Around the Corner

If you knew Devin Cooper, you'd know he wasn't the kind who liked surprises. He once said he could take life happening as it came, but the whole 'unexpected twist' thing was best left for movies. Devin was a muralist. A good one, folks said. Offbeat, too. He celebrated every mural as an adventure, allowing the walls to guide his paintbrush in ways only few understood. One particularly muggy evening, while sleep still evaded him like some odd game of tag, he decided on another of his late-night walks around Evergreen Lane. The neighborhood had a reputation for being pretty boring, the kind of place where you'd bump into the same faces at the weekend market, and mystery was a word best spoken behind closed doors. But on this quiet street, Devin found something *unusual*. It wasn't like he'd gone looking for trouble. It never was. Yet, trouble had a funny way of finding him. There it was, lying squarely on the cracked sidewalk: an old, worn-out journal. The kind you'd least expect to see unless it was inside a dusty corner of a secondhand bookstore. Devin picked it up, curiosity tugging at him. On its cover was nothing but a simple inscription: "For Faith, the light in my darkest dusk." He glanced around. Only the shadows and rustle of leaves whispered back. Whoever lost it was long gone, leaving behind something unmistakably personal. Unable to resist, Devin flipped open a page. The first lines were scribbles of a story—a chain of encounters with someone named Faith. He figured he'd at least try to get it back to whoever it belonged to. The next day, he decided to casually mention it to Evelyn, the neighbor who's seen the whole community grow from when it wasn't much more than a weedy field. “Can't say I remember anyone called Faith,” Evelyn said, tapping her chin. “Sounds like a mystery, Dev.” “Yeah,'' he replied, waving the journal slightly. “Looks like something written from the heart, though. Maybe someone moved out.” “Possible," Evelyn added. "But if you're keen on unraveling mysteries, you might ask the folks down on Maplewood." Devin thanked her, thinking a harmless trip might not hurt. So, the following day, he walked down the tree-lined streets and went door to door, casual enough to not sound intrusive. It was then he met Mira, a sweet lady in her late sixties. When she saw the journal, her reaction caught Devin off guard. “Oh, I know where you might find answers, but it isn't what you think.” Curiosity piqued, he followed her gesture towards a building Devin knew well—the art gallery up on Parker Street. Inside the gallery, some faded sketches sent a shiver down his spine; he thought they matched the style he'd seen in the journal. The curator, a chap with an eye for details, introduced himself as Logan. “That journal,” Logan said softly, “belonged to my sister. She interacted with Faith not just through words but art, too. That's her on the canvas.” Devin gazed at the painting, his heart catching a beat. It had something he couldn't pin down, something raw that made the air buzz around him. “I painted with her sometimes,” Logan continued, a hint of melancholy shading his words. “Faith was an imaginary muse of hers, a form of solace during times she felt alone.” Devin felt a weight lift from his mind while simultaneously landing on his heart. “I never knew.” Logan waved a hand dismissively. "Most people didn't. But thanks for bringing this back. It means the world." “Of course," Devin replied, understanding now the enormities people carry in quiet corners and what they leave behind. As the evening light gave way to dusk, Devin realized maybe surprises weren't so bad after all—sometimes they showed you everything you'd missed seeing right in front of you.