Running from problems

Mrs. Gracie's words faded into muffled noises as Yuna lost herself in the stars hanging from the corner of the room, catching her gaze. The midday sun shone on them, and they sparkled like lights, at times even piercing her eyes, reminiscent of the lights that used to motivate her.

Disregarding whatever Mrs. Gracie might have said during her momentary distraction, Yuna boldly announced, "I'm thinking of going to college."

It was later in the day, Mrs. Gracie felt exhausted, but her job was her passion, and even when tired, she displayed patience. Her eyes were strained as she removed her glasses,  she rubbed her eyes, and let out a heavenly sigh. Today's clients were some of the most challenging ones she had to deal with. She always had to play mind games to get them to open up, and Yuna was a pro at avoiding discussions about necessary topics.

"That's great! What are you planning to study?" Mrs. Gracie asked.

Yuna abandoned her contemplation of the hanging stars in the room and focused on the clock. Only a few minutes remained. The mantra repeated in her mind. "I'm thinking of becoming a teacher. I find kids adorable these days."

Mrs. Gracie chimed in, "That's great, Yuna! You can also pursue music and become a music teacher."

In frustration, Yuna grunted, "Again with the music? Why do we have to talk about music again?" She asked the question while making hand gestures, to which Mrs. Gracie smirked and replied, mimicking her gestures, "The real question here is why you don't want to talk about music."

Yuna grumbled under her breath. She could never successfully evade Mrs. Gracie. This woman was a pro. "Ah, the music thing is... I don't know, okay? And those stars in the corner are just distracting. Why do you have them there? It's weird."

"Yuna, you know better than this. Come on, let's talk about it now. That's how we get better, remember?" Mrs. Gracie urged.

Yuna slouched on the couch, behaving like a child who didn't want to confront the harsh reality. Music, something that used to flow easily for her, had disappeared. Discussing it only reminded her of her incompleteness, the void within her. So she habitually avoided the topic altogether.

Eventually, she sat up on the couch and blurted out her feelings with a sense of despair, "I can't do music anymore. I've lost it. I can't write, sing, or do anything. It feels like I'm choking every time I try."

Mrs. Gracie asked, "And what about that song? Have you even tried to finish it?"

Yuna closed her eyes, deep in thought. She couldn't even remember where she had last seen her music pad. She visualized her room, as if searching for that long-forgotten notebook that had probably gathered dust somewhere in her cluttered space. Her first action would be to find it, and she reluctantly admitted that she hadn't been making any effort to reclaim her music. As the clock struck 1, she disregarded their unfinished conversation, stood up, and prepared to leave. Mrs. Gracie knew Yuna's routine well—once the clock struck, she bolted, as if running from her problems. This battle would have to wait for another day.

Just as Yuna was about to make her escape, Mrs. Gracie's words landed on her like a teacher doling out a lesson to a perpetually tardy schoolchild.

"Yuna, you must finish that song, my dear. You know me too well—I'll be relentless until you do," Mrs. Gracie reminded her with a playful glint in her eye.

Yuna had tried to sprint out of the office as if she could outrun those words, but alas, her evasion was no match for Mrs. Gracie's determination. She couldn't feign ignorance the next time they crossed paths. This was precisely what she had been trying to convey—Mrs. Gracie was a master at her craft, and dodging her was as elusive as catching stardust in a net.