Page 19 of Our Little Moments

Stella

Nope. Everything in me wants to run right out that door again. It cannot be possible to see this maneverywhere.

Still, I’m inside the gallery before I know it. If I was back in the city, I’d be nervous. Seeing someone so many times in a few days would make me scared, worried. But Adrian has this way of making me feel safe by merely breathing. It’s as annoying as it is freeing. I don’t think I’ve had my guard down like that for a long, long time.

“Heyyy,” I say softly.

“Hi, Stella.”

His voice is so rich, so patient, so undoubtedlykindthat I can’t help but relax my shoulders and stop fidgeting.Wait, when did I start fidgeting?

He smiles, and I swear it lights up every corner of the room. I smile back and walk towards him, taking in every painting on the way.

No, I am definitely not trying to stall for time. I’vealwaysbeen a fan of painting. I used to spend all of my free time in art galleries. Derek can confirm.

“I didn’t take you for someone who would spend his weekend in an art gallery,” I say slowly, a hint of teasing in my voice. “How did you get into it?”

He chuckles. “I started coming here because of my sister. We always joke that art was her first love.”

I rack my brain for who he’s talking about.

It could be Isabella, but I picture her teasing her sisters more easily than I see her falling in love with the arts. Then there’s the blonde one. She’s always dressed in bright colors, and I saw her a couple of times with flowers in her hands, in her hair, or on her clothes. But then there’s the blue-eyed one, who always seemslost in thought. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s the artist of the family.

“That sister being . . .?” I finally ask, giving up.

He laughs and I smile, somehow knowing he’s not laughing at my expense. “Layla. The one with brown hair, blue eyes, freckles—”

“Yeah, I know now which one she is.” I smile brightly. “She seems like quite the dreamer.”

Adrian’s face turns thoughtful. “Yeah. She is.”

I turn towards the paintings again, and my heart stops. In front of me is a painting of a piano, with flowers all around it—even some inside it—and it seems like it’s set in a forest.

I don’t hear Adrian call my name. I don’t notice more details of the painting. I don’t even feel my heart beating.

I’m thrown back into that night. A night I’ve forgotten, even though I promised myself I never would.

I fidget with my hands as I look up to my ceiling. I wait until my parents are finally in their bedroom with the door closed.

With a pounding heart, I open my bedroom window and climb out of it, using my magic to create stairs from the tree nearby to get down safely.

Then, I run.

I don’t run anywhere in particular, I just need to get away.

Away, away, away.

It’s not fair!I want to scream. I want to destroy something.

I’m only sixteen, dammit.

I’ve always had magic. It’s always been part of my life. But now, everyone’s starting to see it, and I can’t take the pressure. They keep calling me a prodigy. A gift. Something rare, precious.

But my magic is all they ever see.

What about Stella? What about my personality, my desires? What about the person wielding the magic?

I have magic, but I am not my magic. Is it that hard to understand? That I’m still a teenager? That I don’t know how to change the world? That I am trying to figure life out?

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