12. Art
We had taken the subway to Tribeca about an hour ago.
Clara had spent a good twenty minutes convincing me that vibe-appropriate outfits were important for an art event.
Which is why she was now dressed in a sage green dress with delicate gold jewelry, her blonde hair loosely curled, looking like she belonged in a painting.
While I had thrown on a white, slightly oversized shirt tucked into black wide-leg trousers, and my favorite sneakers.
The area around the gallery was buzzing. Tribeca at this time of the evening felt alive, like the city was humming under its breath. Street Lights flickering on as the sun dipped, casting a warm glow over cobblestone sidewalks and tall brick buildings.
Inside, the gallery was spacious, the air smelling faintly of fresh paint and something floral. The crowd was filled with well-dressed older couples, young artists with sketchbooks tucked under their arms, influencers posing in front of canvases.
Soft music played from speakers giving a peaceful vibe.
As we walk ahead– we spot a painting. It was a split-image, a girl, probably in her teens, standing in front of a mirror.
On one side of the mirror, the reflection is distorted and blurry, like it's melting or crumbling under pressure.
On the other side, the reflection is clear, vibrant, almost too perfect.
A person doesn't need to know about art to figure out what this meant, it was too obvious.
Clara looks at it, tilting her head. "Whoa. This one hits differently, doesn't it?"
I stare at the painting, feeling the weight of it. "Yeah, it's like- it's showing two sides of the same person." I can feel the tug of recognition - like it's speaking to something deep within me.
We both glance at the board beside the painting, which reads–
By Eleanor Townsend
"This work delves into identity, self-perception, and the duality of how we see ourselves versus how the world sees us.
It explores the fractured nature of the self—how much of our true selves are hidden behind the facades we create, and how we often remain blind to the parts of ourselves that we choose not to acknowledge. "
Blind to the parts of ourselves that we choose not to acknowledge.
Clara steps closer, her eyes searching the painting. "It's like- it's almost too perfect, you know? The way it's split down the middle."
I nod slowly, taking it all in. "Yeah, I get that. We hide so much, even from ourselves."
She grins at me, suddenly gleaming with a mischievous energy. "Amara, you sound like a philosopher or something."
I roll my eyes, but deep down, I know she's right. The painting spoke to something in me. The quiet parts of myself I don't like to show. The reflection that's clearer, more vibrant - what I wish the world could see more of. But then there's that cracked side.
I glance at her, who's already pulling out her phone, her fingers moving to take a picture. "You know, I bet this piece would be amazing for an aesthetic picture on Insta."
I give her a bored look and she winks at me. "Hey, I'm deep, okay? I feel this piece. It speaks to my soul."
I give her a playful shove. "This painting deserves its moment."
Clara laughs, snapping the picture. "Oh, it will. And you, my darling, are coming with me to the next one."
"Also, Logan would be somewhere here. Let's go search for him." she says, as we continue walking through the exhibit, her eyes eagerly scanning every corner, dragging me along in her excitement. "He must be somewhere here"
"Yeah, sure. But, Clara, are you sure? I don't wanna third wheel-" i say, well it would actually be awkward standing while both of them talk and do lovey-dovey stuff.
"Oh, shut it, Ama. Third wheeling is something you would do if you steal me away from a date with him." she clarifies, shaking her head. "Right now? He'd be the one third wheeling between us."
"Right, it's just us now." I smile at her words. nudging her playfully.
She smirks. "Besides, he's the one who gave me the tickets, remember?" To which I just nodded, but then she says-
"Apparently, I wouldn't stop talking about you on our first date, so he figured you deserved to come too." She says with a proud smile.
I blink, caught off guard. "Wait, what?"
She just gives me a look like it's obvious. "Yeah, duh. I might've mentioned a certain ballerina who is my best friend and who's way cooler than most people."
I feel my cheeks warm a little, laughing awkwardly. "Clara, seriously."
"What? It's true!" she says, looping her arm through mine and dragging me forward through the small crowds clustered around different paintings. "Anyway, he thinks you're super cool without even meeting you properly."
The gallery hums with soft music, low conversations, and the faint scent of fresh paint and polished wood. The lighting is moody- spotlights highlighting the art pieces while the rest of the room stays dipped in a cozy glow.
Everywhere around us, people are sipping wine, tilting their heads thoughtfully at canvases. It's the kind of atmosphere that feels both fancy and strangely comfortable at the same time.
"Now help me find my sculptor." Clara whispers, scanning the crowd again to which I just nod, because I know she'd spot him anyways.
She suddenly gasps and grabs my arm, almost making me trip on my feet.
"There!" she whisper-shouts, bouncing on her heels. She points across the room, past a few abstract paintings and a group of people chatting near a sculpture.
I follow her finger—and there he is.
Tall, like she described. Broad shoulders under a light beige jacket. His hair is a messy, black-brown that looks like he spends hours styling it. And his hands— strong, with long fingers that seem made to either carve statues or been wrapped around a girl's waist while dancing.
"Logan!" she calls out.
A few people turn, but his head snaps up immediately. The second he sees her, his entire face brightens—eyes crinkling, that slow, warm smile spreading across his lips like she's the only thing in the whole room worth looking at.
