Evelyn's heart raced as she stood frozen on the sidewalk, her eyes locked with the woman's. It wasn't just the mural that had stopped her in her tracks it was the unexpected sense of recognition in this stranger's gaze. She couldn't place it, but there was something magnetic.
The woman glanced down at the paintbrush in her hand, wiping a streak of color across her jeans. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile, as if she could sense Evelyn's hesitation. Then, without a word, she turned back to her mural, lifting the brush to the wall again with a steady hand. Her movements were fluid, natural, and entirely unconcerned with the eyes that might be watching.
For a moment, Evelyn thought about walking away. The rational part of her mind, the one trained to avoid anything unpredictable, urged her to leave. This wasn't her world. She didn't belong here. But something deeper a curiosity, a restlessness that had been quietly growing inside her for years made her stay. She took a step closer, then another, until she was standing just a few feet from the wall.
"You like it?" the woman asked, her voice casual, without looking away from her work.
Evelyn blinked, caught off guard by the question. She hadn't expected an invitation to engage, let alone one so direct. "It's... powerful," she said, her voice softer than she intended. She cleared her throat, trying to find the right words. "I've never seen anything like it."
The woman tilted her head slightly, as if considering Evelyn's response. "It's not about pretty or perfect. It's about what's real," she said, dipping the brush into a jar of deep blue paint. "A lot of people don't get that."
Evelyn shifted on her feet, unsure of how to respond. She wasn't used to these kinds of conversations. In her world, everything was measured polite, rehearsed. This was different.
"What's it about?" Evelyn asked, surprising even herself with the question.
The woman finally turned to face her, the faintest hint of a smirk playing at her lips. She wiped her hands on her jeans and took a step back to admire the mural as if seeing it through fresh eyes. "It's about breaking out of cages. The ones people put us in. The ones we put ourselves in." She glanced at Evelyn then, her gaze lingering for just a second longer than necessary, before turning back to the wall. "You ever feel like that?"
Evelyn felt her pulse quicken. The question was too close, too personal. She opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a loss for words. She did feel like that trapped, boxed in by the life she'd built. But she had never admitted it out loud, not even to herself. The woman had seen through her so easily, as if she could read the cracks Evelyn worked so hard to hide.
"I don't know," Evelyn said, finally, her voice quieter now. "Maybe."
The woman didn't push. She simply nodded, as if she understood, and went back to her mural. For a while, neither of them spoke. Evelyn watched as the woman's brush moved over the wall, adding layers of color, bold strokes that seemed almost reckless but came together with purpose. The mural felt alive, pulsing with energy, with truth.
After a long silence, the woman spoke again, this time without turning around. "You look like you don't belong here."
Evelyn's chest tightened at the remark, but before she could respond, the woman added, "But that's not a bad thing."
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Evelyn had always felt out of place, no matter where she was whether in her glamorous life or here on the street. But the way the woman said it made it seem less like a flaw and more like a fact, something neutral, something that just was.
"I'm Mae, by the way," the woman said, stepping back to look at her work.
The name hung in the air, simple and direct, much like Mae herself. Evelyn hesitated before replying, unsure if she should offer the name the world knew her by, or something more honest.
"I'm Evelyn," she said, her voice steadying.
For the first time in a long while, Evelyn felt a strange sense of calm, standing there in the shadow of something so different from her own life. She didn't know why she was still there, watching a stranger paint a mural in an alley far from the world she inhabited. But she wasn't ready to leave just yet.
As Mae worked, Evelyn found herself drawn into the moment, the brushstrokes, the simplicity of it all. She had spent years surrounded by people who wanted something from her ,her time, her attention, her image. But here, in this forgotten corner of the city, there was none of that. Just paint, a wall, and a woman who didn't ask for anything more than the truth.
Mae set her brush down, stepping back from the wall to admire her progress. "Not finished yet," she said, more to herself than to Evelyn. Then, without looking at her, she added, "Come back tomorrow if you want. Maybe I'll finish it then."
Evelyn wasn't sure if it was an invitation or a challenge. But as she turned to walk away, she found herself wondering if she would.
YOU ARE READING
Reflections in Shadow
Non-FictionEvelyn St. James had always known how to put on a show. Long before the cameras flashed and her name appeared in lights, she learned to perfect the art of keeping her true self hidden. It began in her childhood, in a small town that never saw its na...
