22. Chapter 17
The Art Of Distraction
Evin
T he November wind swept coolly through the streets, carrying the damp scent of fallen leaves. Evin crossed her arms, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the inside of her elbows as if the motion could ease her restlessness.
This had been Milka’s idea—an exhibition in a trendy art district that she claimed was “an absolute hidden gem.” Evin hadn’t been particularly excited about it, but as always, Milka had a way of convincing people to do things they’d normally avoid.
And today, Evin was the victim of her persuasive skills.
Now, she found herself drifting through a space filled with canvases and sculptures while Milka chatted with a group of people.
The exhibition was lively, packed with visitors dressed to impress, exchanging profound thoughts in hushed yet performative tones.
Evin moved through the rooms, observing the artwork and trying not to let the atmosphere get to her.
She stopped in front of a large painting, where bold, almost aggressive colors clashed and bled into one another, dominating the space. The shapes were raw, the emotions unfiltered. It spoke to her. The rawness of it made her pause, its energy almost electric.
“Kind of dramatic, don’t you think?”
The voice came unexpectedly—calm, confident, unbothered.
Evin turned her head and found a young man standing beside her, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the painting. His expression was unreadable—a mix of composure and the slightest trace of amusement.
“Dramatic?” She hesitated, feeling momentarily caught, as if he had pulled the thought straight from her head. “Maybe... but it feels authentic.”
He tilted his head slightly, considering her response.
“Interesting. Most people here would probably disagree. They’re looking for perfection.
For beauty.” He said it without arrogance, but there was an undertone to his voice that piqued her curiosity.
Unlike most visitors, who seemed intent on proving how cultured they were, he exuded a relaxed self-assurance.
“What makes it feel... authentic to you?” he asked, finally looking at her. His gaze was steady, almost disarming, yet there was something challenging about it, too.
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s raw. It doesn’t try to be beautiful.” She wasn’t sure why she was saying this, but there was an ease in his presence that made her want to be honest.
As she stood there, still staring at the painting, she realized it wasn’t just the art that unsettled her—it was the way the stranger watched her, as if peeling back layers she wasn’t sure she wanted to expose.
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—small, almost imperceptible, but present in his eyes.
“Most people here wouldn't see it that way.” He mused.
Evin wasn’t sure if it was the art or the way he was looking at her, but he stirred her curiosity. There was something about him—a quiet intensity that felt both calming and unpredictable at the same time.
“Perfection is boring,” she said, then caught herself. Except in ballet. “It doesn’t leave anything to hold on to.”
He hummed in response, as if turning her words over in his mind. “Maybe you’re right.”
Then, finally, he turned toward her fully, meeting her gaze head-on. His presence was oddly grounding. She couldn’t tell if it was his words or the way he carried himself, but something about him intrigued her.
“And you?” she asked. “Do you like perfection?”
“Depends on what we’re talking about.“ He smirked, a slow, knowing curve of his lips.
“Perfection is predictable. I prefer what keeps you guessing.”
She couldn’t tell if he really meant it or if he was just playing the game—just another person trying to leave an impression. But somehow, it didn’t matter. It flowed naturally, without either of them needing to steer it.
Before she could respond, voices called out from the other side of the room. A few people waved in his direction. He turned briefly, nodding toward them.
"I need to go," he said. With a slight nod, he added, "Looks like we’ll have to continue this another time."
She watched as he slipped into the crowd—dressed in all black, his style understated yet deliberate.
His features were sharp and symmetrical—almost too perfect. The kind of face you’d remember, but wouldn’t necessarily trust. There was a stillness in him, a control that felt… unreadable.
A faint gleam from the chain around his neck caught the dim light, accented by rings and bracelets that gave him a quiet, effortless edge. Nothing about him felt random; every detail seemed carefully chosen, as if meant to obscure just as much as it revealed.
Then he was gone, swallowed by the shifting bodies, leaving no trace behind.
Evin remained in front of the painting, still unsure if the encounter had been real.
Milka appeared beside her with a half-smile. "Tell me you at least got his name. "
__________
After leaving the exhibition, Evin and Milka strolled through the bustling city streets, their path lit by the glow of cafés and restaurants. The air smelled like coffee and rain, and the night hummed with quiet conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.
