I take a slow, deep breath, adjusting the collar of my shirt as I glance around the gallery.

The space is packed, buzzing with voices and laughter that echo off the high ceilings. People move between displays, leaning in to admire the framed photos hung along the walls.

It’s almost unreal, seeing my work like this, in a real gallery, with real judges drifting around.

My photos are on the wall, framed and properly lit, waiting for people to come by, to look at them and maybe see something more than a high school project.

Beside me, my sister offers a reassuring smile, her eyes bright as she nudges my shoulder.

“You’re doing great. Just breathe.”

I try to smile back, but it’s a bit wobbly because, yeah, I’m excited, but I’m also painfully aware of the empty space where Mom should be.

We had a fight this morning—a quiet, simmering one where I told her I wanted her to be here, present in my life for once, not just some figure of her, giving obligatory encouragement.

She apologized, which somehow felt worse. She looked tired, or maybe it was just my own reflection staring back at me, wanting more but feeling guilty for asking.

But no, I can’t think about that now. Today is about me, and I won't let anyone get in the way.

I'm not even totally over my resolve when I see her.

Naomi.

In the middle of a sea of people, she’s unmistakable, standing slightly hunched with her hands shoved in her jacket pockets. She doesn’t notice me noticing her, but the sight of her here, of all places, makes my pulse stutter.

She’s not exactly blending into the crowd; her dark conrows stand out against the bright gallery walls, and I swear she’s wearing that little half-smile I thought I’d forgotten.

I look away, focusing on anything else—the judges, the crowd, even the exit, just so I don’t have to see her looking so hot and nice.

She’s just standing there, quietly, as if her presence doesn’t make my heart pound and I wish it did not.

“Are you okay?” Rue asks, clearly picking up on my shift in mood.

“Yeah,” I lie, though I’m not fooling either of us. “I didn’t expect to see her here.”

  My sister just nods, as if she understands without needing the details. I told her about the break up and she was just as supportive and angry at Naomi.

I busy myself by adjusting one of my frames, giving myself an excuse to turn away.

I allow myself to focus on the comments people are making as they walk by.

Words like “raw” and “thoughtful” drift into my ears, soothing the buzzing mess in my head. For a moment, I feel proud, almost confident.

Maybe this is exactly what I need, a chance to put my own dreams on display without needing validation from anyone—not my mom, not even Naomi.

But then I catch sight of her again, and I can’t ignore the nagging curiosity.

She hasn’t approached me, and somehow, that’s worse.

Why is she here? To show support, maybe, but it feels like more than that. Like she's trying so hard but by standing there.

I still haven't read the note she gave me three days ago. I was partly scared to open it and the other party, I was too wrapped up in this that I forgot about it.

Now that I'm looking at her, I can't help but wonder what was written there.

I steal another glance, hoping to measure her expression, but she’s not looking at me. Instead, she’s studying one of the photos, her head tilted as if she’s really, actually absorbing it.

There’s something almost reverent in her gaze, and I feel my defenses soften just a little.

It’s weird to see her here, this is not something she would do on a typical Saturday evening.

“Do you want to talk to her?” Rue asks when she notices how distracted I am.

I don’t answer.

My heart’s doing the weird flip-flop thing, caught between wanting to walk over there and tell her off for all the confusion she’s caused and… and wanting to see that look in her eyes again, the one that says she misses me and wants to hug me as much as I want to hug her.

“Maybe,” I say finally, barely managing to keep my voice steady. “But she doesn’t get to just show up and pretend we are cool again.”

And yet, as the judges finally make their way over to my display, I can’t keep my eyes off Naomi.

She stays where she is, hands still tucked into her pockets, her gaze unwavering as the judges discuss my work among themselves.

I can’t hear what they’re saying, but I don’t need to. I can tell from their expressions that they’re impressed, and a little thrill shoots through me, momentarily covering the ache in my chest.

I don’t know how long it takes, but eventually, the judges move on, leaving me with the adrenaline of their approval.

I should be celebrating, I should be basking in the success of this moment, but all I can think about is Naomi and how her eyes are glued to mine.

I try to ignore her but I can’t take it anymore. I march over to her, ignoring the stares, and stop right in front of her. She straightens, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I didn't know you were into photography.”

She blinks, her gaze flickering to the floor before meeting mine again.

“I'm not---” Typical Naomi behavior, brutal honesty sometimes.

"Then what are you doing here." I cut her off."

"I wanted to see you and I didn’t want to miss this.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it hits me in a way I didn’t expect. I cross my arms, trying to maintain something close to calm, even though my heart’s racing faster with every second that passes.

“I see. Well, good for you and have fun.” I turn on my heel, praying she stops me because if she doesn't, this is it.

“No,” she says quietly. “I'm not done yet.”

I turn back, my eyes blazing.

She looks down and I want to yell at her about how much hurt she put me through and all that but she knows.

There’s a long, awkward silence.

Finally, Naomi clears her throat, her voice soft but determined.

“I know I messed up and I will never stop saying sorry for it until you forgive me. Also, I miss you so much. I miss kissing you and hugging you..." she trails off to glance at my lips and lean closer into my ear.

It makes my breath hitch but I swallow and try to breathe.

"And I miss the feeling of your sweet cum on my tongue, fingers and mouth."

I take a step back, this I did not expect and the worst part is my body reacting to it.

"Naomi," I mutter but trail off.

I don’t know what to say.

Who even taught her to apologize like this?

"I am not into photography or whatever but I read a book and I took some shots that I'm dying to show you. But none of that manners, I just need you to see that I'm really trying here. I'm trying to be better for you and if it's possible we can start over."

Part of me wants to accept her apology, to let her back into my life, but another part of me knows that it’s not that simple. Trust isn’t something you can just rebuild overnight.

“Luna,” she says, her voice only a whisper. “Say something.”

I swallow. "Thank you for coming. Have a goodnight."

With that, I walk away and I don't look back.