“The walls are too clean. This space needs scars,” the man commented, standing in the middle of the half-finished gallery, a blueprint rolled in his hand.

Evelyn turned, one eyebrow raised.

“Excuse me?”

Theo, a young architect with tousled brown hair and thin round glasses, gave her a warm smile.

“I mean, this gallery feels too sterile. You said it’s about healing. But if there’s no room to breathe, how will people feel welcomed by broken stories?”

Evelyn looked around the wide white room. She had arrived from Tokyo just a week ago and had immediately thrown herself into preparing for the opening of her new gallery in the heart...