Milka was talking animatedly, her hands moving as she reenacted parts of the evening. “And then there was that guy in the leather jacket, acting like he was about to change the art world forever! I almost lost it.” She laughed, nudging Evin’s arm.
Evin smirked. “You definitely gave him too much attention. He was probably posing just for you.”
“As if.” Milka rolled her eyes. “I’ve got more important things to think about.”
Evin glanced at her. “Like what?”
“My parents. They’re back on their ‘What’s your plan?’ nonsense. College, career, all of it.” Milka sighed. “Nothing I say ever seems good enough.”
Evin knew the feeling all too well. At home, it was the same—always a critique, always an expectation.
Milka gave her a playful nudge. “You’re too quiet. What’s on your mind?”
Evin hesitated, then exhaled. “I’m wondering… if he misses me.”
Milka groaned. “Bas? Seriously?” She stopped walking and turned to face her. “Evin, come on. If he missed you, you’d know. You deserve someone who actually acts like he wants you.”
Evin nodded, but the words didn’t fully settle. The ache in her chest remained, a dull pressure she couldn't shake. Maybe I messed it up, she thought. Maybe it really is my fault.
They kept walking, passing darkened shop windows, their reflections flickering in the glass. The night was cold, the streets quieting as the hour grew l ater. But Evin’s thoughts weren’t on the city.
What if Milka is right? What if he never really cared, and she had just been fooling herself the entire time?
Evin exhaled slowly, shoving her hands deeper into her coat pockets.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t over yet, that despite everything, a chapter remained unwritten between them.
As they reached the pizzeria, the scent of tomatoes and herbs filled the air. Milka pulled open the door, and Evin stepped inside—only to stop short. For a split second, she could hardly believe her eyes. Her gaze landed on one of the tables.
There he was—the guy from the exhibition.
He sat back in his chair, eyes half-lidded as he took a bite of pizza. Noticing her, he didn’t move, didn’t react—just shifted his gaze from his food to her, slow and deliberate.
Milka was still talking, oblivious. But Evin, unable to resist, smirked just enough for him to catch it. “What a coincidence.”
He set down his slice, completely unfazed. “Looking for a better exhibition?” His voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable.
She bit her lip. “Or better company.”
His low chuckle was almost a purr. “Looks like you got lucky, then.”
Milka finally catching on and pulled out a chair without hesitation. “So, how’s the pizza?”
He leaned forward, taking another bite, his gaze flicking back to Evin. “Better than the art. You should try it.”
There was still something about him. Not just the way he spoke—slow, intentional—but the way he seemed to see more than she was showing.
Before she could think too much, she slid into the seat across from him.
The pizza was annoyingly good.
“Oh, by the way, I’m Sergej,” he said, his attention still mostly on her.
“Evin.” Her name came out steadier than she expected.
Milka, already reaching for a slice, added, “And I’m Milka. Nice to meet you, Sergej. You strike me as someone who doesn’t mind fate doing the work.”
Ser gej grinned, taking his time before answering. “Sometimes you meet the most interesting people when you’re not even looking.”
__________
After they had settled into their seats, Milka and Evin ordered their own pizzas, letting the warmth of the restaurant and the smell of fresh herbs ease them into conversation.
It was casual, easy—until Evin realized something.
When the bill arrived, Sergej barely glanced at it before sliding some cash across the table, his movements effortless, as if it had never been a question.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Evin said, looking at him with mild surprise.
He shrugged. “I know.”
Milka, unfazed, grinned. “Well, in that case, I won’t argue.” She leaned back in her chair, stretching slightly. Then, suddenly, she stood up, a wide smile forming on her face.
“You know, I think I should probably head out. I’ve got an early appointment tomorrow.” She grabbed her coat quickly, not giving Evin or Sergej a chance to respond. “But you two go ahead, I’ll manage on my own.”
“Really?” Evin asked, half-surprised, slightly amused.
Sergej watched Milka leave before turning his full attention back to Evin. “Looks like she left us alone on purpose,” he said dryly, his gaze never wavering from hers.
