Hymns of the Sunrise

Ariadne's Thread

A gentle breeze caressed Ariadne's dark hair as she approached the museum. The imposing building, with its red brick walls and white columns, was a city landmark. The contrast between the old and the new was evident in the modern annexes that seamlessly blended with the original architecture. The young woman appreciated the timeless atmosphere of the place, however, the museum's beauty lay in its ability to welcome. She often brought her knitting needles and a ball of yellow yarn, finding solace in the stitches and patterns for her thoughts.

The young woman needed air. Her thoughts, once as neatly wound as a ball of yarn, were now unraveling into a tangled mess, impossible to untangle. That casual encounter in the school hallway, the spilled pile of papers, the touch of their hands as they bent to gather the scattered sheets – everything had sparked a storm within her. That's why the museum was her sanctuary. Among the ancient walls and historical objects, she found the peace she so desperately craved. That day, more than ever, she needed a quiet place to organize her ideas and feelings.

The heavy wooden doors creaked open, welcoming the young woman. Morning sunlight flooded the interior, bathing the dark wooden furniture in a golden warmth. The woodsy, slightly sweet scent, characteristic of the old building, soothed her senses. She smiled at the familiar ticking of the wall clock, marking the tranquil pace. It was a Saturday morning, and the atmosphere was quieter than usual, as if the entire building were holding its breath. Today, however, there was something special in the air. Perhaps it was the gentle breeze coming through the open windows, or the cheerful melody drifting from the music room next door, or simply her own enamored heart. Whatever it was, Ariadne felt a sense of lightness and comfort she had been seeking.

She headed to the reception desk, where the guard, an elderly man with gray hair and a serene expression, awaited her behind the counter. His familiar smile greeted her, but this time, there was a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Good morning, Ari," he greeted, his voice as soft as ever. "Are you alright? You seem more thoughtful than usual."

The young woman hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. "Yes, Mr. Kang, everything's fine. It's just that... I needed some time for myself today." She tried to disguise it, lifting the beginning of what would become a canary yellow scarf as if it were the reason for her presence there.

The guard nodded, noticing the redness in the girl's cheeks. "This place has an incredible power to calm people's souls." The guard's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "That scarf is turning out beautiful," he complimented, "I'm sure whoever receives it will be enchanted."

Ariadne looked down, a shy smile curving her lips. "Oh, it's not for anyone in particular," she murmured, feeling her cheeks grow even hotter. Mr. Choi winked, understanding her little secret.

"If he's a good guy, I'm sure he'll appreciate your effort," the guard said gently. She blushed and nodded, a shy smile on her lips.

Ariadne walked away, slowly making her way through the corridors. With each step she took, she recalled the gentle smile of her beloved, the way their eyes had met for a moment, the way he had helped her without hesitation. It was as if time had stopped at that moment, and the world had shrunk to just the two of them. But that wasn't all. He had asked her name! He had spoken her name so naturally, as if he had known her for years.

The student put her hands to her face, feeling her cheeks flush. It was all so surreal. She, who always went unnoticed, was now seen. And not just seen, but noticed by him, the boy she had admired for so long.

The museum, with its serene atmosphere, helped her process the emotions that overwhelmed her. With each work of art she contemplated, with each ancient object she touched, she felt calmer, more centered. It was as if the history of those objects reminded her that feelings, no matter how intense, were fleeting.