Mr.Brightside

Chapter 63

Jack's Challenge

The hum of the electric saw buzzed in my ears, steady and rhythmic, but my mind was far from the present moment. My hands moved over the wood with practiced ease, cutting smooth lines into the piece I was working on, but my thoughts were miles away—back in the gallery, in Clara's studio, in the space between us that was widening and shrinking all at once.

The table I had finished the day before still sat in the corner of the shop, its polished surface gleaming under the workbench light. I was proud of it, proud of the fact that I had taken a step forward in my craft and in my life. But there was an ache inside me that no amount of woodworking could smooth over.

I needed to talk to Clara. Really talk.

We had exchanged texts, sure, but nothing deep, nothing about what came next for us. And I knew—if we didn't have that conversation soon, the distance between us might become too wide to cross.

A Call

I switched off the saw, pulling my goggles down to rest around my neck as I wiped the sweat from my brow. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I instinctively reached for it, hoping it was Clara.

It wasn't. It was Greg.

"Hey, man," I said, leaning against the workbench. "What's up?"

"Just checking in on you. Haven't heard from you in a bit. How's everything going with the gallery? And with Clara?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "The gallery is good. Sent them the table yesterday. They're interested in seeing more, but..."

"But?" Greg's voice was calm, the way it always was when he sensed I was about to unload.

I hesitated, staring at the grain of the wood beneath my hands. "Clara's exhibit is coming up soon. We've been giving each other space, and I'm doing my thing here. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm not doing enough. That if I don't step up, I'm going to lose her."

Greg was quiet for a moment before he spoke. "You've been working hard, Jack. You're building something for yourself, which is what Clara wanted for you. But if you're worried, maybe it's time to stop waiting and make a move."

His words hung in the air, and I knew he was right. I couldn't just sit back and hope things would fall into place. I had to make them fall into place.

"I've been thinking about that," I admitted. "But I don't know if I'm ready."

Greg chuckled softly. "You'll never be completely ready. That's the thing about life, man. You've just gotta go for it."

I thanked him and hung up, my mind racing. Maybe it was time. Time to stop overthinking and start acting.

A Plan Forms

I couldn't just show up at Clara's exhibit without being sure of where we stood. We had to have that conversation first. I needed to know if she still saw a future for us, if we could figure this out together.

But I also knew that just talking wouldn't be enough. Clara had always appreciated action—seeing that I was committed to more than just words.

I stared at the table I had finished for the gallery, the idea forming slowly in the back of my mind. What if I made something for her? Something that showed her exactly how I felt, how much I believed in us?

It had to be something special, something meaningful.

I walked around the workshop, gathering materials as the design began to take shape in my mind. This wasn't just going to be another table or chair. This was going to be a piece that told our story—our ups, our downs, our growth. Something she could see and feel, a symbol of the life we were trying to build.

The Design

By the time I sat down at the drawing table, my head was buzzing with possibilities. I sketched out the rough idea—a custom cabinet, carved with intricate details that reflected the moments we'd shared. I wanted the piece to have a sense of movement, to show the journey we had been on, both individually and together.

The top of the cabinet would be smooth and polished, a surface to hold something important—perhaps one of her paintings, or something symbolic of the future we were working toward. But the sides would be more organic, with carved patterns that represented the twists and turns of our relationship.

I worked through the night, refining the design until it felt just right. As the hours passed, I could feel a new sense of clarity settling over me. This wasn't just about proving something to Clara—it was about proving something to myself. That I could be the man she needed, the man I wanted to be.

The First Cut

The next morning, I got to work. Every cut, every stroke of the chisel, every turn of the wood felt deliberate, purposeful. I wasn't just building a piece of furniture—I was building a future.

As the cabinet began to take shape, I felt that familiar mixture of pride and nervousness. This piece had to be perfect. It had to capture everything I was feeling, everything I wanted to say.

The wood was coming alive under my hands, the grain revealing patterns I hadn't expected. It was almost like the piece had a life of its own, guiding me as much as I was guiding it.

I knew it wouldn't be finished in time for Clara's exhibit, but that was okay. This was something for afterward, something to remind her—and myself—that we were worth fighting for, worth building toward.

A Step Forward

By the time the sun was setting, I had made significant progress on the cabinet. It wasn't finished, but I could see it coming together, the lines and curves flowing in a way that felt right.

I stepped back, wiping the sweat from my forehead, and allowed myself a small smile. This was more than just a piece of furniture. It was my way of showing Clara that I was committed, that I was ready to build a life with her—not just follow her into her world, but invite her into mine.

I took out my phone and stared at Clara's name in my contacts for a long moment before finally hitting dial.

When she answered, her voice was soft but steady. "Hey, Jack."

"Hey," I said, my voice catching slightly. "I've been thinking. We need to talk."

There was a pause, and then she said, "I agree."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me. "Can I come over tonight? We need to figure this out—where we stand, where we're going."

She was quiet for a moment, and I held my breath, waiting for her answer.

"Yeah," she finally said. "I think it's time."

Relief washed over me, but there was still that edge of uncertainty. This was it. We were finally going to have the conversation that would either bring us closer or break us apart.

And I had to be ready for whatever came next.

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