Rudy sipped his coffee and noticed how the morning sun filtered through the curtains and cast a warm glow on Carol, who sat opposite him at the breakfast table.

“Anything big on the agenda today?” Carol asked.

“A meeting, but nothing to worry about. Everything’s lined up perfectly.”

“Always in control,” Carol beamed at him with eyes full of admiration. “One day, you need to teach me your secret.”

As they shared a warm breakfast banter, Rudy took a moment to appreciate how his home and work lives finally found their balance. It had been a long, hard, uphill struggle just to get to a point in his life where he could honestly say that life was good.

Later in the day, Rudy sat at his sleek home office desk, scrolling through emails on his laptop, when one subject line caught his eye: “Long Time, No See – Unveiling My Latest Work – Invitation Inside.”

He clicked on it. It was from his college girlfriend, Laura. She was inviting him to an unveiling ceremony for her latest portrait. Rudy found himself curiously excited, even as a knot of unease began to form in his stomach. His gaze was constantly drawn to the photo frame beside the laptop—he and Carol, all smiles on their recent vacation. The juxtaposition was a silent tug-of-war for his conscience.

As he pondered his RSVP, Carol walked in, her eyes lighting up when she saw him. “Working late?” she asked, subtly trying to read his emotions.

“Something like that,” Rudy muttered, minimizing the email window.

A tense silence filled the room. Carol thought about her career and how she had once been on the fast track to becoming a department head before she chose a more stable path to support their life together. Even though their relationship was on the uptick, there was always an invisible wall between them, a lingering question she had never dared to ask. Was Rudy wholly invested in their relationship, or was he holding something back?

Carol opened her mouth to broach the subject, but what came out was, “Well, dinner’s almost ready, so maybe it’s time to call it a day.”

“Clocking out now, boss lady,” Rudy smiled.

***

The sharp aroma of espresso enveloped Rudy as he stepped into the gallery, mingling with the faintly sweet scent of oil paint. His eyes swept over the polished marble floors and sleek spotlights that cast dynamic shadows across the canvases lining the walls.

The humid air felt electric with creative excitement as he moved through the space lined with vivid hues that leaped off showpieces. Laura’s distinct style was unmistakable. Patrons mingled and gazed at the artworks while sipping wine from plastic cups. The muted sound of chatter filled the room. Rudy paused in front of what appeared to be an empty canvas, bathed in the soft glow of art gallery lighting. The blank expanse was the centerpiece of the exhibition, a collection she’d titled “Levels of Laura.”

His eyes roamed over the empty canvas, but it was far from blank in his mind. Each invisible brushstroke triggered memories that spanned decades—stolen glances, fervent touches, lingering goodbyes. Despite the emptiness before him, the canvas reflected a past both empty and filled with possibility. His memory took him back to a college classroom. The Rudy of twenty years ago was far less weary than he was now but equally lost and clumsy. He had accidentally knocked a pile of books off a desk. Gleaming with mischief and curiosity, Laura helped him collect the scattered pages.

“So, you’re the new guy in Philosophy 101,” Laura said, handing him a rescued textbook.

“And you’re the artist everyone’s talking about,” Rudy replied. Their eyes met, and the chemistry was immediate—like mixing two volatile elements that knew they could create something beautiful or explode.

“We should get coffee sometime,” Laura suggested.

“I can do coffee,” Rudy added a bit too hurriedly.

Rudy’s attention drifted back to the present when his phone chirped with a message from Carol: “Where are you? Dinner’s getting cold.” A pang of guilt pierced through the anticipation building since he learned of this show. He had told Carol he needed to meet with a client.

He was about to type he was coming home when he spotted Laura across the room. Her fiery auburn hair drew his eyes first. She wore it shorter now, cropped at her shoulders. Two brightly-colored tattoos snaked down her forearms. When their eyes met, Rudy felt that familiar, breathless tension – like two volatile elements coming together, both creating and destroying in an endless loop.

