༺Masterpiece༻

XLI :: Perhaps, Enough

After Antonella finished tying the knot on my tie, there was a lingering silence between us, heavy with unspoken emotions. She stepped back, her hands slowly releasing the fabric as if reluctant to let go of the last link that connected us. I gave her a small, grateful nod, trying to muster a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes. There was a brief exchange of glances, hers soft with understanding and mine shadowed with the remnants of our earlier conversation.

With a final look at her, I turned and left the room, the weight of our discussion still pressing down on my shoulders, though not as heavily as before. The corridor outside felt cooler, almost as if the house itself had been holding its breath. As I descended the stairs, each step felt lighter, like I was shedding the layers of tension that had built up over the past few hours. By the time I reached the front door, the tightness in my chest had loosened, though the melancholy still lingered like a distant echo.

Stepping outside, the morning air greeted me with a gentle breeze, carrying with it the faint scent of blooming flowers from the garden. It was comforting, in a way, to feel the world continuing on, indifferent to the turmoil within me. I took a deep breath, letting the fresh air cleanse the remnants of my earlier distress. There was still much to process, but for now, I felt a bit more at peace.

My destination was Jimin’s chamber, a privately owned mental hospital where he had recently begun working. It was a place that always made me feel slightly out of place, an artist trying to fit into a world of clinical precision and psychological complexity. The hospital was nestled in a quiet part of the city, its tall, imposing structure surrounded by manicured lawns and carefully pruned hedges. The exterior was modern and sleek, all glass and steel, designed to exude a sense of calm authority.

As I entered the lobby, the transition from the outside world to this meticulously controlled environment was jarring. The air inside was cool and carried the unmistakable scent of antiseptic, a smell that always made me a little uneasy. The walls were painted in soft, neutral tones—beige, pale green, and light blue—colors carefully chosen to soothe the mind. It was all so different from the vibrant chaos of my studio, where colors clashed and danced with wild abandon.

The lobby was spacious, with plush seating arranged in neat clusters. A large, abstract painting dominated one wall, its swirling forms and muted colors almost a mockery of the controlled environment it inhabited. There were potted plants placed strategically around the room, their glossy leaves reflecting the artificial lighting that bathed the entire space in a soft, sterile glow. The reception desk was sleek and modern, manned by a young woman whose smile was as practiced as the polished veneer of the hospital itself.

I nodded at her as I walked past, offering a brief, polite smile that didn’t quite know what else to do . The hallways were wide and lined with doors, each leading to private rooms or offices. The sound of my footsteps echoed softly against the polished floors, a constant reminder of how alien this world was to me. I could feel the eyes of the staff on me, their curiosity evident as they noted my presence—an artist masquerading as a med student, playing a role I barely understood.

Despite my discomfort, I couldn’t help but admire the design of the place. The architecture was flawless, every detail meticulously planned to create an environment that was both calming and authoritative. But as much as I appreciated the aesthetic, it wasn’t my world. Here, in these sterile hallways, I was a stranger, an outsider peering into a world of science and healing that was far removed from the vibrant, chaotic world of art that I belonged to.

Finally, I reached Jimin’s office, a polished wooden door with a gleaming metal plaque bearing his name. Beneath it, his title was etched in neat, professional lettering—a stark reminder of how far he had come. I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorknob as I gathered my thoughts. The conversation with Antonella still weighed on my mind, but seeing Jimin, being in his space, felt like the right thing to do. Taking a deep breath, I knocked lightly before pushing the door open, stepping into the world he had carved out for himself—a world so different from mine, yet intertwined with it in ways I was only beginning to understand.