Chapter 45
Max let out a wry smile and replied,
“You’re right. This is quite strange for me too. But for some reason, I can’t help but worry about you.”
It was strange.
Why did that memory suddenly come back and shake him like this?
With a serious and composed demeanor, as if he had never been joking, he carefully admired the paintings and whispered explanations about them.
At some point, I realized he kept calling me “young lady” and told him my name was Carmilla Armen. I asked him to just call me Carmilla if he was comfortable with it.
“If that is your wish, I will gladly do so. Carmilla.”
His green eyes were beautiful. For a fleeting moment, I thought that if I were a painter, I would want to capture them on canvas.
Walking through the quiet halls, admiring paintings created with different techniques, and sharing thoughts with someone was unexpectedly enjoyable.
I had always viewed art alone, never realizing that having a companion could make the experience even more delightful.
“-Isn’t it fascinating? The way the artist uses only colors to create such warmth. This particular artist is incredible at capturing the essence of light. If you look closely, you’ll notice they used green here. Using green to depict the reflection of lamplight on bricks—such a brilliant idea, don’t you think? It makes me wonder if there’s something like absolute color perception, similar to absolute pitch in music. Otherwise, how could they have thought of using green? Their sharp observation skills must have allowed them to paint exactly what they saw.”
I turned to him, my cheeks flushed with excitement. Max nodded in agreement and added,
“Not only that, but they also boldly used white to express sharp reflections. They weren’t afraid. That’s what keeps this painting from feeling too rigid or confined. It’s fluid yet effortless. That level of skill is truly impressive. I like it.”
Hearing his perspective, I was struck with admiration.
“I did feel something like that, but I couldn’t put it into words… Your way of expressing things is remarkable. Now that we’ve talked about it, I feel like I appreciate this painting even more. It’s as if I’ve truly savored it, and now I feel a sense of fullness.”
Max responded with a smile,
“Mental satisfaction is important, but physical satisfaction is just as crucial. Aren’t you getting hungry? Let’s find a place to sit and have something to eat. Besides, you’ve been standing too long in those shoes. You might not feel it now, but you’re probably exhausted.”
He skillfully led the way and found a suitable spot for us to rest.
As I sat down, the fatigue I had been ignoring due to my excitement suddenly caught up with me.
“Oh… You’re right. I didn’t notice it while we were talking, but now that I’m sitting, my legs feel tired. If I had stood any longer, I would have regretted it tomorrow.”
Max chuckled.
“I didn’t take you for someone who enjoys physical activity, yet you stood for so long without showing any sign of discomfort. I was a little worried. But at the same time, I could tell you were enjoying yourself, which made me happy too.”
Feeling like we had grown closer through our shared appreciation of art, I admitted,
“I never knew viewing paintings with someone else could be this enjoyable. It’s to the point that…”
I traced the rim of the glass he handed me and murmured,
“…I’m a little worried. Now that I know how wonderful this experience is, I might find it lonely and lacking when I view art alone in the future.”
Max placed a lemon on the rim of my glass and replied lightly,
“Or perhaps, now that you know this joy, you’ll find good friends to share it with in the future, Carmilla.”
It was as if scales had fallen from my eyes.
He was right. That was another way to look at it.
Why had I always focused on what I might lose instead of what I could gain?
I looked at him with newfound appreciation.
His neat appearance seemed to reflect his strong mindset.
Had I become so used to twisted, dark thoughts that I had forgotten how to think like that?
“Max, you have such a healthy way of thinking. You’re right. Now that I know this joy, I might have more opportunities to experience it. Why didn’t I think of that before?”
Max gazed at me and said,
“When people become too familiar with unhappiness, they tend to shrink into themselves. They give up in advance. They run away before they even try.”
I fell silent.
His words hit too close to home.
Did he see through me? Or was he simply speaking in general terms?
“Even when a path to happiness appears, they can’t even imagine taking it. They don’t even dare to dream of being happy. It’s a lonely thing.”
He continued, not minding my reaction.
“But reality moves slowly. Imagination always comes first. If you can’t even imagine happiness, achieving it becomes nearly impossible. Because your heart won’t reach for it, you won’t desire it, pursue it, or claim it as yours. Premature surrender is a slow way to die. And constantly running away is much the same.”
My expression hardened despite myself.
“What… are you trying to say?”
My voice came out stiff.
Max looked at me and said gently,
“That anyone can find happiness, anytime. And that you must never give up on imagining it.”
It was a simple truth. But for some reason, it made me angry.
So many thoughts spun inside my head.
You don’t know what I’ve been through. You don’t know how much I lost, how much I had to give up, how I ended up like this.
Don’t act like I just took the easy way out.
If I hadn’t given up, I would have died.
No, I did die, in a way.
I still remember that day. The carriage accident. The sensation of being thrown out like a rag doll.
The brutal, humiliating moment that finally taught me how to give up.
I had suffered betrayal, heartbreak, and years of waiting for a husband who never truly loved me.
Trapped in a house, dying a little more each day.
Hoping, only to be crushed over and over again.
Holding onto foolish dreams had cost me everything—even my child.
I clenched my teeth.
He didn’t know any of that.
But that didn’t make his words hurt any less.
Tears welled up. The joy I had felt earlier had completely unraveled.
I turned my head away and muttered,
“…Thank you for your kind words. I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well.”
I tried to leave, but he caught my wrist.
“Are you okay?”
I gritted my teeth.
After shaking me up like this, he had the nerve to ask?
I wanted to glare at him, but tears fell before I could.
“…Let go of me…”
Max looked hurt and bit his lip.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please don’t leave like this.”
“I’m not…”
I tried to deny it, but my voice broke.
I closed my eyes, trying to compose myself, but the tears only fell faster.
Then, I felt a hand on my face.
“Please… let me comfort you. If you leave now, you’ll cry alone somewhere, won’t you? I don’t want that for you. That’s too lonely, too sad.”
His words made my heart waver.
So, I let my face rest in his hand and cried.
As he gently wiped away my tears, I whispered,
“If you were going to be this kind, you shouldn’t have made me cry in the first place… Why make me cry and then say things like this…?”
But deep down, I already knew.
It was impossible.
I was too broken, and no one knew.
I was like a person carrying invisible wounds—people treated me as if I were whole, and then I would unexpectedly fall apart.
Max spoke softly.
“I promise. I won’t make you cry again. I’ll make sure there’s never a need to.”
Even as his gloves soaked with my tears, he continued to gently wipe them away.
