The crack did not immediately bring light; instead, it plunged Leo into a deeper state of confusion.
For the next few days, he couldn't work. He stood before his perfect and cold creations, feeling their emptiness for the first time. He touched their hard edges, yet all he longed for was that soft warmth that didn't belong there.
He replayed every detail of that afternoon in his mind: her rushing over, the warmth of her fingertips, the focus in her eyes. He tried to analyze it all with deconstructionism: was her behavior a biological "altruistic instinct"? Or was it a "courtesy" from social norms?
But all his rational analysis crumbled when he recalled her smile.
He knew he had to see her again. It wasn't a decision but an irresistible, tidal-like pull.
He walked into the flower shop.
The shop was warm, and the humid air was filled with the complex scents of various flowers. Compared to his pure white studio, it was a primal jungle of color and life. She was standing behind a wooden table, humming a tuneless song as she bundled a few sunflowers and chamomile together.
Seeing him, she looked up with a hint of surprise. "Is your hand better?"
Leo nodded, his gaze falling on the bouquet she was arranging. He, a sculptor who spoke with stone and metal, was now as clumsy as a child. He didn't know what to say.
"I..." he began, his voice a bit dry. "I want to buy a bouquet."
She smiled, her eyes crinkling into crescents. "Is it a gift, or for yourself?"
"...For myself," he blurted out almost without thinking.
And so, that afternoon, for the first time in his life, Leo learned how to "feel" flowers under the guidance of a stranger. She didn't teach him botanical classifications or the symbolism of flowers. Instead, she asked him to close his eyes.
"Smell," she said, holding a rose to his nose. "It's not just sweet; there's a little bit of a green, grassy scent, too. And feel," she guided his hand to touch an iris petal. "Doesn't it feel like velvet?"
He followed her lead, perceiving the world in a completely new way. His senses were opened as never before. This wasn't an instruction but an equal, soul-level exchange. He shared his clumsiness and confusion, and she shared her sensitivity and joy.
He looked at her, and she looked at him.
In her eyes, he saw his own reflection. But it was no longer the cold, distant self he was familiar with. That reflection, wrapped in the gentleness and smile in her eyes, looked a little bewildered but also... softer.
It was as if two cups, holding different liquids, were raised to the same level at this moment, reflecting each other and exchanging light.
This was not the passionate collision of fire and thunder of the Ace of Wands but a deeper, more serene connection. A "me," in the eyes of another "you," saw a more complete "me."
As he left with the slightly crooked bouquet he had wrapped himself, he knew he hadn't just bought flowers. He had bought an invitation.
An invitation to step out of his isolated island and go to another's.
【Echo from the Mirror】
Who is the person with whom you can "exchange cups"? In whose eyes have you seen a more authentic, softer version of yourself? Are you willing to lower your guard and engage in a non-judgmental, soul-level reflection and exchange with another person?