Reflections in Shadow

6. The encounter (Mae's pov)

Mae didn't expect the woman to stay. Most people didn't. They'd stop, take in her mural for a few seconds, maybe snap a photo if they were feeling bold, and then move on. But this one this woman had stayed, frozen on the sidewalk like she didn't know what to do with herself.

Mae kept painting, pretending not to notice at first, but she felt the woman's eyes on her. There was something about the way she held herself that didn't fit here. Too polished, too careful. She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover, not on a dirty street corner where graffiti marked the walls like scars. When the woman finally spoke, her voice was softer than Mae expected, almost hesitant. "It's... powerful." Mae smiled to herself, not turning around. The words felt tentative, like she wasn't used to speaking without a script. When Mae asked if she'd ever felt trapped, there was a moment just a second where something shifted in her expression. Like the question had hit too close to home.

"Maybe."

Maybe. Mae had heard that kind of answer before. It was the kind of thing people said when they didn't want to admit the truth, even to themselves. She'd seen it in friends who stayed in jobs they hated, in people who stuck around in relationships that had long since run their course. For a while, they didn't talk. Mae went back to her mural, letting the paint flow over the wall in bold strokes. She could feel the woman standing there, watching. Mae didn't mind it, though. Silence was easy for her, and she didn't feel the need to fill it with small talk. If the woman had something to say, she'd say it. And if not, well, she'd leave like everyone else did.

But she didn't leave.

Mae glanced at her from the corner of her eye, taking in the way she shifted slightly on her feet, like she wasn't used to standing still for so long. She was out of place here, that much was clear. But instead of being annoyed or dismissive, Mae found herself curious. What was a woman like this doing here, in this part of the city? There was something simmering beneath the surface with her, something quiet but heavy. And Mae had a feeling it had nothing to do with being in the wrong neighborhood. When she finally spoke again, it wasn't about the mural. "You look like you don't belong here," Mae had said, knowing full well it was true. She'd meant it as an observation, not a judgment. People liked to think they fit in, that they were a part of something. But this woman, standing there in her designer coat with that lost look in her eyes, didn't belong to this world. Not yet, at least.

But Mae didn't want her to think that was a bad thing. "That's not a bad thing," she added, though she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the way the woman looked at the mural, like she wanted to understand it, even if she didn't know how.

When she finally introduced herself, Mae wasn't surprised by the name: Evelyn. It fit elegant, like something you'd see in the credits of an old movie. But there was something else about her, something beneath the surface that wasn't all polish and perfection.
Mae didn't press for more, though. She wasn't the type to pry, and people rarely opened up to her unless they were drunk or looking for a distraction. Instead, she offered Evelyn the chance to come back tomorrow, not really expecting her to take it. Most people didn't.

But as Evelyn turned to leave, there was a hesitation in her step, like she wasn't quite ready to walk away. Mae watched her go, her back straight and her coat wrapped tightly around her, and wondered if she'd see her again. As she packed up her supplies, Mae replayed the brief conversation in her mind. She couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was about Evelyn that had caught her attention. Maybe it was the way she seemed so out of place yet drawn to the mural. Maybe it was the flicker of recognition in her eyes when Mae talked about cages. Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in a while, Mae had felt like she was talking to someone who wasn't just passing through, someone who might actually see what she was trying to say with her art.