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I gesture vaguely toward the room, the portraits, the statues frozen in their borrowed forever. “All of this. The faces, the bodies, the emotions. The way everything is preserved like it matters beyond the moment it was lived. It’s like the human mind can’t accept the idea of disappearing. Like we’d rather become something still than nothing at all.”

“Don’t you?” he asks.

I let out a quiet breath, my gaze drifting back to the painting in front of us. The face in it looks like it’s been waiting longer than it should have for peace.

“I don’t think I have that in me,” I admit, sounding softer now. “The ache to last forever, to be known by strangers, to leave something behind just so I’m not completely gone.” My fingers curl slightly against his palm before I even notice it. “If anything… I think I’d rather exist in a smaller way.”

He turns his head slightly, not fully, “So what do you draw for?”

I don’t answer right away, my eyes stay on the portrait, but I’m not really seeing it anymore. I’m somewhere else, somewhere smaller, older. I’m on the cliff, with her, still making wishes. Still waiting for the pain to leave us alone.

“I don’t know…” My voice comes out softer than I expect. “Don’t you think we leave parts of ourselves to other people?”

I feel him watching me now, properly, but I don’t look back. If I do, I’ll stop speaking.

“You probably remember a stranger who smiled at you once,” I continue, my fingers moving faintly against my own hand. “Or someone who made you listen to a song, and now it doesn’t feel like yours anymore. It feels like them.”

My throat tightens a little, but I keep going anyway.

“I draw that. Moments like that. A hand touching mine. A reassuring smile. Even… things that hurt. Things people leave behind without realizing how fucked it was.” The last part comes out lower. “It’s to remember them…But I never draw myself. I don’t want to remember myself as someone.”

His hand comes up to my face, and it catches me off guard in the softest way, and then he kisses me.

Everything else disappears.

The museum, the stillness, the painting behind us, it all fades into something distant and blurry. There’s just the warmth of his mouth, the way his fingers hold me in place without forcing anything. I don’t even realize I’ve leaned into him until he pulls back.

“Now,” he murmurs. “you’ll remember this.” His eyes stay on mine, like he’s making sure of it. “And you’ll draw it. Us. Just to remember how it felt.”

I nod and the smile that formed on my mouth is new to me. “I will.”

I keep looking at him, longer than I should, like something in me is already trying to hold onto this moment before it’s even gone.

“Would you remember me if I died?”

I don’t even fully understand why I asked it. But it’s there now, between us.

He doesn’t hesitate when he replies, “I’d remember you for the rest of my life, Mireya.” His eyes meet mine, soft and gentle. “And you?”

His fingers trace along my jaw absentmindedly, waiting for me to give an answer.

A long breath escaped my lips. “I’d spend my entire life drawing you, Damien.”

“Deal.” He looks satisfied with my answer as he smiles, and adds softly, “No need to leave your mark in this life then?”

“As long as you always remember me, I’ll be immortal,” I reply, mirroring his grin.

112

Mireya

Forever Free

Play - Legendary Lovers by Katy Perry

We leave the museum an hour later and he walks behind me. His cold hands rest on my eyes suddenly, as if acting like this is normal between us now, and it is, even if I still need to get used to it.

“Walk,” he says behind me.