The museum had always been one of my favorite places, even if for most people it was nothing more than a tourist stop. For me, each room was a refuge: the history of the North, the ancient objects, the stories of the pioneers. Everything had something to tell, and I enjoyed being the voice that kept them alive.
I’ve worked here for almost a year. It’s not a dream job, of course, but I like it. Between my classes at the University of Yukon and the hours I spend in this place, I feel like I make good use of my time. Besides, it allows me to save money, gain some independence… and, deep down, it gives me a certain sense of security to have a place where I belong.
I was born in Colombia and lived there until I was nine, before my parents decided to move to Canada. I still don’t fully know what their reasons were; maybe they were looking for a more stable future, maybe a different life. The truth is that, even though I adapted quickly, part of me still feels like I have two different roots, and both carry their own weight.
I’m an only child. Sometimes people tell me that’s why I’m so sociable, that I look for outside company to make up for what I never had at home. It might be true. I’ve always found it easy to make friends, and my relationship with my parents is good, even close. I don’t have many complaints.
That Monday began like any other: alarm at seven, a rushed cup of coffee, a mental review of my university tasks. I checked my notes before leaving, put on my museum uniform, and walked downtown. The cold air reddened my cheeks, but I was already used to it.
I arrived on time, as always. Greeting at reception, preparing the room for the morning group, adjusting the ponytail of my short hair in an improvised reflection on the glass display case. Everything was routine, a mechanism I repeated without thinking.
And yet, there was something different in the air that day. I couldn’t say what. Maybe it was the nerves of guiding a larger group than usual, or perhaps… the fleeting memory of a gaze that had crossed mine days before, a gaze that still lingered in my mind.
I didn’t know then that I would see her again.
Before starting my shift, I made myself a coffee; I needed something to calm my nerves or, at least, to keep me awake. I wasn’t the only one feeling that way: when I asked my coworkers if they wanted one, they all accepted without hesitation. I assumed they felt it too—today would be a busy day, with many visitors walking through the museum.
With the tray in hand, I handed out each cup until I was left with the last one, meant for Eliot, the receptionist. He was one of those people who are hard to figure out: kind, discreet, and reliable, though not very talkative. Sometimes he surprised us by inviting the whole group out to eat, as if he didn’t care about spending extra. Among us, there was a rumor that he had enough money to never work a single day in his life, and that being at the museum was just a way to keep from getting bored.
I was about to leave his coffee and go when I heard his voice:
“Isabella,” he said in his calm tone. I stopped and walked back, curious.
“Last Saturday someone asked about you. I didn’t give any information, for security.”
I felt something spark inside me. The words had barely reached me and I already wanted to know more.
“What did she look like?” I asked quickly, with an enthusiasm that surprised even me.
Eliot raised an eyebrow at me, amused.
“I didn’t say it was a ‘she,’” he replied, with a strange smile, as if he had discovered something I didn’t even understand myself. “Don’t worry, I just mentioned that maybe, if she came today, she might see you. I just hope that doesn’t ruin the way you guide people,” he added, laughing softly.
I didn’t really understand why I had gotten so excited. I barely remembered her face, a fleeting impression of a stranger who had watched me from afar… why did that idea make my heart race like this? I tried to convince myself it was just curiosity, an innocent desire to get to know someone who had caught my attention unexpectedly. Nothing more.
Time moved forward with unbearable slowness. When it was finally my turn to guide the group, it was almost noon. The visitors waited expectantly, and I was supposed to focus on them, but my eyes kept drifting toward the entrance, looking for her. With every minute that passed without seeing her, a knot of disappointment tightened in my chest. It was absurd, I knew, but I couldn’t help it.
I woke up earlier than usual that Monday. Maybe it was the nerves or simply the habit of waking up early after so many night shifts, but by eight I was already up. The house was quiet, barely interrupted by the creak of the coffee maker and the sound of oil heating in the pan. Like every morning, I prepared breakfast for both my mom and me. She was still asleep, but I liked leaving the table ready for her—it was a way of caring without saying too much.
I couldn’t eat calmly. Every bite felt heavier than usual, as if my stomach knew what was waiting for me. Even so, I forced myself to finish, pretending a calmness I didn’t feel. I kept telling myself over and over that it was nothing extraordinary: I would just attend one of the museum’s guided tours, a place I knew by heart. But deep down, I knew… I was doing it for her.
