Page 33 of Shattered Echoes

Fortunately, the waitress sets a plate of steaming pancakes in front of George, diverting his attention, and distracting the persistent Mark.

"Those look delicious, George," I say, grateful for the interruption.

"Thanks, son," George replies, a warm smile creasing his face. "You should grab a bite yourself; you look like you could use some fuel."

I think about my empty stomach, a pang of hunger reminding me of my neglected breakfast. I look up and see Mark watching me. "Maybe later," I say, pushing the thought aside.

I check my watch. “Shit. I gotta go. That thing I told you about.” I jump out of my seat and hurry towards the exit. Over my shoulder, I add, “Let’s catch up sometime, yeah?”

I don’t catch Mark’s reply as I push into the cold street and march away as quickly as I can. Now that was a proper disaster.

I walk in the bridge's direction without even thinking about it. Just as I near the bridge, a gasp escapes my lips. There it is, splayed across the bridge's crumbling concrete wall–a new creation from the elusive artist.

Unlike the last one, there's no heart-wrenching image here. Instead, it depicts two figures, swirling on a moonlit lake. The dance looks frantic, desperate, their forms yearning towards each other across a chasm of space.

There's a rawness to it, an unspoken desperation that speaks volumes. It hits me like a punch to the gut. It's…relatable. This isn't just art anymore. It's a reflection, mirroring the turmoil swirling within me.

I reach out, tracing the outline of the figures with my fingertip. The paint is dry, but it looks new and alive with rebellious energy. Sighing, I turn to head back home, the image of the dancing figures etched into my memory. Just as I'm about to cross the street, a familiar voice stops me dead in my tracks.

"Antonio?"

Colette stands across the street, her eyes wide with surprise and a backpack slung over her shoulder.

"Colette," I mutter, surprised. "What a coincidence."

She raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Coincidence? Or do we just share all of our special places in town?"

I blush, unable to meet her gaze. She's right. This bridge, the coffee shop, the hilltop lookout–they've been silent witnesses to countless moments in both our lives.

"So," she says, her voice lighter now, "what are your thoughts on that?"

She gestures towards the graffiti, and I find the courage to look at her. Her eyes are clear, devoid of the shame I felt earlier. Maybe... maybe it doesn't have to be a shameful secret.

"It's…powerful," I manage, stepping closer to her. We stand side-by-side, staring at the image. "Beautiful."

The silence stretches between us, a charged space filled with unspoken emotions. She lifts her gaze to meet mine.

The air crackles with a tension that goes beyond the shared appreciation for the artwork. Her eyes, the color of the ocean, hold a depth I haven't seen before. It's a depth that both scares and excites me.

"You know," she says, her voice a whisper. "I checked out your band after our… conversation on the hill."

Shock runs through me. "Raging Thunder?" I blurt, surprised she even remembered.

She smiles, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Turns out classic rock isn't dead after all, Antonio. You guys are…good."

My chest swells with a surge of pride I haven't felt in a long time. "Really?" I ask, a goofy grin splitting my face.

"Really," she confirms, her smile turning genuine. "I listened to a few songs. 'Fire in the Rain' is my favorite."

My grin widens. "That's one of our newer ones. We haven't even played it live yet."

The revelation hangs in the air for a moment, a silent intimacy blooming between us. Then she extends her hand towards me, a playful glint in her eyes.

"So," she says, "how about we change that? You show me your secret music, and I show you my secret hangout?"

The invitation catches me off guard. Is this a good idea? My head screams caution, but a rebellious part of me–the part awakened by her touch - yearns to say yes.

"Your secret hangout?" I echo, taking her hand. Her fingers intertwine with mine, sending a familiar warmth coursing through me.

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