This was a dreary, rainy afternoon in Brilda, with fine rain falling like silver needles, enveloping the Kalchi Art Gallery at No. 84 Charing Cross Street in a hazy mist.
Despite the gloomy sky, the entrance was bustling with traffic and a constant stream of people.
This three-story building, built in the sixteenth century of the Solar Calendar, was quaint and elegant. Time had left indelible marks on it, with its ivory-white walls adorned with reliefs and its brick-red roof partially concealed by climbing ivy. Copper wind chimes hanging under the eaves swayed gently in the breeze, tinkling softly.
The doors of the gallery were firmly closed, and a "temporarily closed" sign swayed under the dim streetlights, emitting a cold light, as if silently refusing the pedestrians to stop.
Occasionally, a few passersby hurried past, their black umbrellas blending into blurred silhouettes in the rain curtain.
