A quiet late-autumn afternoon.
On a hill in northern Seoul, even footsteps were hushed inside the museum lobby.
Celeste paused just before the glass doors.
A black exhibition poster stood before her, its stark white typography drawing her gaze in silence:
Louise Bourgeois: Structures of Memory
A quote was printed near the entrance in small text—an echo of the artist's voice:
"Art is a guarantee of sanity."
She inhaled, just briefly.
Her eyes, as if drawn by instinct, shifted to the side.
Daniel was standing there.
One hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding their ticket up to the light.
She pressed her lips together for a moment, then spoke softly.
"I didn't expect to stand in front of this again. Not in Seoul."
Without lowering his gaze, he answered,
"You stood in front of this poster for a long time back then too."
"Los Angeles. LACMA."
He turned to look at her.
"Do you remember the room?"
"Cells. Iron frames, red fabric, a single mirror and a bed…"
Her voice trailed as her gaze dropped.
"I still remember staring at it for so long. Never thought I'd see it again—here, in Seoul."
Daniel said nothing.
Instead, he quietly walked beside her as they entered the gallery.
Inside, the lighting was subdued.
No glass cases—just raw, exposed works breathing in the open air.
They passed a few installations, then stopped in front of the third room—its structure all too familiar.
A skeletal chamber made of rusted iron.
No walls, just a square frame.
Inside: a worn bed frame, shredded crimson curtains, and a shattered mirror, strewn across the floor.
Title: Cell (You Better Grow Up)
Year: 1993
Materials: steel, glass, fabric, paper, mirror, wood
A single line on the wall caption read:
"The family is a prison of emotions."
Celeste stood still, staring through the iron bars.
"It's this one. Exactly this one."
"Yeah."
Daniel came to her side.
"You didn't say a word back then. You just kept looking at the mirror."
Celeste slowly shook her head.
"I remember your reflection in the glass more than the bed inside the cell."
Daniel exhaled faintly.
His fingers, almost unconsciously, brushed the back of her hand.
"The world built a frame around us. And we spent our lives trying to break out of it."
She clenched her hand, but her eyes remained fixed—not on the artwork, but on their twin reflections fractured in the broken mirror.
"That frame kept us close. But it also… locked us in."
Under the muted lights, only the scattered shards of glass quietly reflected the two of them.
Final Room of the Exhibition
After the last gallery, a quiet hallway led toward the exit.
Celeste came to a stop near the end.
On a small table beside the exhibition pamphlets sat a single sheet of paper, face-up.
She reached out and gently lifted it with her fingertips.
A reservation confirmation.
Her eyes followed the printed lines in silence:
Reservation Name: Daniel
Exhibition: Louise Bourgeois: Structures of Memory
Time: Friday, 6:00 PM
Reserved For: Celeste
Without a word, she folded the page in half, then slipped it carefully into the inner pocket of her bag.
When she turned back, Daniel was waiting outside the glass doors.
She walked toward him, slow and deliberate, and without a glance, slipped her arm through his.
"Thank you."
He glanced sideways.
"…For what?"
She didn't answer right away.
Her gaze remained fixed on the grey light beyond the glass.
Then, quietly, she replied—
"For feeling the same way…all these years."
Daniel parted his lips—but said nothing.
Instead, his hand curled gently around her arm, holding it just a little tighter.
Not too heavy.
Not too light.
Just enough.
And together, the two of them stepped into the rain-damp city, walking slowly toward whatever waited beyond the mist.