The lines that show the way.

The next morning, the light fell through the window of the painting studio as usual.

Master was already awake and made himself a cup of tea as usual.

While the water boiled, he arranged his brushes.

He felt something new floating in the air.

Something small, but indefinable.

As if a line had been born not just on paper the day before.

But into life in someone.

As he took a sip of his tea, a soft knock was heard.

Not loud, not urgent.

Just a small, uncertain knock — like a child arriving who doesn't yet know if he's allowed to come in.

Painter opened the door with a smile.

The girl from yesterday stood before him.

With her sketchbook in her hand.

But today her eyes weren't red — more like they carried light in them.

"Are you free?" he asked timidly.

– Always – the painter answered. –

The workshop is alive when someone brings their heart in.

The girl entered.

He carefully opened the notebook he was holding.

The master saw: not one, but ten new drawings were waiting inside.

They were still uncertain, sometimes they stumbled, sometimes too strong, sometimes too weak – but they were alive.

– Yesterday… after I went home, I felt… as if someone had given back something that had been taken away – the girl said. –

And I couldn't do anything else. I drew. For a long time.

The painter nodded slowly.

– Do you know what it is? – he asked. –

When the soul hears its own voice again.

The girl blushed.

– Maybe… I was just afraid that it would be bad again.

– Not bad. – The master stroked the edge of the page. –

It is alive. And what is alive is never bad.

The mistakes? Those traces of growth.

The weakness? The first step of courage.

Uncertainty? The path you are on.

The girl's gaze searched his uncertainly.

- Should I draw today too?

The painter laughed.

- Only if your heart asked so.

Not me.

The girl nodded, took out her pencil, and sat down.

But today she no longer had her shoulders slumped, her throat clenched with fear.

Today, as if she understood: what she had received yesterday was not advice, not praise, not correction... ...but permission.

Permission to be herself.

The wall of silence cracks

As the girl drew, Uncle Gergely watched her in silence.

He didn't correct her.

He didn't speak.

He didn't explain.

He just saw that the girl's hand was no longer shaking.

The lines were no longer afraid to be born.

The paper no longer judged.

The pencil is no longer ashamed.

And then the girl suddenly spoke:

– Uncle… do you think… if someone makes you believe that you are not good enough… then you can turn it back?

The painter put down his brush.

– You don't have to turn it back – he said. –

But you have to keep drawing.

The girl looked at him in confusion.

– What does it mean?

The master walked over to her and carefully ran his finger along the edge of the latest drawing.

– If someone has drawn a black line across your life…

it is not your job to erase it.

But to draw another line next to it.

A more beautiful one.

A truer one.

Your own.

The girl's eyes filled with light.

– And if I mess it up again?

– Then you draw again.

The world does not end because someone makes a mistake.

The important thing is that no one else tells you which line is yours.

At the end of the day

The girl slowly closed her notebook.

Today, no great work was created.

She didn't have to.

Just a single, clean line.

But not out of fear anymore.

But out of the will to live.

"Tomorrow… can I come again?" the girl asked.

The master relaxed in his smile.

"Little girl…

the light always has a place here.

And you didn't bring a shadow in today."

The girl hugged her notebook, and when she left the studio door, the light stuck to her — as if it had transferred from the paper to her clothes.

And the painter knew: A person doesn't help when he teaches you something.

But when he gives back what makes the other person believe in themselves.

And that was the quiet miracle of the second day.