A Small story: Elara couldn't stop bouncing her knee under the cafΓ© table. "You're not going to believe this, Ben!" she said, leaning forward, her coffee was forgotten. "The gallery... they're giving me a solo exhibition! A full month, in the main hall. They loved the new series!" Ben, who had been idly stirring his own drink for the past five minutes, looked up. He didn't smile, not really. He offered a small, placid tilt of his head. "Oh, that's nice, Elara," he said, his voice as smooth and lukewarm as his latte. "A lot of work, I imagine." The bubble of her excitement didn't pop, but it suddenly felt very thin. "Work? Of course! It's what I've been aiming for since college! It's... it's everything!" "Is it?" Ben asked. It wasn't a question; it was a statement. He took a slow sip. "You know, I was just meditating this morning, watching the light hit the dust motes in my apart...
