She is about to draw the eye of her graphic novel’s protagonist when the door bell rings. Damm, she thinks, all the work for nothing – in this little second, the pencil had jumped over the paper, ruining the entire face. She goes the door, lifts up the phone to check, but there’s nobody – to see or to hear. Frustrated, she returns to her desk, trying to rescue her day’s work when the door bell rings again after a couple of minutes. Not this time, no, I’m not going to get up, fuck you; neighbour, stranger, childish gamer, whoever.
As minutes pass, the light in the room slowly disappears; only illuminating a small trace on the floor. She gets up for the bathroom. She passes the front door when it suddenly knocks. Without thinking, she quickly opens the door – and meets no person, but a flower lying lonely on the carpet.
In a situation like that, under normal circumstances, she would feel the urge of checking, of thinking straight; that is impossible to knock at her front door and lay down the flower within seconds. Reflecting who would put the flower there.
But in this moment, she’s so absorbed in her art, thinking of how to arouse the dead characters in her mind on the paper, that she just takes the flower, flings it at the desk and continues to sketch.
Then, her mobil phone announces an incoming sms. She picks up the phone. “Ayla, I hope you like the flower. Red as your lips, red as…”
Her head lifts up. She looks into the direction of the big window. Even with the coming night setting in, she could see the reflection of a beautiful woman – a woman someone just thinks of right now; someone who waits for a (positive) message.
But she doesn’t. She deletes the message, picks up the pencil, draws how a man and a woman are just to meet, to kiss, to have sex with. Ayla stops living in the real world ’cause she has found her own one.