Wendy had never been fond of cigarettes. Her father would smoke in almost every room of the house, and the constant stench of burnt tobacco leaves and ashes had been permanently engraved in her mind. She had promised herself, a long time ago, she would never even come close to those white and orange sticks, yet here she was. Sitting on the sidewalk with one in hand, and the overwhelming urge to permanently wash the taste off of her lips.

She had bought it in a rush, in hopes of making her mind halt for a bit, looking for a small instant of respite from her jumbled thoughts. Still, it had only made her feel worse about failing to keep her promise. Throwing the pathetic excuse of a smoked cigarette away, she ran her hands through her hair, noticing how the vile smell still lingered on her fingers. Winter had arrived almost too soon, along with that certain feeling that always came with it. A slant in her step she knew all too well. Still, she brushed it off, assuming it was something that everybody went through.

Walking home, she noticed how the trees that had once been overflowing with vibrant hues of green had now lost almost all their leaves. Her previously blossoming street looked vacant in a way, as if all the colors displaying its life had faded into a dull version of themselves. Looking around, she spotted the park she used to go play in when she spent the day at her grandma’s house. She still had fond memories of that place, still remembered her. A girl with a skip in her step so delicate that looking for her felt like searching for flowers. She still remembered ghosts of blue ribbons adorning raven locks of hair, and how that tiny little kid wore her smile like a warm Saturday morning.

Wendy would sometimes look back on the three days they had run into each other in that park. From the very first smile, she had felt as if they’d known each other ever since the universe was born. Like their silly laughter had always been meant to bubble in unison, like their hands had been made to gently brush against each other while playing with the sand. Wendy never heard from her again after that third day. She recalls how bittersweet it felt, hoping to see her walking through the park’s flowery gate each afternoon, only to leave at dusk once more, alone and with her feet gloomily dragging across the grass.

She only wished she had asked her name. In all of their time together, she had felt so carefree she must have forgotten to do so. After all, they had always been running around the oak trees playing catch and picking clovers, only to fall on the soft grass out of exhaustion as they chuckled by themselves. They had played restlessly for the little time they had, she knew there had been no need to ask for names. To this day, Wendy thought about how a part of her still hoped to see the girl one more time, perhaps to catch up, or simply reminisce on their short time together. However, she repeatedly ended up dismissing the idea, arguing that after all, that girl had probably forgotten about her altogether.

She was home, and going up the stairs to her apartment she could hear the faint meows coming from her door. Pearl somehow managed to always know when she was the one going up her apartment’s stairs, she thought. She smiled when she opened her door and was greeted by her cat softly rubbing her white fur against Wendy’s legs. “There, there, I already know you love me snowball.” She hummed while she took her warmest coat off, hanging it on the wall.

Making a cup of tea for herself, she watched how the steam coming from her mug vanished as fast as it came into existence, how it seemingly accepted it’s fleeting nature before softly merging with the very air it kissed goodbye. Quietly, she took the small cup in her hands and headed to her homey living room, all kinds of plants and pieces of furniture she found in different thrift stores giving it a gentle feel. Various pieces of artwork lined the beige walls and the soft scent of vanilla wandered the room. Wendy had always wanted to live in a quiet, warm apartment, and looking around, she’d say she had done a pretty good job of the place.

Once she decided on playing some soft music from her stereo, she let herself relax and ease into the warmth of her fuzzy blanket as she sighed. Looking out the glass panels leading to the balcony, she couldn’t help but feel like the gloomy January skies perhaps were a reflection of her own self. She was used to letting that quaint sadness wash over her in the colder months, she never thought much of it. After all, she liked the cold—but she couldn’t deny she always ended up wishing spring would come sooner.

When Wendy noticed how her tired eyelids were becoming heavier, she carefully left her mug on the coffee table before laying down on her side, watching how Pearl comfortably cuddled to her chest.

"What would I do without you?” She whispered to her cat’s closed eyes. “Sleep well, snowball.” Pressing the softest kiss to her small companion’s temple, she let herself drift off to sleep too, hoping that maybe that pair of pretty eyes she had once known would come back to her in dreams of blue ribbons and oak trees.

***

Monday was a new beginning, and the sun seemed to know that as well. The skies paraded their clear blue while Wendy made her way to work, smiling to herself at the soft morning sunlight enveloping the old square in front of the museum. Hundred year old trees stood surrounding the smooth marble fountain sculpted in the eighteenth century she had sat next to countless times before. She had always enjoyed her walks to work, often reveling in the way the long-lived buildings towered above the streets of the most culturally rich part of her city.

The citrus trees leading up to the museum kept their leaves all year round, and Wendy would always find a certain hope in that, some sort of reminder that, just like them, she could also thrive even in the roughest times. Arriving at her destination, she stood before the majestic museum building. Carved in pearly stone, the high walls were decorated with clear windows framed with corinthian and ionic columns. Sculptures of angels and s sat gracefully above the open gates, eternally inviting to anyone willing to travel all the way back to the seventeenth century’s art.

