching for something she couldn't name. Her slim figure glided gracefully from piece to piece, blending into the background of the gallery, unnoticed for once.

She didn't expect to see herself.

At first, Gigi didn't realize what she was looking at. It was an abstract piece, after all, a storm of color and feeling, but something about it made her stop. She stood there, eyes narrowing as she leaned in closer. Beneath the layers of blue and red, streaked with gold, she saw it, her own face, not perfectly rendered, but there, unmistakably, like a memory captured in paint.

Her breath hitched. How could this be?

She glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else had noticed, but the patrons continued to drift by, oblivious. The feeling was unsettling, as though someone had reached inside her and pulled out a part of her she didn't even know existed. This wasn't the polished, flawless image of her that she saw in magazines and on billboards. This was something deeper, rawer.