Evin smirked, leaning back slightly. “So? What’s your plan now?”
Sergej let out a low laugh, his voice calm and slightly provocative. “I could walk you home. If you want.”
Evin raised an eyebrow, her thoughts racing. He was making this too easy.
But why not? She was curious, after all. Crossing her arms, she gave him a brief, appraising look.
“I’m a big girl. I can find my way home just fine,” she replied anyway.
Sergej didn’t miss a beat. “I know. But you and I both know I’m not talkin g about having to.”
Evin raised an eyebrow, faintly amused. “And why should I let you come with me?”
He leaned forward slightly, that ever-present grin still tugging at his lips. “Because you’ve already decided I’ll make the walk more interesting.”
“The dark, brooding guy in black said that?” Evin laughed. She stood up, grabbed her jacket, and gave him a quick, challenging glance. “Well, are you coming?”
Evin pulled her jacket tighter around herself as they left the pizzeria. The night air was cool, but the silence between them felt comfortable, like an unspoken understanding that no words were necessary.
Sergej walked beside her, his gaze fixed ahead, exuding the same calm energy that she found so hard to read.
“So... no more dramatic paintings for today?” she asked with a lopsided smile, breaking the silence.
Sergej shook his head slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Depends. You don’t seem completely opposed to dramatic things yourself.”
Evin shrugged, giving him a sidelong glance. “Sometimes. But you don’t seem to care much for them…”
“Not really.” He stopped walking and looked her directly in the eyes. “I find reality more interesting.”
Evin felt a faint tension in the air—not uncomfortable, but more like a challenge waiting for her to accept it.
“Oh? And what exactly?”
Sergej gave her a crooked smile, as if he had expected the question. “People. How they really are, without any masks.”
Evin smirked, raising an eyebrow. “And? Do I meet your expectations without my mask?” she teased, her laugh carrying a hint of nervousness.
His response came without hesitation. “Yes. And you know it.”
Evin grinned, letting his direct comment hang in the air without responding right away. Her thoughts faltered for a moment as she realized how effortlessly Sergej pulled her into conversations she would normally avoid. She liked how little he seemed to care about superficialities.
“ You’re the kind of person who likes to be direct.” It wasn’t a question, more an observation.
Sergej shrugged as they continued walking side by side. “Being direct saves time. I’m not one for games.”
“And this isn’t a game?” Evin looked at him with a tilted smile, as if daring him to respond.
He paused briefly, glancing at her sideways. “Maybe. But I think you’re enjoying this game.”
She laughed softly, almost as if he’d caught her. “Maybe.”
She looked straight ahead as they walked along the empty sidewalk. The streetlights cast long shadows, their flickering glow giving the atmosphere an almost surreal quality.
“But honestly,” she said after a moment, “you seem so... unaffected. Is there anything you actually care about? Or do you just play along with everything?”
Sergej gave her a scrutinizing look before answering. “I don’t play along. I just see things as they are. Most people like to overcomplicate everything. It’s easier when you’re honest.”
Evin felt a weight in his words, yet she was also struck by how effortlessly sincere he seemed. It wasn’t often she met someone so direct, yet so at ease.
“Sometimes it’s easier not to show too much,” she said quietly, her eyes on the pavement in front of her.
“That’s true. But eventually, everything shows—whether you want it to or not.” Sergej’s voice was calm but resolute.
They talked the rest of the way home about life and a few trivial things, their conversation flowing naturally.
Evin stopped abruptly. “Here we are.”
Sergej looked up, analyzing the building. Time had flown by, and though the evening had started simply, it now felt as if it carried a certain weight.
She turned to him, a faint smile on her lips but a small trace of uncertainty in her eyes. “Thanks for the unexpectedly nice evening.” Her voice was soft.
“ My pleasure.”
Reaching into his jacket pocket, he pulled out a pen and a napkin from the pizzeria, scribbling something quickly. He held it out to her, his gaze steady. “Let me know when you’re ready for the next round.”
Evin glanced down at the napkin, smirking as she raised an eyebrow slightly. “The next round? And what exactly should I expect?”
Sergej grinned as he began to walk away. “Let’s keep a surprise. You'll see.”