At nine-thirty, I left the house. The museum was just a few blocks away, so in less than ten minutes I was already there, too early to go in. I walked along the nearby sidewalks, aimlessly, looking at shop windows and the flow of people coming and going. Everything seemed slower than usual, as if time were mocking me, stretching itself on purpose.
When the time finally approached, I adjusted my black hoodie and pulled up the hood, hiding my face as much as I could. I didn’t want to draw attention, didn’t want to seem anxious or vulnerable. With my loose white pants and calm pace, I almost looked like someone else.
Inside the museum, the crowd moved like a disordered river. I blended into it effortlessly, going unnoticed among visitors and tourists. The nerves were there, pulsing in my chest, but I forced them under control. I wasn’t going to let them show.
The tour began, and to my surprise, my nerves soon faded. That place became my refuge, a space where I could be invisible among the crowd. Among so many faces, I managed to see her, radiant in her role as a guide. I didn’t know how long she had been working there, but she seemed born for that place: she didn’t hesitate, she spoke with confidence, and she conveyed a passion that felt genuine. However, something caught my attention. Her eyes moved across the group, as if searching for someone in particular. I assumed it was part of her job, making sure everyone was attentive and comfortable. Until her gaze, once again, met mine.
This time, she didn’t smile. That detail threw me off. Dressed in my black hoodie and loose pants, with the hood covering me, I could understand why someone might see me as suspicious. For a moment, I thought about leaving, disappearing like the first time, but I remembered the effort it had taken me to be there and decided to stay.
Near the end of the tour, I noticed again how her eyes searched for me among the group. Again and again, as if she wanted to make sure I was still there. The heat inside the museum became suffocating and, without thinking too much, I lowered my hood. That was when her expression changed: it was no longer serious, but she gave me that same smile that had sparked something in me from the very first time. I felt my cheeks burn and lowered my head, embarrassed.
When the tour ended, people crowded around her to congratulate her or ask questions. I, on the other hand, stayed on the sidelines, waiting for the moment, though I didn’t know how to start a conversation. It wasn’t something I knew how to do; words got stuck unless I was at work or talking to my mother. I was trapped in my thoughts until I heard a soft, calm voice that pulled me out of my doubts in an instant.
“Hi,” she said. “You’re not going to run away this time, are you?” she laughed.
Embarrassment hit me all at once. I remembered how pathetic it had been to run away that time. But this time I didn’t want to repeat it. I took a deep breath and gathered my courage.
“No… I won’t run away this time. Sorry about that. I don’t usually talk to people, not because I can’t or don’t know how, I just… don’t. You called me and I got nervous. I ran off without thinking.” The words came out rushed, as if I couldn’t stop them.
She laughed again, not mockingly, but with a certain tenderness.
“Don’t worry. I called you because you seemed interested in the museum, I wanted you to join. Although…” she paused, with a glint in her eyes, “I also wanted to talk to you, just the two of us. What’s your name?”
“Liz,” I replied without thinking. “Elizabeth.”
“Nice to meet you, Liz. Isabella,” she said, with a smile that disarmed me.
We talked for a few minutes, nothing out of the ordinary: about the museum, about how she had moved to Canada as a child, about university. She was the complete opposite of me—she radiated life, warmth, that spark that only characters in books or movies seem to have. And yet, she was there, talking to me.
“Well, I have to go,” she said suddenly. “Can I give you my number? I’d like to keep talking to you, Liz.”
My heart skipped a beat. I simply nodded and saved her contact on my phone. She left, and I was left with the feeling of having lived one of the best days of my life.
I left the museum smiling, something uncommon for me. I found my mom’s car parked in front of the house and couldn’t hold back—I ran to tell her everything. We ordered food, talked for hours, and even then the smile stayed on my face.
I went up to my room afterward. I wasn’t tired, but I lay on the bed with my phone in hand. The problem was different now: I had her number, but I didn’t know what to say. Send a simple “hi”? What if she was busy? The doubt consumed me, and when I realized it, it was already four. I had to rush to work.
I arrived just in time. I put on my apron and threw myself into the routine. Customer after customer, until, at eight, already exhausted, my eyes met the unexpected. Isabella.
She wasn’t alone. A woman and a man were with her. I assumed they were her parents; after all, she had told me about them. I had to serve them. My heart pounded in my chest. She had given me her number and I hadn’t written to her all day.
I approached as if nothing was happening, with the same voice I used with all customers.
“Good evening, I’m Elizabeth and I’ll be your waitress tonight.”
