I stared at the marble walls of the building I was about to enter. Ivory stone, complemented by dark wood elements - window frames, an arch above the tall doors with contrasting gold handles. Carefully trimmed bushes on both sides of it - roses, some light blue flowers, and other unfamiliar vegetation. There was total silence, interrupted only by the tree leaves dancing in the wind. Then the buzzing sound. A bee flew in my direction and stopped right in front of my face. I was allergic, yet I hoped that it would sting me in the eyeball. A scenario flashed before my eyes - me passing out onto the stone pavement, grasping for air with my swollen crimson lips, blood coming out of my eyes. I die, but at least I do not cross the doors.

The bee froze in the air, as if staring and asking, should I? I clenched my teeth and shook my head. No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer, I said in my mind. It persisted, however, feeling the conflict inside of me. No, I repeated internally, I need to handle this. It flew off, and with it, the hallucinations of my demise.

I started to drag my feet up the marble stairs. I moved my eyes from my shoes towards the metal plaque to the right of the entrance. St. John’s Psychiatric Institute, embroiled in a custom cursive font.

The main room was spacious, modernly decorated, with several sofas accompanying low tables. All walls were covered by shelves with books and board games. A turntable to my left played slow, static music - piano chords and some violin, boring and calming. She was sitting at the far corner of the room, hunched over the table. Sunbeams flashed through the gaps of the blinds, shining on her head. Grey strands were everywhere, making me wonder how long until they replaced her dark hair completely. I approached the table and, as gently as I could, placed my hand on top of her shoulder. She flinched and turned her face towards me. Her skin, marked by wrinkles, with empty, medicated eyes and a slight gap between her upper and lower lip. I could see her pupils dilated, but she didn't acknowledge me. She was more tanned than when I last saw her. I was glad to see that she must have spent more time outside. The tan, however, made the rough and healed scar running across her cheek more visible. I moved my eyes back to the table immediately, pretending I did not see it.

"Hi," I said and sat down. She shifted in her chair, creating more space between us, and kept staring at the pieces. They were scattered in chaos. She didn’t even start to put them together.

We sat there in silence, neither one of us making any attempt to start a conversation. Both of us just stared at the pieces, jumping from one to another, putting them together in our heads.

There was a loud bang behind us, and I turned around. An older woman in a nightgown was standing on the other side of the room, rocking back and forth and frantically waving her hands. She was quietly humming to herself, staring at the floor and a book she dropped. A nurse appeared and picked it up, while gently grabbing the lady by the arm and leading her towards a chair. She carefully sat her down, handed her the book, and said something that made the woman relax.

I turned my head and saw that the woman's eyes were now on me. She stared at me without blinking.

"Hey," I said quietly and reached for the hand that rested on the table. She didn't flinch this time, and she let me hold it. "Hey," I repeated as she turned her eyes back towards the puzzles.

"Is everything alright?" I heard the nurse's voice above us. She gave me a warm smile and tilted her head. I answered her smile with mine, and she lowered herself to whisper in my ear.

"Mr. Joubert would like to see you before you go."

"What’s this about?"

"I think it’s best if you talk to him," she said and put her hand on my shoulder. It was under her touch that I realized how tense I was. She let me go and turned towards the woman.

"Lily, honey, would you like some tea?" the nurse asked. The woman, with her eyes still on the table, nodded her head. My lower lip started to tremble. I was jealous. I would kill for her to nod at me.

The nurse disappeared, and I was left alone with Lily again. My hand was still holding hers, and I squeezed it gently.

"I am going away for a while. The firm that I work for is opening a branch in another country, and I will be responsible for setting it up," I said. She didn’t react at all.

I looked towards the tall windows. The greenery outside made me think of a picture I had taken recently. I pulled out my phone, clicked on the gallery, and selected a photo of a hummingbird frozen in the air in front of a honeysuckle. Its feathers were in vibrant shades of green and blue, its blurred wing waving at the camera, its long beak inside the flower. She looked at it, and I saw a subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth.

I swiped through my gallery and showed her another picture I had taken in the forest: a scarlet macaw I saw in Brazil, then the toucan from Belize. It went on and on until I saw her face tense in a smile I hadn't seen before. She turned her head towards me and proudly smiled at me as if I hit the jackpot. We sat there for an hour just looking at the photos I made before I realized I needed to go. I squeezed her hand one more time and stood up. For what felt like a fraction of a second, I swear I felt her tightening the grip on my hand.

I passed the secretary, who nodded in my direction, and entered the director’s office. The space was modest, with two chairs in front of the desk. Framed certifications hung behind the balding man. He stood, and I noticed how tall he was. He extended his hand and asked me to take a seat. We exchanged pleasantries, small-talked our way through a few minutes before he noticed my impatience.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you, Mr. Harts, is the progress of your mother’s therapy," he said, proceeding to describe the developments she had made since I placed her under his care four months ago after the death of my grandmother. The group therapy, the activities she liked to engage in, the increasing amount of time she started to spend in the institute’s gardens.

"We believe, however, that some adjustments are still needed."

"Adjustments?" I queried. "What kind of adjustments?"

The director bit his lip and put down his spectacles. I noticed that I became tense again.

"Mr. Harts, you must excuse me saying this…"

"Please."

"We believe that some time off might be warranted here. We believe that it would be beneficial both to your mother and yourself if you put your visits here on hold," he said, and I saw that he was very careful with every word. I didn’t interrupt him, and I didn’t say that was exactly what I was going to do anyway. I wanted to hear his rationale, I wanted to hear him explain himself.

"Following a traumatic event, such as your mother has gone through, it’s hard enough to live every day, reliving the accident in one’s mind," he stopped before continuing, weighing his words. "And to see the fruit of said accident, no matter how long ago it occurred…"

I raised my hand, and the director stopped. He looked at me with hidden relief. I told him that I was relocating and won’t be around for the foreseeable future, offering the man no further details besides that my contact details won’t change and that the institute is free to contact me in case of emergencies. I stood up and extended my hand. He shook it, and I made my way towards the doors.

"Mr. Harts," he said, and I lingered for a moment before turning around. "Francois," he said, and I squeezed the handle hard, so hard my hand paled from the tension.

"I know that somewhere deep inside, she is happy you have found her," the director said, and I saw on his face a look of genuine concern. Despite my best efforts, despite my understanding of the whole situation, and despite his pure intentions, I wanted to pound his face into a shapeless pulp. It isn’t his fault, it isn’t my fault, I kept repeating in my mind as I made my way across the parking lot. I sped up my pace and entered the car with heaving shoulders. I turned on the engine, letting the AC cool the scorching interior. I looked around, scanning the parking lot for any witnesses, and when I finally confirmed that there were none, I allowed the pain to vent.