painted silence

The apartment felt quieter than usual, like even the walls were avoiding eye contact.Kyrie sat on the edge of the couch with her new phone resting in her palm, staring at it like it might suddenly explain her life to her. Mandy had left early for work, Jules had followed not long after, leaving behind instructions, warnings, and a half-finished cup of coffee that had gone cold in protest.

The television was on but ignored. Some morning show host laughed too loudly about things that didn’t matter to her anymore. The sound filled the room but never reached her properly.

Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.No job.No Vellum.No clear direction.

Only messages she didn’t ask for and a name the internet wouldn’t stop repeating alongside her own. Kyrie. Like it belonged to someone else now.She stood slowly and walked toward the small corner of the apartment she had quietly claimed over the past days. A chair and a table.

A canvas leaning against the wall like it was waiting for permission to exist again.She hesitated before touching it.Then she pulled it out.Paint had always been something she did when words became too heavy to carry.

Not for attention. Not for praise. Just silence translated into color. But even that part of her life had been buried carefully, like she was afraid the world might take that too.Her brush lay inside an old container.Dried paint clung to it like memory refusing to leave.She didn’t paint.She just looked at the blank canvas.Her thoughts drifted without permission.Lucian’s face.

The glass room.The voices deciding her worth like it was a document.And then something worse.Her mother.That quiet acceptance of pain dressed as duty.Kyrie pressed her forehead lightly against her hand.

“I just wanted a job,” she whispered to no one.

Her phone vibrated sharply, breaking the moment.She flinched.Unknown number again.

But she didn’t open it.Not this time.

Instead she sat back down slowly, forcing her breath to steady itself.The world outside continued without asking her to catch up.

The knock came late afternoon.Not urgent.

Not aggressive.Familiar in a way that made her shoulders relax before she even moved.

She opened the door to find Sebastián standing there.Same calm posture. Same quiet presence. Same eyes that seemed to observe more than they said.He didn’t smile immediately.He looked at her face first.Then the room behind her.Then her again.“You look tired,” he said simply.Kyrie blinked. “I am tired.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he replied, stepping inside when she moved aside.

He didn’t wait for permission to sit. He never seemed like someone who needed it. Instead he placed a small paper bag on the table and looked around slowly, like he was assessing a space that didn’t belong to chaos but had been forced into it anyway.“You’re alone,” he said.

“I’m not lonely,” Kyrie answered too quickly.

That made him glance at her properly.

A faint pause. Then, “That’s usually what people say when they are.She didn’t respond.

Silence settled between them.Then he noticed the canvas.His gaze lingered.“You paint.”Kyrie stiffened slightly.“It’s nothing.”He didn’t accept that answer.He walked closer and studied the blank surface.“It doesn’t look like nothing,” he said.She crossed her arms. “I don’t do it anymore.“

“Why?”

Kyrie hesitated.Because people take things.

Because everything she touched seemed to become a target.

Because even silence had become dangerous lately.But she didn’t say any of that.

Instead she said, “It’s complicated.”

Sebastián nodded slowly like he understood more than she said.Then he turned slightly toward the table.“I heard what happened,” he said.Kyrie’s eyes dropped.“Everyone has.”

Another pause.

Then softer, “I didn’t come to talk about that.”

She looked at him cautiously.

He opened the paper bag and placed a small pastry container on the table.“I thought you might not have eaten.”Kyrie frowned.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

That answer irritated her slightly more than it should have.

“Why do you keep doing things for me?” she asked.

He looked at her for a moment.

Not romantic.

Not intense.

Just steady.

“Because no one else is.”

That made her go quiet.

He nodded toward the canvas again.

“You’re good,” he added.

“I haven’t even painted.”

“You don’t need to,” he said.

That simple confidence unsettled her more than criticism ever could.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed again on the table.She didn’t look.Sebastián did.His expression changed slightly.

“Reporters still outside?” he asked.

Kyrie nodded.

He exhaled quietly.

Then, like he had already decided something before arriving, he pulled out his own phone.

“I know someone,” he said. Kyrie frowned. “Someone for what?”

“Art gallery.”

Her head lifted slightly.

He continued, “A friend. He runs a small but respected space in the city. Not the kind that cares about online noise.”

Kyrie shook her head immediately. “No.”

Sebastián paused.

“I didn’t ask you yet.”

