fantasia b.
it was the quiet that drew me in.
i hadn't planned on coming here. the museum had just.. appeared in my path. a calm little building tucked between tall glassy storefronts and busy sidewalks. i slipped inside like i was slipping into water. soft. unnoticed. weightless.
the girl at the front desk barely looked up. i was grateful. i wandered into the photography wing– black and white portraits, raw and unfiltered. they stared back with secrets in their eyes, every one of them. pain. joy. loneliness.
i stopped in front of one– a woman with a scar down her lip and the strongest eyes i'd ever seen, "she looks like she's been through something... but she's still standing." the voice came soft. smooth. a little behind me, and slightly to the left. and she was there. a tall woman in wide-leg linen pants and a black blouse that hugged her like skin. her curls tucked into a low puff, gold hoops catching the gallery light just low enough to glow.
she met my eyes. unflinching. warm.
"i didn't mean to interrupt." she said gently.
"you didn't." i replied, voice quieter than i meant. she stepped beside me, not too close. enough to let me breathe.
"i love this one." she murmured, nodding toward the photo, "she looks like someone whos survived herself."
i swallowed.
"she looks like someone who's tired of being misunderstood." the woman looked at me. really looked, "i'm amina" she said after a pause. i hesitated, heart doing something unfamiliar in my chest.
"fantasia" the way she said my name back– slow, like she was tasting it– made me feel like i existed in color again. a beat of silenced passed.
then she smiled, "you here for the exhibit, or the escape?"
i laughed softly, "little bit of both" she nodded, understanding written all over her face.
"mind if i walk with you?" i didn't answer right away. just looked at her. at her soft eyes, her stillness. her kind that didn't try to fix me.
and then i nodded because i was ready.
maybe not for everything– but for something.
and she felt like something.
amina didn't fill the silence. she walked beside me like she'd been doing it for years– slow steps, patient eyes, her energy calm like a still pond.
we moved from photo to photo. sometimes she'd say something– a thought, a memory, a question with no expectation attached. sometimes she said nothing at all. but somehow, i heard her anyway.
we stopped in front of a long horizontal frame. five women lined up on a stoop, laughing. black women. all different ages. their joy so real you could almost hear it.
i watched amina's face instead of the picture, "you remind me of her." i said, nodding to the woman in the center, "the one with the cigarette."
she tilted her head, "yeah? why?"
"she looks like she doesn't try to control anything... but somehow everything bends towards her." that made her smile– a slow curve of the mouth, one dimple deep in her left cheek.
she looked over at me, eyes soft, "maybe you're just drawn to power."
i smirked, "maybe"
"or maybe," she added, voice low and kind, "you've always had your own, and no one ever let you keep it"
the breath caught in my throat. just for a second. that wasn't a pickup line. it was the truth, and i hadn't realized how much i needed someone to say it out loud.
i looked away, swallowing, "can i show you my favorite room?" she asked, after a beat. i nodded, not trusting my voice. she led me down a quiet hallway, past a small sculpture wing and a corner no one else seemed to be exploring.
the room was tucked away. bare walls. one huge window and a single installation. a bronze tree, twisting from the center of the space, its roots curling like open fingers across the floor.
i stepped inside and froze. the air felt heavier. sacred.
amina moved to the far side and sat on the bench, leaving space beside her. i joined her. we sat there for a moment, not speaking. just watching the light change on the metal bark, the way the shadows moved over to the roots.
"i come here when i need to be quiet," she said eventually. "but not alone."
i looked over at her. "that makes sense" i said. "some silences are better shared." she glanced at me then– something deep and searching in her gaze.
"are you usually running from something, or toward something?" my throat tightened again. not in fear. in recognition.
"i think i've been running from someone... but hoping to run into myself." she nodded like she understood that too.
a silence stretched again, but it was soft, like a blanket. not a walk. then she reached out, slowly, and let her fingers graze mine. not a grab. not a test. just... contact.
and i didn't flinch.
for the first time in what felt like forever... i didn't want to.
***
amina and i left the museum as the sun was setting– that golden hour glow casting everything in soft gold. even the sidewalk looked like it had something to say.
we didn't talk much at first.
she walked close, but didn't crowd me.
every part of her energy said, you're safe here. no pressure. just presence.
amina held the door open with one hand and waited for me to step in. she didn't hover or crowd. she just... showed up.
we found a booth near the back, velvet cushions and a chilled marble tabletop between us. amina pulled off her coat, revealing a low-cut black tank that made my throat dry. i wasn't staring. not really. maybe a little.
she noticed. smirked. said nothing.
"coffee or tea?" she asked, already scanning the handwritten chalk menu. her voice had that quiet rasp– like she'd been whispering all day and forgot how to speak loud.
"tea, but only if it's sweet."
she glanced over at me, amused. "a woman after my own heart"
"don't get ahead of yourself." i teased.
amina ordered us both chai lattes with cinnamon and oat milk. when the drinks arrived– steaming, frothy, golden-brown– she took one sip, closed her eyes, and sighed.
"you're dramatic" i said.
"and you're beautiful." she shot back without missing a beat. my breath caught. i didn't respond right away. just let the heat from the mug warm my fingers, watched the cinnamon dance along the foam, and wondered if it was possible to fall for someone this early– or if maybe i was just remembering what it was like to feel wanted again.
"i didn't think i was ready" i admitted after a long moment. "to meet someone."
amina's eyes softened, "then i won't rush."
and there it was– the difference.
no pressure. no push.
just a woman with steady eyes and a quiet promise i didn't know i'd been waiting to hear.
