In the waning days of December, Yugh woke with a singular purpose. He dressed meticulously, his mind fixed on one goal: finding the enigmatic "AZ Studio." His late wife had invested a significant, puzzling sum in this venture before her passing. The what and, more importantly, the why of that investment gnawed at him. After a quick breakfast, he told his mother he was meeting an old friend and set out into the crisp morning. 🌄
The search was arduous. He asked for directions, followed vague leads, and walked for what felt like miles. Nearly two hours later, he finally stood before an unassuming building in a quiet artistic quarter. A simple sign on the door read "OPEN." Taking a deep breath, Yugh entered the AZ Art Studio.
The interior was a creative hive of canvases, sculptures, and half-finished projects. Near the front, a young intern was diligently cataloging supplies. Yugh approached, his voice polite but firm. "Excuse me. Is it possible to meet the founder or director of this studio?" 😑
The intern, after a brief assessing look, nodded. "This way, sir." He led Yugh past the main workspace to a closed door at the rear.
Yugh raised his hand and knocked.
"Come in,"replied a clear, female voice from within. 🔉
He pushed the door open and stepped into a spacious, sunlit office. The room's occupant had her high-backed chair turned away, facing the large window that overlooked a small courtyard garden.
Clearing his throat softly to announce himself, Yugh took another step forward. 👣
At the sound, the chair swiveled smoothly around.
Their eyes met and locked. For a long, suspended moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the city. Both pairs of eyes widened in identical, profound shock. The woman behind the desk, the founder he had come to interrogate, was someone he knew.
"Anisa?!" Yugh finally managed, the name escaping his lips in a stunned whisper. 😲