She sighed. “I can’t go into anything right now. Everything I touch turns into a problem.”

“That’s not true,” he said calmly.

“It is.”

He studied her for a moment longer.

Then he stepped slightly away and made a call.

Kyrie watched him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying anyway.”

She rolled her eyes slightly. “He’s going to say no.”Sebastián said nothing.He spoke briefly into the phone, tone controlled, patient, persuasive in a way that didn’t feel loud but somehow didn’t allow refusal easily.

Kyrie caught fragments.“Small showing…”

“No publicity requirement…”

“Just a chance…”

A pause.

Then Sebastián exhaled through his nose.

“Come on,” he muttered quietly, not at her, but at the other end of the call.

Kyrie crossed her arms.

“This is embarrassing,” she whispered.

He glanced at her.

“Good news,” he said. “It worked.”

She blinked.

“What?”

He ended the call.

“He said she can come tomorrow.”

Kyrie stared at him.

“You didn’t even know if I was interested.”

“I assumed you were,” he replied.

“That’s bold.”

“It’s efficient.”

A silence fell between them.

Then something small shifted inside her chest.

Not happiness.

Not relief.

Something closer to possibility.

But it came with a weight she couldn’t ignore.

If she failed this too…

If people found her…

If the internet followed again…

She pressed her fingers together.

“I don’t want this to become another disaster,” she said quietly.

Sebastián looked at her.

Then simply, “Then don’t let it be one.”

She almost laughed.

Because it sounded too easy. But it also sounded like something someone who believed in her would say without hesitation.A knock echoed from outside the apartment door again.Kyrie froze slightly.

Sebastián turned his head toward it.

Kyrie opened the door cautiously.Mandy had given him permission to come and go, but this time there was urgency in his presence.

Jules stepped in first, breathing slightly fast.

“They’re still outside,” he said. “Some of them are waiting for you to leave again.”Kyrie closed her eyes briefly.Of course they were.

Jules noticed Sebastián and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. You again.”

Sebastián nodded lightly.

Jules studied him for a second longer than necessary, then shrugged.

“Whatever. Kyrie, we need to talk.”

Kyrie stepped aside as they both came in.

Mandy wasn’t there, but her presence felt like it still filled the space through instructions left behind.

Jules looked at the table.

Then at Sebastián.

Then at Kyrie.

“You need structure,” he said.

“I need peace,” she replied immediately.

“You won’t get peace right now,” Jules said bluntly. “But you can get direction.”

Kyrie looked down.

Sebastián watched her quietly.

Jules continued, “And if this gallery thing is real, then it’s better than sitting here waiting for the internet to decide your life again.”

Kyrie hesitated.Then slowly nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.Just one word.But it felt heavy.

Sebastián’s expression softened slightly.

Jules clapped once lightly. “Good. Tomorrow then.”He looked at her.

“But don’t mess this up by overthinking it.”

Kyrie gave a small tired smile.

“I always do.”Jules sighed. “Yeah. That’s why we’re here.”He turned toward the door again.

Sebastián followed his gaze briefly, then looked back at Kyrie.

“I’ll take you,” he said. She shook her head slightly. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Then why…” “Because I want to,” he interrupted gently.That silenced her. The room grew still again.Jules glanced between them, then muttered, “I’m leaving before I get involved in whatever this is.“ He left.

The apartment quieted again.

Sebastián stood near the door now. Kyrie looked at him properly. “You really think I can do this?” she asked. He didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

That answer hit differently. Because it wasn’t hopeful. It was certain. And certainty was something she hadn’t heard in a long time without conditions attached. She looked down at her hands. Then whispered, almost to herself, “Why does it feel like I’m owing everyone something now?” Sebastián didn’t answer immediately. He looked at her.

Then said quietly,“Because you’re used to surviving alone.” A pause.

“And now you’re not.” That sentence stayed in the room longer than he did.He turned to leave.At the door, he paused slightly.

“You should sleep,” he said.Kyrie nodded faintly. The door closed behind him. Silence returned. Kyrie sat down slowly. The canvas still leaned against the wall. Her phone buzzed again. Unknown number.

She didn’t open it.Instead she stared at the blank canvas.And for the first time in days…

she wasn’t sure if she was drowning.

Or being pulled somewhere new.

Her eyes burned slightly.And she whispered into the quiet room,“I hate you Lucian Reynolds.”