Purpura PoV
I stared at the ball, its bright colors contrasting sharply against the sterile white of my glass room. It was small and seemingly innocuous but felt foreign in a way I couldn't quite articulate.
"Fun?" I repeated, my brow furrowing. The word felt strange, like a concept I had only heard whispered in passing but never truly understood.
Dr. Saito chuckled softly at my expression. "Yes, fun. It's a way to play, to engage with your surroundings in a less structured manner. It can help you relax and connect with your inner self."
I shifted my gaze from the ball to him, searching for any signs that he was joking. "But… what do I do with it?"
"Here, let me show you." He picked up the ball and tossed it gently toward me. I instinctively caught it, the texture of the ball feeling strange and almost comforting in my grip. "Just throw it back to me," he said, his eyes sparkling with encouragement.
I hesitated, the thought of throwing the ball feeling oddly daunting. What was the purpose? Would this exercise really help me? But, with a deep breath, I lifted my arm and tossed it back to him. It was a short throw, and Dr. Saito easily caught it.
"See? That wasn't so hard," he said, tossing it back to me again. "Now, let's try to add a little distance."
I caught the ball and felt a strange thrill course through me. This simple act of tossing the ball back and forth seemed so trivial, yet there was something liberating about it. Each time I threw it back, I felt a flicker of joy—something I hadn't allowed myself to experience before.
"This is fun?" I asked, a hint of disbelief in my voice.
"Absolutely!" he replied, a broad smile on his face. "Fun can come from the simplest activities. It's about being present in the moment and enjoying the experience. Just let go and see where it takes you."
I tossed the ball back to him again, this time with a bit more force. It sailed through the air and landed in his hands with a satisfying thud. I couldn't help but smile at the small victory. Maybe there was something to this after all.
As we continued to toss the ball back and forth, I found myself gradually relaxing. The repetitive motion of throwing and catching became almost meditative, allowing me to momentarily push aside the weight of my training and expectations. In these simple exchanges, I felt a sense of connection—not just with Dr. Saito, but with the concept of fun. Although, it still felt nebulous.
"Good! Now let's try to make it a little more challenging," Dr. Saito said, his enthusiasm infectious. "Try to throw it behind your back or with one hand."
I raised an eyebrow, unsure if I could manage such feats. But something inside me stirred—a desire to step outside my comfort zone. I took a breath, focused on the ball, and attempted a one-handed throw. The ball slipped from my fingers and landed awkwardly on the floor, bouncing away.
"Not quite," Dr. Saito said with a chuckle, but his tone was encouraging. "It's okay! It's about having fun and learning, remember? Just give it another shot."
I retrieved the ball, feeling a mix of determination and trepidation. I concentrated, recalling the movements he had demonstrated earlier. I threw the ball again, this time managing a more controlled toss. It sailed toward him, and he caught it easily.
"See? You're getting the hang of it!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Now, let's try to add a little creativity. Let's see how many different ways you can throw it."
As I began experimenting with different throws—underhand, sideways, and even attempting a spin—I felt a sense of liberation that I had never experienced before. Each throw was a small expression of freedom, a step away from the rigid structure of my training.
In the midst of our playful exchange, I caught a glimpse of something I had long thought impossible—joy. It was a fleeting emotion, but it felt significant, a glimmer of light in the otherwise sterile environment of my life.
"Keep it up, Morado! You're doing great!" Dr. Saito encouraged, his supportive words echoing in my mind.
With each throw, I felt a little more of the weight lift off my shoulders. Perhaps this was what it meant to be a person—to embrace the small moments, to allow myself to play and explore, even as I aimed to become the perfect being.
I smiled. Maybe being great at ball throwing was another way to get there.
----
Dr. Saito began visiting me every other day with a new toy. He introduced me to cubes, which he said little kids played with. I didn't recall being a kid, but I doubted I ever played with them. My whole life had been filled with training and more training.
"What do I do with these?" I asked, tilting my head as I examined the cubes. They felt strangely foreign, yet there was a certain curiosity that tugged at me.
"Just play with them," he replied, a wide smile on his face. "You can build with them, knock them down, or even create patterns. It's all about exploring your creativity and having fun."
I picked up one of the cubes, feeling its weight in my hand. It was a simple object, yet it represented something new to me. The idea of playing, of building something just for the sake of it, felt oddly exhilarating. I set the cube down and began stacking them one by one, forming a tower.
"Good! You're a natural," Dr. Saito encouraged, watching me with keen interest.
As I carefully placed another cube on top, I felt a strange thrill. There was something satisfying about watching the tower rise higher, each cube fitting snugly into place. But as I reached for another, my hand shook slightly, and the entire structure began to wobble.
"No!" I gasped as the tower teetered, and with a gentle nudge from my fingers, it collapsed in a colorful cascade.
Dr. Saito laughed, the sound warm and inviting. "That's part of the fun! Sometimes things don't go as planned, and that's okay. Just rebuild it!"
I stared at the fallen cubes, a mix of disappointment and amusement flickering within me. In the past, failure had been something to dread, something to avoid at all costs. But here, it felt different. It was a chance to try again, to learn from the experience.
I scooped up the cubes, setting them back in their original positions. This time, I focused on my movements, taking my time to ensure each cube was balanced. As the tower rose once more, I felt a sense of accomplishment swell within me.
"See? You're getting better at this," Dr. Saito remarked, leaning closer to observe my progress. "You're not just building a tower; you're building your confidence."
I glanced up at him, the words resonating in my mind. Confidence—another concept I had rarely considered. My existence had been defined by training and the relentless pursuit of perfection, but in this moment, I was discovering that there was more to life than just meeting expectations.
I continued stacking, experimenting with different formations. I knocked down the tower again on purpose, laughing at the way the cubes scattered across the floor. It was liberating in a way I hadn't anticipated. Was this what being a kid felt like?