SANA
My exhibition is tonight, and I'm more nervous than I thought I'd be.
These pieces are so personal that it feels wrong exposing them like this. Professor Han, though, was elated when he saw the whole collection put together. He said some art critics might be here tonight, and if I impress them, it'll be my chance to step into professional art world – even though I'm just a second-year student.
Honestly, after hearing that, I had a mild panic attack and decided to shove that thought into a corner of my mind.
What will be, will be.
I'm on my way to the library to give Mrs. Oh her ticket. I've already handed them to my professors and a few classmates I get along with. In-a offered to give the rest to some 'notable' figures in our department. I didn't ask who – sometimes it's easier to just let her do her thing.
When I handed Mrs. Oh the ticket, she smiled warmly. "Sana, you didn't forget. Thank you, dear. I'll definitely be there tonight."
"It means a lot," I replied softly.
"You've worked so hard for this moment. Make sure to enjoy it, okay?" she said kindly.
"Hm, I will." I murmured, blushing a little from the proud look in her eyes.
…
After the library, I made my way to the mall to meet In-a. She was already waiting for me outside a boutique, practically bouncing with excitement.
"There you are!" she exclaimed, grabbing my arm and pulling me inside. "We're getting you a new dress and doing something with your hair."
I sighed. "In-a, it's not that big of a deal-"
"Not that big of a deal?!" she interrupted, her voice rising. "Sana, this is your first solo exhibition. You're the first in our year to hold one. Your name is on the posters, for crying out loud. This is your stage!"
I rolled my eyes but let her drag me further into the store. "You're so dramatic."
"And you are too calm!" she retorted, flipping through racks of clothes with a sharp eye. "We need to make you look like the stunning artist you are."
As she pulled dresses off the racks, I couldn't help but let my mind wander with a small smile on my face.
Jang In-a. She was the first person to approach me when I started college, back when we were just fresh-faced students. I had left the orphanage only a few months before and was still adjusting to the dizzying pace of the big city.
Everything felt overwhelming, and blending in seemed impossible. But then there was In-a – bright, confident, and endlessly curious. My first thought was that she 'cute', the kind of person who could light up a room without even trying. She's of average height, not strikingly pretty, but her distinct style always turns heads. She's bold in ways I've never been, yet she made it seem effortless.
Thanks to her, I found it easier to settle in, to feel like I belonged – even just a little.
My thoughts were interrupted when In-a thrusted a dress into my arms.
"Here! Try this one," she said grinning like she'd found a buried treasure.
I stepped into the fitting room and slipped on the dress. It was a soft lavender shade, with a fitted bodice and delicate straps that framed my shoulders. The skirt flared slightly, flowing around me like a whisper. The fabric was light and airy, but there was something about the way it shimmered under the light that made it feel magical.
When I stepped out, In-a's mouth dropped open.
"Wow," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sana, you look like…like someone out of a dream."
I felt a blush creeping up my neck. "It's nice," I admitted, running my hands over the fabric.
"Nice? This is more than nice," she said pulling me toward the mirror. "Look at yourself! You're absolutely stunning."
I stared at my reflection. The dress was perfect – not just elegant, but comfortable enough for me to move around all night. And it made me feel…confident.
"Okay," I said softly. "I like it."
"Good. Now let's find shoes and figure out your hair."
A little while later, as we were browsing another section of the store, In-a glanced at my hair and said, "you know, I'm so jealous of your hair."
I raised an eyebrow. "Why? It's such a hassle in the mornings."
"Yeah, but it's long, wavy, and naturally gorgeous. People would pay a fortune for hair like yours," she said, flipping her own shoulder-length locks. "And knowing you, I'm sure you only use a no-name brand from the mall."
I smiled. "You are being dramatic again."
"And you're being too modest. Typical Sana," she said with a grin.
We eventually settled on a pair of nude heels with a slight sheen – comfortable but elegant. For my hair, In-a convinced me to leave it natural, letting the waves flow freely around my shoulders.
"You're going to knock them dead tonight," she said as we left the mall.
"I hope so," I replied, my nerves creeping back.
"Don't overthink it. Just be your gorgeous-self," she said, giving me a reassuring smile.
I nodded, clutching the shopping bags tightly. Tonight, my work would speak for me. And maybe someone would understand.
…
The gallery buzzed with life as people began to stream in, their footsteps echoing faintly against the polished wooden floors.
I stood near the entrance, trying not to fidget with my dress. My heart was racing, but I reminded myself to breathe. In-a, ever the social butterfly, flitted around the room, chatting with guests and making sure everyone felt welcome.
She caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up. "Relax, Sana. Everything is going perfectly!" she mouthed before turning back to a group of students who were marveling at one of my pieces.
Still, I couldn't quite shake the weight pressing on my chest. Just an hour ago, I'd learned that a senior from the Communication department would be interviewing me about my exhibition. It wasn't something I'd planned for, and the thought of being put on the spot in front of so many people was enough to make my palms sweat.
"Stop worrying," In-a whispered as she appeared beside me, holding two glasses of water. She handed me one. "This is your moment. Enjoy it"
"I'm trying," I muttered, taking a sip.
In-a grinned. "You're doing better than you think. Look around."
I followed her gaze. People were scattered across the gallery, some standing in small groups, others alone, quietly observing the pieces. A couple paused in front of Alleviato, their expressions softening as they took it in.
I felt a flicker of pride. It wasn't as overwhelming as I feared. People seemed to genuinely connect with my work.
"See?" In-a nudged me gently. "Told you. You're a star."
Before I could reply, professor Han appeared, a tall man in tow. The professor's warm smile was tinged with excitement.
"Sana," he began, his voice cutting through the chatter around us, "I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine, Mr. Choi Hyunjae. He's a renowned art critic and a professor of contemporary art. We attended the same art school years ago."
Mr. Choi stepped forward, his sharp eyes studying me briefly before landing on the nearest piece. He was in his late fifties, his silver hair neatly combed back. His charcoal-gray suit was impeccably tailored, giving him an air of authority that matched his reputation.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said bowing slightly.
"The pleasure is mine," he replied, his tone measured but not unkind. He gestured toward the piece closet to us. "I must say, your work is captivating. There's raw honesty to it that is rare for someone so early in their career."
"Thank you," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He moved closer to Amor Fati, titling his head slightly as he studied it. "This one stands out. Your use of light and shadow is remarkable. It draws the viewer in, makes them feel something – an ache, perhaps, or a hope. You've done well to capture that balance."
I felt a small swell of relief, but it was short-lived.
"That said," he continued, turning to face me, "there's still room for improvement. Your technique is strong, but it needs refinement. Some pieces feel like they're holding back, as if you were afraid to fully commit to the emotion you wanted to convey."
I swallowed hard, nodding, my hands clasped together as I absorbed his feedback.
He gave me a small, approving smile. "Still, your ability to communicate such profound emotion is rare for someone as young as you. You're a natural, raw and unpolished, and with little refinement from your professors," he said, pointing at himself and Mr Han, "hard work and diligence from you, you can only become an incredible artist."
My chest tightened, not from nerves but from an unfamiliar warmth – recognition.
Mr. Choi reached into his suit pocket and handed me a sleek card. "This is for my gallery," he explained. "Consider it an invitation to exhibit some of your work there in the future. You have potential, Ms. My Inner Light, and the world deserves to see it."
I stared at the card, speechless. The gallery's name was embossed in elegant gold letters, Seowon Gallery, and beneath it, his contact details shimmered subtly in the light.
Professor Han's smile deepened, his eyes narrowing with pride as he nodded approvingly. "Congratulations," he said warmly.
Next to him, In-a was practically bouncing with excitement, her enthusiasm infectious.
As they turned to continue their stroll through the gallery, I bowed deeply, my fingers clutching the card tightly. "Thank you," I managed to say, my voice barely a whisper.
…
The interview was the last thing on my agenda for the evening. I wasn't as nervous now after talking with Mr. Choi, and knowing it would soon be over helped keep me grounded. I spotted the senior setting up his camera and mic in a quieter corner of the gallery. It seemed it'll still take him some time, so I decided to check on how things were flowing.
I wandered toward the centre of the room where Alleviato hung, illuminated by a soft spotlight. I stepped closer, the familiar ache in my chest resurfacing. This piece was my most personal work, born from a fleeting yet profound moment with someone I hadn't seen since.
There was someone standing in front of the painting.
I froze, my breath catching when I thought I recognized who it was.
But it couldn't be him. I hadn't seen in months even when I purposely tried, so how could he appear here like this, in front of this painting?
He was utterly still, like a statue, but the rise and fall of his chest betrayed his presence. His eyes traced the lines of the painting, lingering as if he recognized something – like he knew what it was about. The thought made my heart pound even harder.
Suddenly, he turned, like he was about to call for someone. Then his steps faltered.
Our eyes met.
And in that moment, I swore my heart stopped.
We stood there, frozen, looking at each other as if nothing else existed.
Then, in a hesitant voice, like he was afraid I might disappear, he called my name.
"Sana?"