The gallery is everything I used to dream about—raw concrete walls, dramatic lighting, and art that pulses with life and passion."This is incredible," I breathe, standing before a massive canvas covered in bold strokes of gold and crimson."The artist is twenty-four," Derek says, reading from the placard. "Fresh out of art school, working three jobs to afford paint."I can feel the hunger in the brushstrokes, the desperation to create something beautiful despite impossible circumstances. It reminds me of myself at that age—before I learned that dreams were luxuries I couldn't afford."You're crying," Derek observes gently.I touch my cheek and find it damp. "I'd forgotten what it felt like to see art that matters. Everything Alexander collects is... safe. Expensive. Prestigious.""But not alive.""No. Not alive."Derek's hand finds mine as we move through the gallery. His touch is becoming familiar, natural, like we've been holding hands for years instead of hours."There's something
Last Updated : 2025-09-15 Read more