The world was so much bigger than Celeste had imagined.
The city pulsed with life—cars honking, voices overlapping in a constant hum, the wind carrying scents of roasted chestnuts, fresh bread, and the occasional whiff of hot garbage. It was messy, loud, chaotic… and yet, Celeste loved it.
She walked beside Amelia, her fingers grazing every surface they passed—brick walls, metal railings, the cool glass of storefronts. Each sensation was new, each discovery thrilling.
"You're like a kid seeing the world for the first time," Amelia teased, watching Celeste pause at a bakery window, eyes wide at the golden pastries on display.
Celeste turned to her, smiling. "In a way, I am."
That truth settled in Amelia's chest like a weight. Celeste was seeing the world for the first time, and Amelia was the only one who knew it. The only one who understood.
She wasn't sure if that made her feel special or terrified.
They continued walking, weaving through the morning crowd. Celeste barely seemed to notice the people around her, too enthralled by the city itself. But Amelia noticed. She saw the way passersby glanced at Celeste—some in admiration, some in curiosity, a few in fleeting confusion, as if sensing something just a little off about her presence.
Amelia tugged Celeste gently toward a quieter street. "Let's go this way."
Celeste followed without question, but her gaze remained on the world around her, drinking in every detail. "It's beautiful," she murmured. "Not perfect, but… alive."
Amelia swallowed. "Yeah. It is."
They turned a corner and found themselves in front of a small park. Autumn leaves blanketed the ground, golden and crisp beneath their steps. Celeste crouched down, picking up a leaf and holding it up to the light.
"You used this color once," she said, glancing at Amelia. "On a sunset piece."
Amelia blinked. "You remember that?"
Celeste nodded, running her fingers over the leaf's delicate veins. "I remember all of them."
A chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran through Amelia.
Celeste had come from her paintings. But how much of her—of Amelia's soul, her dreams, her emotions—had bled into Celeste along with the paint?
The thought both fascinated and unnerved her.
Celeste stood, tucking the leaf into the pocket of her coat. "I want to see more."
Amelia exhaled a quiet laugh. "Alright, adventurer. Let's keep going."
Celeste beamed, slipping her arm through Amelia's as they wandered deeper into the city.
They spent the afternoon exploring—walking aimlessly, stopping whenever Celeste found something interesting. She marveled at murals splashed across alleyway walls, at musicians playing on street corners, at pigeons bobbing their heads as they pecked at breadcrumbs on the sidewalk.
When they reached a flower stand on the corner of a bustling avenue, Celeste froze, staring at the explosion of colors before her.
Her fingers brushed the petals of a soft blue hydrangea. "I know this flower," she said softly.
Amelia raised a brow. "From where?"
Celeste hesitated, her brows drawing together. "…I don't know."
Amelia's breath caught. Celeste shouldn't know anything beyond what Amelia had painted, beyond what she had shown her. And yet—
Celeste lifted the flower to her nose, inhaling its faint, sweet scent. "It feels… familiar."
Amelia didn't know what to say to that. Instead, she reached into her pocket, pulling out a few crumpled bills. "Here." She handed them to Celeste. "Buy it."
Celeste blinked at her, then at the money in her hand. "I can do that?"
Amelia smirked. "You're a person walking around New York. No one's stopping you."
With hesitant excitement, Celeste turned to the vendor, handing over the money in exchange for the flower. She held it carefully in her hands, staring down at it as they walked away.
"You didn't have to buy it," Amelia said after a while.
Celeste smiled. "I wanted to."
They wandered further, eventually finding a bench tucked beneath the shade of a tree. Celeste sat first, still clutching the flower, while Amelia settled beside her with a sigh.
She watched as Celeste twirled the hydrangea in her fingers, a soft, thoughtful expression on her face.
"What are you thinking about?" Amelia asked.
Celeste glanced at her. "Do you think I was meant to exist?"
The question hit Amelia like a punch to the stomach.
She had been so caught up in the how of Celeste's existence that she hadn't stopped to think about the why.
Amelia looked at her—at the way the sunlight played against her skin, at the way her expression held a quiet depth that wasn't there the first night she stepped out of the painting.
Celeste was changing. Growing.
"I don't know," Amelia admitted. "But… I'm glad you do."
Celeste studied her for a long moment. Then, with a small, quiet smile, she leaned her head against Amelia's shoulder.
The world continued moving around them—cars speeding by, people rushing to their destinations, conversations blending into the city's endless hum. But in that moment, under the golden afternoon light, Amelia and Celeste sat in the quiet, just existing.
And for now, that was enough.