Guilt cut his gallery reunion with Laura short, but as Rudy walked up to his front door, his thoughts echoed in the solitude of the night. The gallery event had been an eye-opener; he had watched Laura, sensing the dissonance between her public persona and the artist he always believed she could be.

Just before he slid his key into the lock, his phone buzzed. A message from Laura: “Want to talk? Café Lila, tomorrow, 11 am.”

His thumb hovered over the phone screen, debating his reply. Could he actually see Laura on a purely platonic basis? Was he risking his stable relationship with Carol? Or was he overthinking that matter when all Laura wanted was a friendly catch-up? With a resigned sigh, he typed, “See you there.”

Meanwhile, Laura sat in her studio loft before a blank canvas. She stared at the message she had just sent Rudy. Why did she invite him to coffee? Better still, why did she invite him to the gallery in the first place? She knew damned well what was going to happen. They had a habit of running into each other every few years since they first met in college nearly twenty years ago.

Each time, Laura foolishly thought, “We’ll just meet up for coffee and catch up on what’s been going on in each other’s lives.” But the moment they met in person, their chemistry ignited a spark that lit a passion that destroyed their relationships with partners, friends, and family members. And when the fire finally consumed itself, it was time to part ways again.

Her eyes fell upon her art supplies. She often mixed Bright hues of paint into diluted, pleasing shades to satisfy her clients. She picked up a bold red and slapped it onto the palette—no mixing, no diluting. “Tomorrow,” she thought, “I end it, once and for all.”

***

Café Lila was the same, a time capsule that refused to change even as Rudy and Laura did. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee was an instant catalyst. The moment their eyes locked, the years melted away. The tension was palpable, and the air buzzed with an electricity that neither could ignore.

“Is this a bad idea?” Rudy broke the silence.

“Definitely. The worst,” Laura replied, her eyes never leaving his.

“Why do bad ideas always make for good stories?”

“And why are we addicted to the stories we tell ourselves about what could be? My art has never felt more alive than when you’re in my life, and I think you know you’re a different man when I’m around.”

“But it never lasts.”

“The best things never do.”

The world outside the coffee shop window ceased to exist. All that remained were the unspoken words and emotions hanging thickly between them.

“Would you like to come to my studio?” Laura finally asked. She didn’t want to ask. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t want to want to ask.

Rudy knew it was a bad idea and had every intention of saying “No,” but there he was, breathing in the air in Laura’s studio thick with the scent of paint and turpentine, a heady mix that seemed to mirror the complexity of their relationship.

Laura’s art studio was a sanctuary of creative chaos. Easels and paintbrushes were haphazardly strewn about, almost like an artistic tornado had passed through. A single, dusty window allowed streams of sunlight to pierce through, illuminating particles of floating dust and creating an ethereal atmosphere. Palettes splashed with vibrant colors lay on the tables, their hues somewhat muted under the raw, exposed lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. The scent of turpentine filled the air, mingling with the aroma of aged, cracked leather from a worn couch pushed against one wall. As she stared at her unfinished painting inspired by Rudy, her emotions bled onto the canvas, as vivid and messy as the colors she chose.

The funny thing about undeniable, old chemistry was that it didn’t require any effort to reignite. And here, in a private corner of the universe, there was no holding back as they gave in to the passion that had lain dormant several times over the years but never extinguished. The fire of their union burned away the studio and the rest of the world until all that was left was the two of them.

Afterward, Rudy noticed a portrait leaning against the far wall as he dressed. It was him—or rather, a grotesque version of him, depicted with distorted features and unsettling details. The painting struck a chord, its inexplicable elements fueling Rudy’s sense of unease. What did it signify?

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s a work in progress,” Laura replied, avoiding his eyes. “The problem is that I don’t know if it’s you I’m painting, Rudy, or if it’s me.”

Rudy stared at his distorted reflection on canvas—a mishmash of darkness and light, a monstrous beauty. “You’ve made me a monster,” he said softly. “Or maybe I’ve made you more human,” Laura replied, her voice tinged with vulnerability and defiance.

Not. The. End.