Fragments Of Us

Chapter 2

Milda had spent most of her day buried in client work, navigating design briefs and revision requests. Normally, she found a certain calm in her creative process-taking someone's vague ideas and turning them into something tangible and beautiful. But today, the calm eluded her. Her mind kept drifting back to the gallery, to the painting that had drawn her in, and to Josh.

His art was unlike anything she had seen before-raw, almost painful in its honesty. Each brushstroke seemed to hold a secret, a piece of himself he hadn't meant to share, and yet there it was, splashed across the canvas for anyone to see. She couldn't get it out of her head. Or him.

The last time she felt this drawn to someone was three years ago when she'd met Lucas online. They were still together-sort of. Their long-distance relationship had become a comfortable routine. They texted daily, called on weekends, but they hadn't seen each other in months. Milda told herself that was okay. Lucas was safe. Predictable. Reliable.

But now, her thoughts were scattered between Lucas and Josh, two men from two very different worlds. One she knew so well, the other still a mystery, but one that beckoned her closer with every passing day.

Her phone buzzed. She hesitated before picking it up, the screen flashing Lucas' name.

Lucas
*Hope you're okay. Miss our calls.*

She sighed, typing a quick reply. It wasn't that she didn't miss him-it was just...different now. Something was shifting inside her, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

As she hit send, there was a knock on her apartment door. Frowning, she set her phone down and walked to the door, pulling it open to reveal a delivery man holding a small, brown package.

"For Milda?" he asked.

"That's me," she replied, taking the package.

Once inside, she placed it on the kitchen counter, grabbing a knife to open it. Inside, wrapped in layers of brown paper, was a book. A gallery catalog. Josh's name was printed in bold on the cover.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She hadn't ordered this. Slowly, she flipped through the pages, recognizing the bold strokes of his work on every glossy image. A small, handwritten note slipped out from between the pages, landing on the counter. She picked it up, her breath catching as she read:

"Milda,
Art speaks when words can't. I hope this reaches you in the way I intended.
- Josh"

Her hands trembled as she placed the note down. What did he mean by that? Was this an invitation or a warning?

Milda closed the book, her mind racing. She couldn't deny it anymore-something had begun the moment she saw his art. But now, it felt like the beginning of something far more dangerous. And she wasn't sure if she was ready for it.