Clutching the strap of her bag, Wendy opened the buttons of her trench coat as she walked in, headed to the employee’s break room. Mondays were usually slower days, with some tourists walking around with a guided visit in the morning and elderly couples coming in when afternoon fell. On days like these, she would sometimes spot quiet students on their free period, looking for inspiration for their own works or reviewing their notes while they examined the paint on the canvases. She had grown to like them particularly, regularly offering to help in any way she could, with her extensive knowledge on the subject. After all, they reminded her of her own days at college, and how she would look around the city trying to spot the various art movements she was studying in her lectures.

Spotting Joy next to the coffee machine, she walked up to the sleepy dark haired girl. “You know, it kind of looks like you just woke up.” Wendy said with a grin, while she took a paper cup for herself.

“Come on Wan, let a girl live,” Joy whined, “you already know mornings and I don’t get along, we’re like, natural enemies or something.” Joy faked annoyance, as she poured the sugar from the small packet into her cup.

“Oh I’ll let you live alright, when you don’t fall asleep while explaining a painting to like, what, twenty people?” Wendy laughed at the memory.

“You really won’t let me live that down, will you? I had probably slept a good three hours that night Wan, I didn’t think my neighbors could go on for that long either.” Joy muttered with a smirk, happy with how her best friend’s cheeky smile turned into a frown of disgust.

“Okay, now that’s way too much information.” Wendy cringed as she tried to erase the image from her mind.

“Still, my first visit starts in an hour, so I have exactly 60 minutes before I have to put on my best awake face.” Joy proudly announced, happy to be able to have some time to drink her drowsiness away.

“Some of us are just born luckier, I guess.” Wendy pouted, looking at her watch and noting how her shift started in ten minutes.

Joy stuck her tongue out playfully at her, before turning on her heels, headed for the most comfortable couch in the room. Wendy smiled to herself as she patiently waited for the dark coffee to pour into her cup. Today would be a good day, she thought to herself.

For the next few hours, Wendy made her way through the Museum’s marble floors, helping any visitors who asked about details on a certain painting, and chatting with her coworkers about their weekend. She had been looking at Murillo’s section of the gallery, when she spotted her favourite painting of his, “Saint Anthony of Padua and Infant Jesus”, elegantly hung in the very center of one of the long walls of the room. Almost as if it was calling for her, Wendy felt her feet drag her in front of the tall canvas with the golden frame. Seconds, maybe minutes, went by as Wendy examined every gentle brush she had already memorized a long time ago, before she heard a voice behind her speak.

“You work here surrounded by all these beautiful paintings, yet you’ve never had eyes for any other than this one.” Joy spoke in the quiet of the large room. Wendy relaxed, recognizing her friend’s soft voice.

“I know.” She coyly smiled. “It's just... there’s something about the way it looks like his heart is pouring from his gaze, all for the small child to see. After all, he knows it’s him, Jesus. From his pose to his expression, it's a display of such unconditional love that I've always seen it as one of the deepest portrayals of human emotion, even if it is through religious faith.” Wendy explained as Joy remained quiet, almost in awe. She thought about how ever since she had known Wendy, the older had always had a certain way with words when it came to a piece of art. She would explain every single detail in such a captivating way one couldn’t do anything but listen.

“Oh sorry, am I rambling too much?” Wendy apologized, turning to her friend.

“Not really, no.” Joy answered, still soft eyed.

“It’s just you’ve always been a er for Murillo.” She joked, placing her hand on the shorter’s shoulder.

“And you’ve always been a er for my totally amazing homemade cookies, we all have our own weaknesses.” Wendy answered lightheartedly, patting Joy’s hand with her own.

“Yeah, I guess we do.” Joy smiled, putting her hands in her pockets. 

Wendy looked at her watch, lips parting when she noticed her break started in a couple minutes. Looking up at her friend, she spoke. “Hey, I’m on break in two minutes, I have to go run an errand real quick, but I'll be back before it ends, okay?”

Joy shrugged “Fine, my next visit starts in five minutes anyway, I was actually heading there when I saw you here basically drooling at paint.” She mocked, winking at her brunette friend.

“As if you didn’t drool for The Immaculate Conception of Soult even more than I do for this painting.” Wendy rolled her eyes.

“Excuse me but she is absolutely gorgeous and I have every right to drool over such a masterpiece.” The taller girl quickly argued, looking offended.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Wendy laughed, before heading for the exit to the main hall. “See you later!” She turned to Joy, who waved at her before heading for the opposite exit.

The afternoon sun tenderly enveloped the bustling streets of the city center, even when the January breeze remained icy. Wendy wouldn’t lie if she said she, for once, loved the place she lived in. After moving out at 18 from her parent’s house in the suburbs, she pledged to leave her shabby little home and all the memories she had of it behind, if only to give herself the chance of a new beginning in the heart of the city. A chance to be just Wendy, not the daughter of the drunk man living in the house with the unkempt lawn.

