Episode 1: from the corner of a springtime living room
The living room wall was filled with windows. The day was sunny, and sunlight poured in from every side—soft and gentle. Woven roman shades were drawn halfway down, filtering the glare and turning the light into something tender and pleasing to the eye. It was late spring; the green of the garden trees could be seen from every corner of the room, as if someone had painted the garden, like a living canvas, across the wall.
The walls glowed in a warm, deep yellow. The ceiling was a paler yellow with traces of green—like the color of endless fields of wheat. If you looked closer, you’d find that same warmth of yellow and softness of green everywhere, quietly stitching the room together.
In the middle of the room, facing away from the window, stood an old three-seater sofa covered in a fresh chintz fabric, with big floral prints. The fabric was cream filled with green and terracotta blossoms, as if it was telling stories of the garden and springtime. The same mix of colors showed up again on the soft, slightly worn cushions on the sofa—cushions which seemed to be placed for stretching out, for thinking, or for reading a book.
Around the room, other fabrics caught the eye: next to the floral sofa, a tall round table was covered with a green-and-white checkered cloth. Across from that, sat an old armchair, dressed in white fabric with thin black stripes and puffy pillows. The furniture was arranged in a way that made you want to sit down and stay for hours, talking.
In between the sofas, a wooden coffee table stood with slender legs and delicate carvings. Its surface was filled with books and notebooks that seemed to have been passed from hand to hand, now gathered here with untold stories of their own.
If you lifted your head, you’d see the high ceiling with its slim iron beams, all painted a wheat-like yellow. The paint was slightly glossy, catching and reflecting the sunlight. Hanging right above the coffee table was a large brass chandelier—heavy and old, yet somehow perfectly in harmony with the ceiling’s delicacy. Like an anchor tying the ceiling to the room.
The space was full of objects of different heights. Sofas and tables rose and dipped unevenly, like musical notes weaving a gentle rhythm together. Tallest of all was a white porcelain lamp, standing on the tall table beside the floral sofa. The lampshade was patterned with tiny brick-colored flowers. It seemed to wait for evening, to glow for you to enjoy its light.
The handwoven rug on the floor was tribal, slightly faded. Beautiful and with delicate geometric motifs, the rug was generous. Spreading out like a wide hug across the room, it gathered all the colors of the room in one place: brown, yellow, and green.
Everything was in harmony: the light and the garden, the warm walls, the old furniture and chandelier, and all the tiny details. It was a room made for sitting, drinking coffee, for watching the breeze move through the trees. For telling stories and listening to them. A room for living. A room for staying.