Our eyes met. For a few seconds, no one said anything. Isabella seemed surprised, almost amused. They ordered normally, and I took refuge in protocol. But as soon as I could escape, I ran to the bathroom. With my phone in hand, without thinking too much, I started typing.
I took out my phone with damp hands, the glow of the screen making me feel like everyone could see me. I hesitated for a few seconds, until I forced myself to write something brief.
“Hi… it’s Liz.”
The reply didn’t take long.
“Hi, Liz. I didn’t know you worked here.”
For a moment, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I replied without thinking too much, though I deleted it twice before daring to send it.
“Yeah… almost every night. It was strange seeing you, I didn’t expect it.”
The typing indicator appeared again.
“Strange, but nice. I guess today you surprised me.”
I read that last sentence over and over, not knowing exactly what it meant. My chest tightened, as if someone had uncovered a secret I didn’t even understand myself. I pressed my lips together and, before I could give myself time to reply, the bathroom door opened and one of the girls from the place walked in.
I flinched, clumsily put my phone away, and looked at myself in the mirror, trying to recover my usual neutral expression. I remembered that I wasn’t at home or in the quiet of my room, but at work. I took a deep breath, adjusted my apron, and returned to the dining area with my heart still unsettled.
The noise of the bar was deafening: glasses clinking, conversations blending into one another, and the sound of music barely audible beneath it all. Even so, my mind was elsewhere, on one particular table. Isabella’s.
I caught myself looking at her more than I should, as if I needed to confirm every moment that she was really there, smiling as she talked with her parents.
I approached other tables several times, carrying plates and collecting empty glasses, but inevitably my steps brushed past hers, looking for any excuse to make sure everything was alright. When I finally gathered the courage, I held the tray firmly and approached.
“Is everything alright?” I asked, trying to sound professional, though my voice trembled slightly.
Isabella looked at me with that calm that always seemed to accompany her, as if she were in her own world.
“Yes, everything’s perfect. Thank you, Liz.” She smiled, and then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, turned to her parents. “Oh, by the way… this is Elizabeth, a friend I just met today at the museum.”
I froze for a moment. The word friend echoed inside me with a strange force, as if I had received an unexpected gift. I smiled, though I felt my cheeks burn.
“Nice to meet you,” I said awkwardly, lowering my gaze slightly and gripping the tray more than necessary.
Her mother returned a warm, kind smile, while her father nodded politely, as someone who acknowledges a brief introduction before returning to their meal.
“Elizabeth was very attentive during the guided tour,” Isabella added, as if she needed to reaffirm that connection.
I simply nodded, not quite knowing what to say, afraid of saying too much and ruining the moment. There was something about the way she included me, so simple and natural, that disarmed me.
Another table called for my attention at the back of the room, forcing me to excuse myself quickly.
“Well… if you need anything, I’ll be nearby,” I said, and as soon as I turned away, I felt my heart pounding, as if reminding me that moment had been real.
I moved between the tables with a shy smile I couldn’t erase, carrying with me that word Isabella had given me: friend.
The bar’s clock struck eleven, and I felt the relief of finally taking off my apron. The exhaustion weighed on my shoulders, but inside me something still pulsed strongly, like a motor keeping me awake. I said goodbye to my coworkers and went out through the back door, searching for the cool night air.
The cold hit my face immediately, forcing me to zip up my jacket. What I didn’t expect was to see her there, standing by the entrance, as if time hadn’t passed. Isabella, with her arms crossed to keep warm, gave me a small smile when she noticed me.
I stood still, unable to hide my surprise.
“What are you doing here?” I asked quietly, with more nerves than reproach.
She shrugged naturally.
“I asked one of your coworkers what time you finished… and decided to wait for you.”
Her words fell on me like a shared secret, something no one else should hear. I tried not to show what I was feeling, even though inside everything seemed to ignite.
“You didn’t have to,” I murmured, even though deep down I wished she would always stay there, waiting for me.
“I know,” she replied calmly. “But I wanted to.”
For a moment, the silence between us blended with the distant murmur of traffic and the cold breath of the wind. Isabella was the one who broke it first.
“What do you think if one day… we go out? When we’re both free, of course.”
I swallowed, trying to keep my answer from revealing the emotion running through me.
“I’d like that,” I said, barely able to hold her gaze.
She nodded, satisfied, as if that agreement was enough for now. She said goodbye with a simple gesture and started walking down the street. I followed her with my eyes until her figure disappeared among the lights.
The cold was still there, but inside me, the only thing I felt was warmth.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.