In the Hollow of Her Heart

The hum of the city wrapped around Amara as she stepped into the art exhibit, her heels clicking against the marble floor like a quiet reminder of the life she'd built-a life of appearances, of walls, of hollow spaces carved by betrayal.

Three months had passed since her world crumbled, yet the ache in her chest remained. Tonight, surrounded by strangers and abstract paintings, she hoped to forget.

The gallery was intimate but bustling-glass walls revealing the city lights beyond, canvases splashed with color and emotion adorning the space. But Amara's gaze landed on one painting-a grayscale portrait, a woman's silhouette with her chest hollowed out, fragments of glass floating where her heart should be.

It felt painfully familiar.

"Beautiful and tragic, isn't it?" a deep voice murmured beside her.

Amara startled, turning toward the stranger. He stood tall, dark hair slightly tousled, sharp jawline softened by curious eyes-a photographer's eyes, observant, patient.

"Excuse me?" she asked, guarded.

"The painting," he clarified, offering a small, non-intrusive smile. "It says everything and nothing at the same time."

She studied him. He wore black, simple but effortless. His camera hung around his neck, a silent extension of his presence.

"Do you always analyze art in whispers?" Amara deflected, lips twitching despite herself.

"Only when the subject looks like they understand it," he replied easily. "I'm Lucian."

"Amara," she offered, reluctant but curious.

Lucian's gaze lingered, not invasive but intentional. "First time here?"

"Does it matter?"

"Only if you plan to stay hidden," he countered, amusement dancing in his tone.

Amara's guard wavered briefly. There was something about him-unapologetic yet gentle-that disarmed her usual defenses. But old habits screamed for distance.

"I prefer the shadows," she admitted, eyes drifting back to the painting.

"Hollow hearts make the best art," Lucian murmured. "But they deserve more than echoes."

Her throat tightened. She should've walked away. Instead, she stayed rooted beside him, her pulse thrumming with unfamiliar awareness.

The night stretched on, their conversation lingering like threads of connection neither expected. And as Amara finally stepped into the cool city air, Lucian's words followed her, unsettling and persistent.

In the hollow of her heart, something stirred.