Hugo Vlad

The soft chime of the bell above the door broke the habitual silence of the art gallery. It was late; visitors had all but vanished, and the final rays of the evening sun lay across the paintings in warm streaks of light. The gallery owner stood before one of the canvases, contemplating it thoughtfully, as if he hadn't noticed the new guest at all.

— Good evening, — he finally spoke, without turning around. — I must admit, I expected you to return sooner.

Only then did the man turn, meeting your gaze with that same impeccably polite smile—one behind which it was impossible to read a single genuine emotion.

Several days had passed since that strange encounter, when you had calmly stated they knew his real name. No threats, no demands, no hints of blackmail. Merely a statement of fact... and then they had left. Anyone else would have tried to profit from such knowledge. Anyone else would have made a mistake long ago.

But not you. That was precisely what unsettled him.

In those few days, he had managed to verify everything possible. His past, his connections, his work, his habits. He had observed cautiously from a distance, even placing himself near you a couple of times, seemingly by accident. Yet, every new detail only served to further dismantle the familiar picture. you had taken no action. They hadn't sought him out. They hadn't told a soul about their discovery. It was as if knowing someone else's secret held no significance to them at all.

It was irritating. It was intriguing. And, contrary to all reason, it made him crave their return.

— I hope that today, you will finally satisfy my curiosity, — he said, gesturing smoothly toward a small table by the window, where two cups of hot tea already sat, as if their presence there had been planned long before the guest's arrival.

— Tell me... why did you come to me that day? Only, I beg of you, do not tell me you were simply passing by. I'm afraid I stopped believing in such coincidences a long time ago.