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Set within a historic museum in a coastal city, An Engagement: At the Museum is a piece of contemporary flash fiction exploring solitude, anticipation, and the quiet weight of shared spaces. Against the backdrop of a Victorian building hosting a modern literature festival, the story blends architectural detail with emotional reflection, capturing a moment suspended between past routines and possible change. Rich in atmosphere and interiority, this short fiction will appeal to readers interested in literary flash fiction, relationship narratives, and stories rooted in cultural landmarks and everyday intimacy.

An Engagement: at the Museum

The museum is new, though the building isn’t. Its gold-faced clock speaks a slow authority to the port city below, glinting from the surrounding hills as the last frost loosens under a pale midday sun.

She climbs the front steps carefully—kitten heels, tight dark denim, the practiced balance of someone used to arriving alone. Red-brick arches swallow her, and inside the café glows: high stained glass throwing colour across cups and tables.

She has been here often—receptions, lectures, exhibitions, guided tours of the great Victorian shell—but today is louder. It’s the opening day of the literature festival. Apparently it has grown into something respectable. She makes a mental note to check the programme later: readings, signings, the possibility of discovery.

A queue snakes around a bookstall. Popular authors, then. She considers buying a copy—for her mother, perhaps, or herself. Something to read over Christmas, during the deliberate quiet she now prefers. She hasn’t gone to her mother’s in years. No forced cheer, no obligation. Just solitude, planned and savoured. Better than before: the shouting, the annual argument, his sulk over an under-seasoned roast and her dwindling appetite for effort.

Good, she thinks. He’s not here yet.

Coffee ordered, she moves to the quieter side of the café. She smooths her top—dark print—and checks her reflection in the chrome menu holder. Smart-casual, convincingly untroubled. They’d chosen this place because they both loved it, because their offices dotted the same red-brick perimeter.

She sips her latte. Lunch, perhaps. Wine, maybe just one glass. She reminds herself not to forget the plan.

He arrives flushed and clean, as if he’s jogged straight out of the morning. She lifts a hand. He’s carrying shopping bags—a toy store, a sports shop—unexpected, slightly absurd. He sets them down, kisses her cheek, smiles.

“You look lovely,” he says.

She does.

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