Weight of Names

Lucien sat across from the campus attorney, a folder of sealed documents on the desk between them. His jaw was still sore, and the bruises beneath his shirt felt like warnings.

But he was done hiding.

"You're sure about this?" the woman asked, eyes kind but steady. "If you sign, the university will pursue formal charges against your father. The information in this file becomes public. It won't just stay in a courtroom."

Lucien nodded.

"I want it on record. Everything."

The lawyer leaned forward. "Your privacy will be gone, Lucien. Some people might see your past before they see your work."

Lucien exhaled. "Then I'll make damn sure my work speaks louder."

Friday Afternoon – Clara's Apartment

Clara zipped the last suitcase shut. The flight to Paris was in two days.

She stared around the room — her art materials packed, books stacked, the walls bare where her sketches used to hang. The life she'd built in this small corner of the world was neatly boxed, ready for transformation.

But her heart hadn't caught up yet.

A knock at the door. Lucien.

He held up two takeout coffees and a paper bag. "Fuel for decisions."

She smiled. "That depends — croissants or panic pastries?"

"Both," he said, setting them down.

They sat on the couch, the city humming faintly outside.

"I heard back from the gallery today," Clara said after a moment. "They moved the schedule forward. The showcase is now within the first week of the residency."

Lucien blinked. "That's amazing."

"It is. But it's also terrifying."

"You're going to blow them away, Clara."

She hesitated, then added, "They want to display the piece we made. Ouroboros."

Lucien froze.

"They loved the texture, the shadows, the symbolism. Said it speaks to survival and rebirth." She glanced at him. "But they'll credit both of us."

He looked down. "Clara…"

"You can say no."

He shook his head slowly. "No, I want this. I need this."

She reached out, threading her fingers through his. "Then we show them what art can do."

Saturday – Downtown Gallery Café

Lucien sat across from his old photography professor, Ms. Raye — the woman who first handed him a secondhand Leica and said, "Use this to tell the truth."

He slid the flash drive across the table. "I want to submit this for the graduate spotlight."

She raised a brow. "Lucien, this is… your history. Your pain."

"I know. But it's not just mine anymore. If I don't own it, he will. I'd rather choose my truth than let someone else weaponize it."

Ms. Raye nodded slowly. "Then let's show the world who you are."

Sunday Night – Airport Terminal

The gate loomed. Paris only hours away.

Clara turned to Lucien, heart pounding. "This is it."

He handed her a small envelope. "Open it once you're in the sky."

She laughed nervously. "Is this a love letter or a cryptic treasure map?"

"Both."

They stood in silence for a beat too long.

Then he kissed her.

Not desperately — but with finality. As if sealing something between them that distance couldn't undo.

"I'll see you in the gallery lights," he whispered.

"And I'll paint you into every sky," she whispered back.

Monday Morning – 32,000 Feet in the Air

Clara opened the envelope.

Inside: a photo.

Black and white. Her, asleep in the studio, brush still in hand.

And a note:

"You saved me. Now go save yourself. And if they ask who made you brave — tell them it was love."

– L