"What did you say?"

I should have noticed the ominous drop in her voice. Or the interested gaze Jayne was directing at us.

But I was absorbed in the floor plan dangling before me, so naturally I noticed neither and continued.

"There's an attempt at sophistication, but the harmony is off. It feels forced. It's not a preference for luxury that sacrifices comfort, nor a strong longing for French Neoclassical. Is this room a message to your husband? That he should have the dignity befitting this space—no, wait, that's not it."

Feeling as though I'd solved a puzzle, I said brightly:

"This formality is your unconscious defense. Of course, I'd have to see the actual house to be sure, but—"

I looked up, and her blazing eyes filled my vision. I froze—and the next instant, a sharp crack rang out as her palm connected with my cheek.

"Are you saying it's my fault? That I drove him to this?!"

Maria glared down at me as I gaped, her voice trembling.

"What could you possibly understand? You don't know anything, anything at all!"

Her hoarse, anguished cry left me reeling, my mind going blank. I had no idea what she was angry about. "Him"—the way she said it didn’t sound like she meant her husband.  Was she talking about her child? Why would the conversation turn to a child?

Yet even in that state of mental shutdown, one thing was certain.

My comments about Maria's home had been, by even my own unreliable standards, probably shockingly rude.

I scrambled to apologize, and Jayne, who had been silently watching events unfold, finally spoke.

"Oh, you poor dear."

Her calm voice, unchanged regardless of circumstance, eased the tension that had built between us. Maria turned with a stricken expression, and Jayne drew her into a gentle embrace filled with compassion.

"You've done nothing wrong, poor Maria. It's alright. I'm on your side. And this boy isn't blaming you either. He's simply lacking in tact."

Normally I'd protest, but her adult composure was my salvation right now.

Maria remained rigid in Jayne's arms for a while, breathing harshly, before she pulled back and looked at me. Jayne was right—I was still green. A real man would meet her gaze calmly in a moment like this, showing no sign of fear.

I shrank back nervously before her—Maria, whom I had apparently hurt without realizing it. Watching me, she lowered her eyes.

"...I'm sorry, Luke."

"No, but I was the one who—"

Said something rude, I started to say, but Maria shook her head and cut me off.

"That's not it, Luke. That's not it."

She stopped there and squeezed her eyes shut. The sight of her trying to suppress something tore at my heart. She had mentioned something painful had happened. My careless words might have ripped open her wounds.

"Hey, Maria."

This time, paying careful attention to what I said, I spoke.

"If that 'sorry' just now was for hitting me, I accept your apology. I hurt you too, so we're even. Um... I'd be happy if we could call it even."

Maria opened her eyes and gave a small nod. She hung her head and curled in on herself, as though ashamed, as though trying to hide. Desperate to get her to straighten her back, I continued.

"But if you're apologizing for getting angry at me—please don't. It makes me sad to see you trying to suppress your emotions."

Maria looked up. As I met her wounded dark eyes, I felt an inexplicably strong sense of déjà vu. Unable to grasp what it meant, I spoke to her anyway.

"Anger is something you should never ignore or pretend doesn't exist. Otherwise, you'll wound your own soul even more deeply."

"...Your own soul, not the people around you? That's... an interesting way of thinking."

"It's something my grandmother used to say."

I smiled, then fell silent for a moment. How many more times would I despair at the fact that I'd never see her again?

"According to her, anger ultimately stems from a lack of love. So when you notice anger inside yourself, you should listen closely to your own voice and be kind to yourself."

At my words, Maria blinked with a strangely unguarded expression. I understood how she felt.

I still didn't truly understand those words myself.

"Oh, that reminds me." I let out a small laugh as I spoke. "This was another saying of hers. She said that people who stir up strong emotions in you are destined souls who teach you many things. So you and I must be destined souls for each other."

At that, Maria let out a small, ephemeral laugh, like a bubble.

"...You're a kind boy." Her smile faded, and she fixed me with eyes that held a quiet but certain light as she extended her right hand. "I'm truly glad I came to see you, Luke. I'd like to ask you to design my room. Will you accept the commission?"

I hadn't expected her to actually hire me. Surprised, I clasped her slender hand.

"I'd be honored, Maria. Thank you for trusting me."

At my reply, Maria's lips curved into a tight smile. Her expression had shifted again, and I felt my curiosity piqued once more. Somewhere inside her, her true self still lay dormant, invisible even to herself. The real Maria surely possessed not only thoughtfulness but something vividly beautiful. Creating a room that was truly Maria's—a space where she could relax, where she could return to herself—what a challenging project. The chest that had been frozen only moments ago now thrummed with excitement, and heat spread through my body, propelled by my leaping heart.

Carried by that warmth, I conveyed my heartfelt thanks to Maria.

"I'm so honored to be entrusted with this work, Maria! Thank you so much!"

At that moment, her face crumpled with deep sadness. I was about to speak in surprise when Maria interrupted me.

"I'll go home for today, but I'll be in touch. Please help me with this."

Having completely missed my chance to say anything, I could only nod in silence at her words.