C is for Chance

The woman had been sitting on a bench in front of the painting for over half an hour. She would cock her head one way and the other from time to time, but mainly just sat perfectly still.

Photo by Наташа Чижевская from Pexels

He was sitting on a bench across the gallery and just watching her. He wasn’t sure that he had ever seen anyone so enthralled with a painting that wasn’t a true masterpiece. He couldn’t resist–he had to talk to her.

He walked around the front of the bench so he wouldn’t startle her. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been looking at this one piece for a long time. What do you think of it?”

She turned in his direction and smiled. “I can’t exactly describe what I think. It’s more just a feeling of, well, home. It’s so peaceful. It’s like the artist was speaking directly to me.” She blushed. “You probably think that I’m crazy.”

He looked back at the painting on the wall. “Not at all. The best compliment that you can give an artist is that they created something that stirred your soul.”

“What do you think of it?” she asked.

“I’m a little biased.” He looked at her and back at the painting. “I’m the artist. And I’d love to buy you coffee and learn more about one of my fans.”

“You’re…,” she stammered. “Fuck. This is embarrassing.”

He shook his head. “Aren’t we all looking for someone to call our home? How about that coffee?”

She nodded. “That sounds like a great beginning.”

(259 words)

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