Chapter 10 – The Place Nobody Visits
1352 Words
Mira had always believed that every place had a story.
Some stories were loud.
They were found in crowded streets, busy cafés, and rooms filled with laughter.
Others were quieter.
They hid in forgotten corners, old buildings, and things people passed by without noticing.
As an art student, Mira had learned that beauty was not always found in perfect things.
Sometimes, the cracks were what made something worth looking at.
That was why Professor Adeyemi’s assignment stayed on her mind.
"Find something ordinary and reveal the emotion hidden inside it."
It sounded simple.
But the more she thought about it, the harder it became.
How could she paint something ordinary and make people see what she saw?
---
The Fine Art studio was filled with noise when Mira arrived the next morning.
Students moved between tables, carrying canvases and discussing ideas for their assignments.
Some were excited.
Others were already complaining.
"I don't understand why Professor Adeyemi always gives us assignments that make us think too much," someone said.
Mira smiled slightly.
That was exactly what Professor Adeyemi wanted.
He never wanted them to simply copy what they saw.
He wanted them to understand it.
She placed her bag down and prepared her materials.
A few minutes later, Professor Adeyemi entered the studio.
The room slowly became quiet.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, sir."
He looked around at the class.
"I hope you have started working on your projects."
A few students avoided eye contact.
Professor Adeyemi smiled.
"That means most of you have not."
A few people laughed.
Mira opened her notebook.
"Remember something," he continued. "An artist's job is not only to show people what exists."
He walked slowly around the room.
"An artist shows people what they fail to notice."
Those words immediately caught Mira's attention.
"What people fail to notice."
She wrote it down.
"Your assignment is not to find something beautiful," Professor Adeyemi said.
"It is to find something meaningful."
---
After class, Mira remained in the studio.
She stared at her blank page.
Usually, ideas came easily to her.
But this time was different.
She had too many thoughts and no direction.
"You look like you're fighting with the paper."
Mira looked up.
Ethan stood beside her desk.
"I'm thinking."
"That serious?"
"Yes."
He looked at her empty page.
"Your paper is winning."
She gave him a look.
"Do you ever say anything normal?"
"Sometimes."
"When?"
"When I'm sleeping."
She shook her head.
"That explains a lot."
Ethan smiled.
"Have you chosen what you're painting?"
"No."
"Me neither."
She looked at him.
"Really?"
"Really."
"I thought you would already have an idea."
"Why?"
"Because you talk a lot."
He looked offended.
"What does talking have to do with ideas?"
"Everything."
He laughed.
"That's not true."
"It is."
Their conversation was interrupted when another student called Ethan.
He looked back.
"I'll see you later."
Mira nodded.
"Bye."
---
After leaving the studio, Mira decided to walk around campus.
Maybe she would find inspiration.
She passed the garden.
Nothing.
The café.
Too crowded.
The library.
Too quiet.
She kept walking until she reached a part of campus she rarely visited.
The older buildings.
Most students avoided this area because there wasn't much there anymore.
The paths were quieter.
The trees were taller.
The buildings looked like they belonged to another time.
Mira slowed down.
Then she saw it.
A small building hidden behind the trees.
An old gallery.
She frowned.
She had been on campus for months.
How had she never noticed it?
The door was slightly open.
Curiosity pulled her closer.
---
Inside, the gallery was colder than outside.
Dust covered the shelves.
Old paintings rested against the walls.
Some frames were damaged.
Some paintings were faded.
But Mira couldn't stop looking.
There was something beautiful about them.
They weren't perfect.
But they were honest.
She moved closer to a painting of an empty chair beside a window.
It was simple.
Almost too simple.
Yet something about it made her stop.
"Interesting choice."
Mira turned around.
A stranger stood near one of the shelves.
She hadn't heard him enter.
"Choice?"
He nodded toward the painting.
"Most people walk past that one."
"Why?"
"Because they don't see anything special."
Mira looked back at the painting.
"I think they're looking at it the wrong way."
The stranger studied her.
"What do you see?"
She hesitated.
"A person who was here before."
He raised an eyebrow.
"But there is no person."
"Exactly."
She touched the edge of her sketchbook.
"But you can tell someone was."
The stranger was quiet.
Then he smiled slightly.
"You're an artist."
It wasn't a question.
---
Mira became cautious.
"How do you know?"
"Because you look at things differently."
"That doesn't answer my question."
"No."
He admitted.
"It doesn't."
She studied him.
He seemed calm.
Not in a way that was arrogant.
More like someone who was used to keeping things to himself.
"Are you a student here?"
"Yes."
"Which department?"
He looked around the room.
"Does it matter?"
Mira frowned.
"People usually answer questions."
"People usually ask too many questions."
"Only when someone avoids answering."
A small smile appeared on his face.
"You noticed."
---
Mira opened her sketchbook.
The stranger watched as she began drawing.
"You draw quickly."
"I don't."
"You do."
She glanced at him.
"How would you know?"
"Because you're not trying to make it perfect."
Mira looked back at her sketch.
That was something she had never thought about.
She always worried about mistakes.
About getting things wrong.
"You sound like an artist."
"I'm not."
"Then how do you know?"
The stranger looked around the gallery.
"Because I know what it feels like to try to capture something before it disappears."
The answer made her pause.
She didn't ask what he meant.
Some answers felt like they carried more questions.
---
"Are you here often?"
"Sometimes."
"Why?"
He looked at the paintings.
"This place remembers people."
Mira tilted her head.
"Buildings don't remember."
"Maybe not the way we do."
She didn't know why, but she found that answer interesting.
Not because she agreed.
Because she wanted to understand it.
---
A few minutes passed.
Mira continued drawing.
The stranger looked at one of the paintings near the wall.
"Professor Adeyemi still teaches here?"
Mira looked up.
"You know Professor Adeyemi?"
"Yes."
"How?"
The stranger was silent.
Then he said,
"He taught me something important."
"What?"
He looked at the painting.
"That art is not about being seen."
Mira waited.
"It's about seeing."
She remembered Professor Adeyemi saying something similar.
"You were his student?"
"Once."
That answer confirmed something.
He wasn't a current student.
At least, not anymore.
---
Mira checked the time.
She had stayed longer than she planned.
"I should leave."
The stranger nodded.
"Good luck with your assignment."
"Thanks."
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
"What's your name?"
The stranger looked at her.
For a moment, she thought he wouldn't answer.
Then he said,
"Maybe another time."
Mira stared at him.
"That's a strange response."
"I know."
"And you say that like you're proud of it."
He smiled.
"Maybe I am."
She shook her head.
"Goodbye, stranger."
The words left her mouth before she thought about them.
Something about the name felt fitting.
The stranger looked at her for a second.
Then nodded.
"Goodbye, Mira."
---
Outside the gallery, Mira stopped.
She turned around.
The stranger knew her name.
She was sure she hadn't told him.
For a moment, she considered going back inside.
But she didn't.
Instead, she looked at the old building.
A strange feeling settled in her chest.
Not excitement.
Not affection.
Just curiosity.
Who was he?
How did he know Professor Adeyemi?
And why did she feel like their conversation was only the beginning of something she didn't understand?
Mira opened her sketchbook.
The drawing she had made wasn't perfect.
The lines were uneven.
The details were incomplete.
But somehow, it felt right.
Maybe some things didn't need to be complete immediately.
Maybe some stories needed time before they revealed themselves.
And maybe some strangers were not meant to be understood in one meeting.
- Writer
