#WritcoStoryChallenge
The painting was yellowed with rounded edges. It was a masterpiece and it was lying in my hand.

Wait, have I stolen it? I don't remember purchasing it, and the thought of stealing such a valuable piece made my heart race.

I glanced around nervously, expecting at any moment for the security alarms to sound and the authorities to come rushing in. But no one seemed to be paying me any mind.

I quickly made my way to the exit, clutching the painting tightly to my chest. I knew I had to get rid of it before anyone discovered it was missing.

But at the same time, I couldn't bear to part with such a beautiful work of art. As I reached the street outside, a figure stepped out from the shadows.

It was a man in a dark suit, his face obscured by the brim of his hat. "You have something that doesn't belong to you," he said, his voice cold and unfeeling. "I...I don't know how it came into my possession," I stammered, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me.

The man reached out a hand and took the painting from me, his touch gentle but firm. "This belongs to someone who has been waiting a long time for its return," he said, before disappearing back into the shadows.

I stood there, feeling a mix of relief and sadness as I watched the man walk away with the painting.

I may never know where it came from or who it truly belonged to, but I knew one thing for certain - it was a masterpiece that deserved to be cherished and appreciated by its rightful owner.

And perhaps, in some small way, I played a part in its journey back home.


© Shafiya