The room absorbed the new theory. Believing that maybe Ali had visions or a slight premonition of certain things didn't scare them as much. After all, while the whole affair was strange, it fell within the realm of the reasonable for them to accept. If they were capable of accepting Barney's plans for picking up women, Ted's fantastical stories about the ideal woman, and the fact that Marshall believed Bask-ice-ball was a sport, this made it easier to let be. Especially since it explained Alyx's pain in a way that didn't make her a freak, but a victim of her own perception.
"Well, if she's a psychic," said Barney, standing up with exuberance at his new plans. "Then we need to capitalize on this. We can call her The Wall Street Oracle. We'll get her a robe, a smoke ball, some candles and incense, and best of all, we can auction her predictions online!"
"Barney," said Marshall in a tone that brooked no argument. "This does not leave this room. EVER. We just let it be. We don't ask her, we don't pressure her. If what she has are... flashes of the future, just imagine for a moment the weight that must be. Imagine knowing something bad is going to happen and not being able to stop it. Or worse, not being sure if trying to prevent it might cause something worse."
They all felt a tacit agreement sealed that afternoon in the apartment. They would work to protect her secret, or at least this simplified version they knew and could comprehend. That she wasn't a time traveler, just an audacious woman with a sharp intuition for detecting catastrophic events. That's what they wanted. That was the best explanation their hearts could handle and accept.
Meanwhile, at the gallery...
After a couple of hours of Marshall keeping her company, he left, and Alyx stayed. She took another step alone. She bought a new sketchbook and a nice new pencil. She decided this one wouldn't be for grand works, landscapes, or portraits, but for doodling shapes and ideas. The vendor, an older man with glasses, had smiled seeing her choose the most basic materials. "The first step is always the bravest," he'd told her with an age-given wisdom and a general understanding from his experience in art, with the intuition and sensitivity of an artist.
Stepping out onto the street, she ran into Tracy. This time not in the rain or seeing her battle to protect her instrument, but under the sun. This time, Tracy was carrying a double bass.
"Alyx! The universe is conspiring for us to meet," Tracy said with a smile. "How's your day going?"
"One day at a time," Alyx replied, and this time the phrase sounded like an achievement. She took the sketchbook from the small bag she carried and showed it to her. "I started a new structure. You know, something less... violent."
Tracy smiled approvingly. "I like it. Hey, feel like a coffee or tea? You know, the normal kind, not the kind that makes you shake."
They went to a small cafe where Alyx ordered a chai tea and Tracy a latte. They just talked, getting to know each other. Nothing sad, just about music, the absurdity of studying economics, how pretty the park was. For the first time in what felt like forever, Alyx felt she could have a conversation with someone about something that didn't revolve around her pain, her guilt, or her secret.
It was simply... a chat.
A bridge to normality.
As they said goodbye, Tracy told her: "That light in your eyes is new. Just don't let it go out."
Alyx nodded and also wished her well, telling her to take care of herself too.
Walking back to her apartment, she thought to herself about Lily. Something told her that Lily would be the first to know or understand her secret. She didn't know when she would understand, but at least she would know the burden she carried. She knew it not because she had the power to see the future instantly or anything, but because the years she spent with her meant she knew her well enough to understand that Lily had a sharp intuition and could piece together strange topics like hers faster. Now it was only a matter of time before Marshall and the others reached the same conclusion.
That night, back in her apartment, Alyx didn't paint on the large canvas. Instead, she opened her new sketchbook. On the first page, she drew a smooth curved line, then another that intertwined with it. It began to take the shape of a knot, something that could bind rather than break.
She took the silver earring from her pocket and placed it on the drawing. The silver shone on the white paper. It was no longer a weight of broken promises, but a reminder that love, even the most complicated kind, could be the starting point for something new, not just the epitaph of something lost.
Overall Narration
On one hand, the group of friends had created and broadly understood Alyx's secret and had decided to protect her. This woman with strange premonitions was their friend, their ex, someone they not only wanted in normal times but cherished even more in this strange moment, seeing that power as the burden that had been tormenting her.
And Alyx, for her part, was walking her slow path, one day at a time, beginning to create her own story. That of a woman who, with an earring in her pocket and a pencil in her hand, decided that her future, however vague, deserved to be sketched with strokes of hope, not despair.
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