He strides over, easy and confident. And when he reaches us, he doesn't even hesitate.
He bends slightly, just enough to look Clara right in the eye and say, in this soft, amused voice,
"Was starting to think you forgot about me, love."
She laughs, a slightly flustered sound, and nudges him lightly with her shoulder. "As if I could forget." she says, tilting her head toward me.
Logan straightens up and flashes me a charming smile. "Ah, you must be the ballerina." He offers his hand. "Logan."
"Yes, that's me." I reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. "Amara."
And with that we start moving through the next section of the gallery, the three of us walking side by side- or rather, Logan and Clara walking side by side while I trail half a step behind, pretending not to notice the way he keeps sneaking glances at her.
So much for the not third wheeling.
As we pass a painting full of angry brushstrokes and dark colors, Logan leans down to whisper something into Clara's ear. She laughs, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
At one point, we stop in front of a sculpture, an abstract figure made entirely of broken glass pieces, arranged to somehow resemble two people reaching for each other but never quite touching. The placard beside it reads:
"Longing For you."
She hums thoughtfully, tilting her head. "It's so sad," she murmurs.
"It is," Logan agrees quietly. Then he glances sideways at her, a teasing glint in his eye. "But I don't think I'd ever let you get that far away from me."
Clara's mouth drops open slightly, caught off guard, before she smiles- that seems to light up her whole face. She nudges him with her elbow, trying to mask how flustered she is, but I see it.
Oh, I definitely see it.
"Stop trying to act so cheesy!" she mutters, cheeks pink.
"Well, you like it." Logan says, so smugly that I actually let out a snort. They both glance back at me and I just hold my hands up in surrender.
"Don't mind me." I say.
She rolls her eyes but with a smile. Wider than I've seen her smile in days. And honestly, it's kind of nice, watching her be seen like this.
We keep moving, stepping into a new section of the gallery where the lighting is dimmer, the atmosphere shifting from vibrant to almost dreamlike.
Ahead, a painting catches my eye. It's a simple scene: a girl standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out at a sky full of stars.
The title reads: "Wishing for Words." And for a second, I forget about everything.
I just stand there, staring, feeling like the painting somehow knows something, but i don't know what that somethingis.
I tear my gaze away from the painting when I hear Clara giggling under her breath, I sigh and then smirk at her. I whisper to her, elbowing her playfully. "Next thing I know, you and Logan will be running a pottery shop together and adopting a golden retriever."
"First of all, how dare you," she huffs, "Second of all, it would be a sculpture studio. Get your future facts straight." she says in a teasing tone.
I bite back a laugh, glancing at Logan, who is examining a painting withintense focus.
"Honestly," I whisper, "his hands alone could have their own fan club."
Shechokes on her laugh, shoving me lightly. "Stop!" Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she adds, "Speaking of fan clubs... should we talk about a certain boxer who cleaned up your knee?"
I freeze. "Don't you dare-"
"Oh, I dare, Ama," she grins wickedly. "Patch you up today, propose tomorrow—"
I cover her mouth with my hand, wide-eyed. "Clara. Silence."
She mumbles something against my hand and I pull away, glaring at her. Logan glances over at us, amused. "Everything good here?"
"Perfect!" Clara chirps innocently, and then throws me a secretive wink and then turns to Logan, "Ok, Logan. Enough now."
"Enough?" He narrows his eyes in confusion, and questions, "Enough what?"
"Mhm." she nods, and says, "Enough of your charm, your flirting, your stupidly distracting hands, your cheekbones.
" She then glances at me and then back at him, "I have admired your art opinions, but now I need to spend time with my darling bae," she turns to me and loops her hand through mine. "Sooo, byee!"
"Indeed," He grins, slow and playful, but doesn't move. "But I'd like something in return."
"Oh and what would The Great Logan Carter need from me?"
"A promise that you'll let me pick you up after class tomorrow. At six."
She tries to act unaffected, but I see the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Hm, tempting."
"And coffee," he adds, hands in his pockets.
"Oh my god," she groans. "Fine. But only because I like coffee."
"And because you like me?" He asks with a small smile, emphasising the word like.
I knew for a fact that Clara doesn't just likecoffee. She loves it, and I'm sure he knows it too thats why he said like.I knew that he did it to match back her tone.
Clara likes coffee- she actually loves it.
Clara likes Logan- she actually loves him.
Clara narrows her eyes, "That too." and then waves him off like a queen dismissing her court. "Now go, Logan. Shoo."
And he smiles when she agrees that she likes him.
He chuckles. "Enjoy your time."
"We always do." She smiles at him.
"Also, take care of my woman for me?" He glances at me.
He is definitely so in love with her
"Always." I reply with a nod.
As soon as he disappears into the crowd, she turns to me, practically glowing.
She is definitely so in love with him.
──────????°? ? ?°?? ??──────
Dear Diary,
21st July, 2024
Hella tired, but yeah- Clara and I went to Tribeca. Paintings. Art Gallery. Logan.
OH MY GOD, YEAH! CLARA AND LOGAN ARE SO IN LOVE I SWEAR TO GOD. THEY ARE GOALS FOR SURE!
Well uhm.. I am really exhausted, so maybe tomorrow?
-Amara 3