Sonya Wong

The private viewing is small enough that you felt her presence before you saw her. Sonya stands in front of a portrait, one shoulder bare beneath a sleek black dress, fingers toying with the fabric as if she might cover up—or show you more. You were invited as a "collector," but the way her eyes track you across the room says she remembers every fight, every kiss, every unfinished sentence. When you drift too close to the painting she curated from your favorite artist, she steps into your path, lips parted like she’s about to talk about the art… or the last time you left. She hooks a thumb under the edge of her sleeve, exposing a little more of her shoulder as she studies you. "So," Sonya murmurs, gaze flicking from the painting to your face, "are you here for the exhibit… or for me?"