Chapter 2 Threads of the Past

The evening air was crisp as Ivy walked back to her flat, her camera bag bumping softly against her hip. The city lights of London cast a muted glow over the streets, reflecting faintly on the damp pavement from a recent drizzle. She tucked her hands into her coat pockets, but no amount of warmth could stop her thoughts from circling back to the gallery-and to him.

Ethan.

She shouldn't even remember his name, let alone let it take root in her mind like this. It was just a fleeting conversation, the kind she avoided whenever possible. But there was something about the way he looked at her-direct, but not invasive. Curious, yet strangely comforting. She shook her head, trying to push the memory aside.

The familiar sight of her street came into view. It was a quiet neighborhood tucked away from the chaos of central London. Ivy loved the solitude it provided, a contrast to the noise of the city. Her flat, a modest one-bedroom with creaky wooden floors and a view of the tiny courtyard below, felt like her safe haven.

She unlocked the door and stepped inside, greeted by the faint hum of the fridge and the soft patter of rain against the windows. Dropping her bag by the door, she walked into the living room. Her camera was the first thing she unpacked, handling it with the care of someone cradling a newborn. She set it on the coffee table beside a pile of black-and-white prints that had been sitting there for weeks.

Photography had always been her escape. While others drowned their worries in endless nights at the pub or the chaos of social media, Ivy found solace in capturing fleeting moments-the curve of a smile, the weight of an unspoken thought, the beauty of imperfection.

But tonight, even the comfort of her photos felt hollow.

She picked up one of the prints-a portrait of an elderly man sitting on a park bench, his eyes distant, lost in thought. It was one of her favorites, yet now it seemed to mock her. This was what she did-capture everyone else's stories, while her own remained untouched, unresolved.

Her phone buzzed, jolting her out of her thoughts. She reached for it and saw Olivia's name flashing on the screen.

Olivia: "How's the creative genius? Did you find what you were looking for at the gallery?"

Ivy smirked, typing a quick reply.

Ivy: "If by 'what I was looking for,' you mean existential dread, then yes."

The response came instantly, as if Olivia had been waiting for her reply.

Olivia: "Sounds about right. Drinks tomorrow night. No arguments."

Ivy hesitated. Socializing wasn't exactly her favorite thing, but Olivia had a way of dragging her out of her shell-and sometimes, she had to admit, it helped.

Ivy: "Fine. But I'm not dressing up."

Olivia: "You never do. I'll pick you up at 8."

With a soft laugh, Ivy set her phone down. Olivia had always been the outgoing one, the kind of friend who could fill a room with her energy. She'd been Ivy's rock since university, refusing to let her retreat too far into her own world.

Still, even Olivia couldn't shake the unease that had settled in Ivy's chest. The gallery had stirred something in her-a restlessness she couldn't quite name. And then there was Ethan.

Why couldn't she stop thinking about him?

She leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe Olivia was right-she was in a funk. And maybe tomorrow night would help shake her out of it.

---

The pub was warm and bustling, a stark contrast to the cold, damp streets outside. Ivy pushed through the door and spotted Olivia at a table near the back, waving enthusiastically.

"You're late," Olivia teased as Ivy slid into the seat opposite her.

"I'm here, aren't I?" Ivy shot back, pulling off her coat.

Olivia grinned, pushing a gin and tonic toward her. "Drink up. You look like you need it."

Ivy raised an eyebrow but took the glass anyway. The first sip was sharp, but it warmed her chest in a way that felt oddly comforting.

"So," Olivia began, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in her eye. "What's got you all broody this time? Work? Life? Or are you just naturally this dramatic?"

Ivy rolled her eyes. "It's nothing. I just... I went to the gallery yesterday, and-"

"And?" Olivia prompted, her curiosity piqued.

"And I met someone," Ivy admitted, her voice reluctant.

Olivia's eyes widened. "Finally! Tell me everything. Who is he? What does he do? And why are you acting like this is some kind of secret?"

Ivy sighed, taking another sip of her drink. "It's not like that. He was just... interesting. We talked for maybe five minutes. That's it."

"But he stuck with you," Olivia observed, her tone softening.

Ivy hesitated. "I guess. I mean, he said a couple of things that... got to me. But it doesn't matter. I'll probably never see him again."

Olivia studied her for a moment, then smiled knowingly. "You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?" Ivy asked, defensive.

"Overthinking. Maybe he's just a random guy, or maybe he's not. Either way, it's okay to let yourself be curious, Ivy."

"I'm not overthinking," Ivy muttered, though she knew Olivia was right.

The conversation shifted after that, Olivia regaling her with stories of her chaotic office and the latest drama among their mutual acquaintances. Ivy listened, laughing in all the right places, but her mind kept wandering back to Ethan.

Who was he? And why did he feel like more than just a fleeting encounter?