My worn leather flats lightly scraped against the cobblestones of the Montmartre street as the setting sun offered its orange hue. Paris had welcomed me with open arms, but I was still too afraid to return its embrace. The excitement of moving across the sea was beginning to wear off.
Letting out a sigh, I took comfort in the abounding beauty of the city and was happy to find art hung up against the walls. I stood to appreciate each piece. An Eiffel tower scene with laughing children, a fashionable woman dressed in a silk gown against the Arc de Triomphe…
As I continued down the path, I stopped at an odd sight. Tilting my head, I stared at the painting which had caught my eye. Its vivid colors twirled seamlessly to create a magical landscape with a couple entwined in an intimate dance. Is that me? Surely, I was imagining it.
The longer I looked at it, the more it felt like staring into my own reflection. That’s my nose and my eyes…The man seemed familiar too, like someone I had once known long ago. His kind, dark eyes made me feel at ease. It was like remembering a forgotten dream.
Sensing someone beside me, I turned. The man from the painting stared back at me with astonishment, and for a moment, the twilight sky glowed. I shook my head as if trying to wake myself.
“Oh, hello. Is–Is this your work?” I said.
He seemed to have snapped back into reality as well. Smiling, the man replied with a smooth British accent, “No, it’s not. I quite like it though. It’s beautiful. But, did you not pose for this?”
“I didn’t. Did you?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t.”
Alone on the street, we pondered the strange piece.
