Mary and the Forest Within

Chapter 2 – Trapped in Routine

The soft golden light of morning streamed through the small window of Mary’s apartment, falling across her work desk. The air still carried the faint scent of last night’s rain, and her chest was filled with that strange new feeling left from the dream of the forest—a hidden flame inside her heart, glowing and urging her forward. She ran her hand over one of her unfinished paintings, and the image of the green-clad girl appeared in her mind again—the same girl who had gifted her light the night before. Taking a deep breath, Mary dressed and left for work.

Outside, the city was the same as always: cars, horns, and people cutting into each other’s time. But Mary’s perspective had shifted. She tried to notice the details—the sway of a tree branch in the wind, a child’s brief smile at their dog, an old woman reading a French book on a park bench. These small fragments felt like signs, affirming the decision she had made at midnight: “It’s time to change.”

She entered the company building; fluorescent lights cast their pale glow on the hallway floor, and everything moved with its usual, predictable rhythm. Employees carried on with their quiet routines. Mary sat at her desk, turned on her computer, and tried to silence the voice of the forest, forcing herself into the rhythm of work. But then the phone rang. Connor’s voice came through.

“Mary, could you come to my office for a minute?”

Inside, Connor—a calm and steady man—was waiting. His face was not that of an ambitious climber, but of a tired yet fair manager. A thick folder of reports lay on his desk.

“We got the project reports from the client yesterday, but they’re a mess. They all need to be reviewed, corrected, and prepared for tomorrow’s meeting. I know it’s heavy work, but only you have the precision to handle it.”

Mary exhaled. The workload was daunting. She could see that Connor wasn’t motivated by greed or self-promotion, but by responsibility. That difference mattered to her. He added quietly, “I’m sorry, but we need to rebuild the client’s trust, and quickly.”

“I’ll do my best,” Mary replied, returning to her desk with steady hands.

At lunch, Deniz invited her out for a break. He was the kind of friend who lightened even the heaviest days with his humor. At the café, Rachel joined them—wearing her practiced smile and sharp calculating eyes. From the first glance, Mary felt Rachel’s interest wasn’t out of kindness, but ambition; Rachel never missed a chance to gain an advantage.

“I heard the new project is intense,” Rachel said smoothly. “If you’d like, I can take over part of the review so you can focus on other responsibilities.” Her words sounded generous, but Mary could sense the hidden motive. Everyone knew Rachel’s uncle held influence in management, and her every move was a careful step upward.

Deniz smirked. “Rachel, since when do you volunteer to help?”

Rachel simply smiled. “I always do what’s best for the company.”

Back at work, Mary remembered the words of an old woman she’d met on the subway: “Sometimes you have to give yourself a chance.” She wanted to. Yet reality pressed in—reports to complete, a manager’s expectations, office politics, and the weight of “job security” her family always emphasized.

Through the long afternoon, Mary worked tirelessly. Deniz stayed by her side in quiet support until midnight, while Rachel, exactly as Mary had expected, found ways to twist her involvement to her own advantage. Later, Rachel appeared with a smile: “Connor says he trusts you with leading this project. He believes in you.” But the tone carried something sharper, like a move in a game of power.

Connor, however, was straightforward when he spoke to Mary alone. He didn’t offer promises of promotion. He simply explained that the company needed fast, accurate work, and Mary’s skills made her the best choice. But Mary declined the role.

That night, at home, her phone rang. It was her mother.

“I heard you turned down the offer. Mary, what are you doing? We prayed for this chance!” Her voice carried the anxieties of another generation—rising rents, unstable markets, survival. Mary replied firmly: “Mom… I want to take painting seriously. I don’t want just a paycheck and promotions.” The conversation grew tense. Her mother couldn’t understand that Mary was choosing risk for the sake of meaning.

After the call, Mary stood still, taking a deep breath. Pressure closed in from both family and work. Yet the light of the forest still burned quietly within her. That night she went to an art store, bought a canvas, brushes, and paints. The shopkeeper, kind-eyed and encouraging, told her: “Anyone who buys with this much passion is already an artist. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

Back home, she painted late into the night. Each brushstroke felt like reclaiming a piece of herself. But the next morning, work intruded again. Connor, respectful but insistent, asked: “These reports must be completed today. Rachel will assist you.” Rachel reappeared, not out of kindness but calculation—knowing that every document she touched could strengthen her standing.

On the subway, crushed in the crowd, Mary recalled the words of a successful entrepreneur: “We always have time to change, but we must decide.” She looked into the small station mirror, inhaled deeply, and made a vow: “I’ll face the pressure, but I won’t let anyone else set the rules for my life.”

She opened her laptop with newfound confidence and finally enrolled in the online painting class she had long considered.

Mary smiled—not out of pride, but the calm of someone who had chosen herself for the first time. That Monday, she began the class with excitement. Introducing herself, she spoke of her lifelong love of colors. The teacher asked each student to prepare a new piece for the next session.

That night, Mary picked up her brush again, but her work remained unfinished—because the next day at the company, another wave of pressure was waiting.

Connor announced that an important project deadline had been moved up. Mary and Deniz had to stay late. Over lunch, Rachel whispered slyly, “Connor just wants to impress the board. That’s why he’s keeping us here.” Deniz grew angry at the remark and left early, but Mary stayed—torn between her job and her dream.

Later, Connor called her in. “I know programming isn’t part of your role anymore, but this is an exceptional case. Can you help?” His voice was firm but honest. Mary hesitated. If she agreed, her painting would be delayed again. If she refused, she might betray his trust. Finally, she whispered: “Alright… I’ll do my best.”

That night, exhausted, she returned to her apartment. The half-finished canvas still sat on her desk. She looked at the dried paints and sighed: “I can’t focus anymore.” She turned off the lights and fell asleep in darkness.

But deep inside, her teacher’s words still lingered:

“With persistence, you will become a professional.”