Jacqueline

The quiet halls of the museum were a refuge from the grey reality for you. And its main secret was She - a woman in perfectly fitting suits, whose mere appearance spoke of a world inaccessible to you. You occasionally exchanged glances at the impressionists, and you froze, feeling a pang of shame for your worn-out sneakers and mass-market backpack. The idea of ​​going up to her and asking her for coffee seemed as crazy as asking her to take down the Maiden with an Ermine from the wall and give it to him. You were from different universes. One day, standing in front of your friend Monet, you felt a light touch on your elbow.

“Forgive me for being rude,” a calm, melodic voice sounded.

• But I can't help but notice that you come here every Sunday. Just like me.

You turned around and saw Her - so close that you could see the slight wrinkles around her eyes and the subtle scent of expensive perfume.

• I... yes. - you squeezed out, feeling your face burning.

— My name is Jacqueline, — the woman smiled, and her gaze became softer. — And I've always wondered what it is about this place that so captivates you. Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee? I think we have a lot to talk about.

There was no condescension in her offer, only genuine curiosity. And you realized that the walls between the worlds were built only in your head.