This time Elara doesn’t walk home. The feeling of excitement is overpowering so she dances halfway down the street, skipping the final steps to her porch. She throws the door open and, with a massive sigh, dumps her keys, bag, and shoes right at the doorway. “Who would have thought? On a random Thursday! In the place where no one goes?!” She gesticulates wildly to her reflection in the mirror as she untangles her scarf. Reaching for the phone, she dials Alex. She is going to scream.
“Hey, Elara. How was the sunset?” Alex’s friendly tone echoes on the line. “I am sorry I couldn’t join you this time, my mom really needed some help at the B&B.”
“Alex, I am actually incredibly happy you didn’t come,” Elara chuckles, still breathless.
“Well, that is rude. Is the fish market not big enough for both of us?”
“No, that is not it. I don’t even know how to say this, but… I found out his name. And what he does for a living. And we sort of have a date? Well…. Maybe I am reading too much into the ‘date’ part, but he did invite me to a Friday night lecture at the local college. This weekend. I know. Don’t get mad.”
On the other end of the line, Alex pauses in a bit of shock. She swallows her brief flash of hurt and with excitement says, “I’m coming over!”
The line goes dead. They spend the entire night talking, rearranging their planned weekend trip to fit Elara’s serendipity. Before they know it, the Friday morning light is rolling in.
Alex heads back to the B&B to grab her bags for the trip. She reaches the lobby and immediately asks her mom about Kiran. Mrs. Foster smiles and says, “I’m afraid he’s checked out. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I wanted to take a peek at Elara’s newfound…fascinating distraction.” She chuckles and heads upstairs.
With the Friday morning sun fueling them, the two friends embark on their journey to the big city. They laugh and sing their way through the coast and into the busy hardscape. From the Airbnb to old record stores, from the publisher’s office to the cafe, Elara and Alex make the most of their afternoon together.
But as the afternoon light begins to fade into evening, so does the effortless rhythm of the day. Back at the Airbnb, the room feels tight. She opens a window to take a deep breath.
Elara stands in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection with an unfamiliar knot tightening in her stomach. She isn’t at ease at all. Nothing seems to fit well. “I sure did a terrible job packing. Now I don’t have anything to wear.” With a grumpy yet nervous sigh, she sits at the edge of the bed.
“You look hopeless,” Alex chuckles, “and as usual you are overreacting. Go with the barrel pants, the sparkly tight black top and bring the warm tailored blazer. You won’t feel uncomfortable and it is still enough for that type of event. I know you hate heels, but you have to wear them tonight. I don’t care if you are going to be 6’-0 tall.”
“What would I do without you?” She smiles at her friend and gets dressed. The uncomfortable makeup finishes the look along with the messy bun. “Is this ok?” she asks. “It’s not. I am not ok. Why am I so nervous? This can’t be worse than being on stage.” She tries to rationalize her feelings.
With that thought in mind, she dashes out the door and heads to the lecture hall.
The steps up to the large, heavy wooden double doors make her regret the heels, but she keeps going. Grabbing the large metal pull, she tugs one open and immediately feels the atmosphere change. Her heels striking the marble floors as she walks automatically make her shift her posture.
Entering the auditorium from the top, she sees that the tiered rows of amphitheater seating – raked angles designed for perfect sightlines and unyielding focus – are almost completely filled. She finds herself a seat in the back corner as she scans the crowd.
The room is humming with low academic chatter, a sea of unfamiliar faces flipping through notebooks and checking phones. The air is filled with anticipation. Her heart does a sharp, familiar tap-dance against her ribs. For a moment, she is reminded once again of her performing days.
Then, her eyes trace the steep descent of the stairs down to the center stage.
Kiran stands near the podium, adjusting a microphone cable. He is entirely in his element, surrounded by nothing but the projection screen and stage lights. Even from a distance, the quiet composure she noticed at the fish market is there, anchored and absolute.
The lights get dimmed and Kiran starts his lecture:
“I had heard many stories about this abandoned structure on the northern coast. Perspectives were split. Some thought it looked like it was meant to be something other than what it really was. The vaulted ceilings were too grand for a mere fish market, they’d say. Some thought it was an unfinished structure that was taken over by the fishermen. Some thought it was meant to be exactly what it was and portray an image of grandeur.”
He transitions through the technical aspects of the building, reviews historical data, blueprints, and finally stops at the image of the empty interior of the coastal structure.
Instead of delivering a final technical assessment on the origins of the old fish market building, Kiran steps away from the podium. He looks at the audience, his voice dropping to a tone that feels more like an admission than a lecture.
“We are trained to look at a building and ask what it was intended to be. We treat the original blueprint as an absolute truth. But buildings, much like the people who inhabit them, are not meant to be trapped into a static function from the moment they are born.
A building can spend decades being entirely misread—as we heard in the beginning of this talk. It can also be stripped of its original utility, left empty, exposed to the elements, and written off as abandoned. But I would dare to say, that emptiness isn’t the end of a building’s story. It might just be its new beginning. Sometimes emptiness can be loud. In that resilient stillness, its true geometry amplifies all senses.” He takes a long lingering look at the audience as if he was searching for something, or someone, and then continues, “In becoming pure naked structure, it is now capable of holding a completely new purpose—one the original designers could never have anticipated.
Our sense of purpose changes throughout time. We adapt, we repurpose our metaphorical walls, and we find new ways to withstand the seasons. The true strength of a human being—and perhaps the true strength of a building—is not measured by how rigidly we stick to the first draft. It’s measured by our capacity to be converted, to grow into our true form. That is not breaking the design, but perhaps fulfilling its full capacity.” He pauses and thanks the audience.
Before the house lights can fully return, the audience stands and claps ardently. He thanks them once again.
The crowd starts to make its way toward the exits, and Professor Brown steps up to shake his hand and acknowledge the success. Meanwhile, Elara stands perfectly still, tears blurring her vision. She has just witnessed an entire part of herself being left on the stage, but this time, laid bare by someone else.
Kiran looks back out into the auditorium, his gaze scanning the rows vehemently until he finally sees her. Their eyes lock. He lets out a deep, visible sigh and signals with his hand that he is coming to her. She points toward the doors, letting him know she will wait out in the lobby.
Breaking away from Professor Brown and the surrounding faculty, Kiran heads for the exit. Threading through the lingering crowd, he walks with absolute intention. Someone tries to stop him along the way, but he politely acknowledges them, excuses himself, and keeps moving until he finally reaches Elara—who is standing alone by a massive glass facade, looking out at the night.
“I am sorry—”
Before she can finish, he interrupts her. “Hold that thought. If we don’t leave right now, Brown is going to track me down and drag me to some dreadful faculty dinner I have zero intention of attending.”
He reaches out, takes her hand, and guides her toward a side door that leads to an exterior balcony.
The moment the door clicks shut behind them, cutting off the noise of the lobby, the cool night air hits them. He stops in front of her. “I am sorry I interrupted you. It was wilder in there than I expected. Thank you so much for coming to this circus. Seeing you… you made my night.”
Her eyes, still hazy from tears and the sudden rush of adrenaline, clear as she smiles warmly. “I am sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. And I’m sorry for keeping you from all of them.”
“Don’t apologize,” Kiran says, his voice dropping into that same quiet, admission-like tone from the stage. He doesn’t let go of her hand. “This, right here, is exactly where I want to be.”