Wendy had looked for affordable apartments all around, but ended up settling not too far from her grandma’s home, the only place she had kept loving memories of. The sweet old lady had always tried her best to make Wendy feel as at home as she humbly could inside those rustic walls. She taught her granddaughter how to bake—playing soft jazz music on the radio as they would knead the dough—and would take her out to the park down the street, all in a kind hearted attempt at giving the young girl the childhood her parent’s hadn’t. Arriving at her new apartment, Wendy had soon found a part time job to help pay for her studies, and for once, she had finally started to feel like she was getting closer to the life she’d always dreamt of when she scored a job at the most important museum in the city.

She would argue, looking around at how her life had unfolded, it was hard to not fall in love with the city that had stretched its palms out to her, offering her solace and comfort both when she was a child, and now that she had grown to become an adult. Formidable yet inspiring, the history behind every square, building and monument still captivated Wendy to this day. Even when the winters were harsh, and the summers could be fiery, the city still carried a tender hum resonating among its streets that invited Wendy to dance to the tune of it’s tender melodies.

Heading down the street, Wendy cursed herself for forgetting to bring her coat. “My hands are about to freeze off...” She mumbled between fast steps. People covered from head to toe with warm jackets and scarves filled the streets with the sounds of quiet chatter. Some made their way through the sidewalk, while some stood outside the lit up shops, wallowing in what little heat they could get from outside their open doors. Strolling along the path Wendy had walked plenty of times before, the smell of freshly baked cookies from La Terrasse, her favourite bakery, filled her thoughts. “What I would give for a nice hot chocolate right now, shame there’s no time.” She glomily thought to herself, as she neared the tall wooden gates of the library.

Once in the large building, Wendy basked in the greatness of central heating. Feeling her body relax, she rubbed her previously trembling hands together, which had now returned to their calm stillness. While she stood there, way too invested in how she was able to move her fingers again, she felt someone staring at her. Turning to her left, she saw a pair of eyes behind round glasses curiously looking at her new guest. The girl looked to be around her age, yet Wendy had never seen her at the library before.

Wendy first noticed how she wore her dark hair in a loose ponytail, with a couple of locks framing her small face. Her skin was breathtakingly fair, and her flushed lips wore a small frown, as if she was waiting for something. The next thing she noticed was the wooden counter she sat behind, and the black computer screen next to her. Right, Wendy thought, that girl must have just started working at the library, and was probably expecting at least a greeting from Wendy, who had been standing by the door for a little too long now.

“Oh, hey! You know, uhm.. it can get really cold outside, and I had forgotten my coat and there’s... heating here? So I was... happy about that.” Wendy struggled to explain herself under the growing frown of the raven haired girl.

Defeated, she looked down at her boots, and after an awkwardly long silence she was prepared to apologize, when she heard a soft laugh coming from the receptionist. Directing her gaze to the source of the sound, she sighed when she saw how the small girl tried to hide her smile behind her hand.

Relieved to not have made a terrible impression, she slowly approached the counter. “Um, I’m Wendy, I’ve just come here to pick up a couple of books.” She smiled, still a little bit nervous, at the brown eyed girl.

“Well I hope so, this is a library after all.” The girl answered, amused by the brunette's anctics. “I’m Irene.”

Wendy chuckled at Irene’s response, checking her clock to see she had fifteen minutes to be back at the museum. “I’ve really got to get those books, I'm sorry but I'm kind of running late.” Wendy hastily apologized to a calm Irene.

“Don’t worry, go ahead. Do you know where everything is?” The receptionist asked.

“Yeah, thank you!” Wendy waved, before making her way to the art history section.

Wendy’s museum would be hosting an exhibition on Velazquez a week from then, and she had thought brushing up on some his work would do no harm. Looking through the shelves, Wendy stopped when she spotted a couple of books on Velazquez’s technique and the Baroque movement. 'These will have to do', she thought to herself as she took the two big volumes in her arms, thanking the skies for having remembered to bring her bag with her.

Once in front of Irene, Wendy left the books on the desk while she took out her library card, missing out on the way the raven haired girl eyed both of the covers.

“These are pretty dense books, I’m guessing you’re quite the fan of art.” Irene spoke, raising her brows.

“Yeah, you could say so.” Wendy bashfully smiled.

“Velázquez..” The taller girl hummed. “My personal favourite is Rubens.” She said, handing Wendy’s card back to her. “You’re all set.”

Wendy hesitated for an instant. They had plenty of Rubens’ works at the museum, and she definitely wouldn’t mind offering Irene a free guided tour if it meant getting to speak about art to such a pretty girl. 'Nope, absolutely not the time for that.' She reminded herself, taking the card between her fingers. Instead, she settled for something not as straightforward.

“Rubens? I should have expected you’d have good taste.” Wendy said, raising her brow to Irene, who just chuckled in response while Wendy placed the books into her bag.

“Well, thank you for everything!” She looked up to Irene once more.

“No problem.” The older softly answered. Hanging her bag from her shoulder, Wendy waved to a smiling Irene before heading out into the cold once more.

'Yeah, today is definitely a good day', Wendy thought to herself as she happily made her way back to the museum.