Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. The Big Three, standing in solemn grandeur, carved from marble, their expressions frozen in time—powerful, untouchable, watching. You weren’t sure how long you had been standing there, chin tilted up, staring. The rest of the class had long since moved on, their voices distant echoes through the halls of the exhibition.

It felt both familiar and strange.

“Have you found something fascinating?”

The familiar voice made you blink, breaking the trance. Mr. Brunner rolled up beside you in his wheelchair, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. His presence was steady, comforting. You had gotten used to that; how he always seemed to appear when you needed him most.

“They look… different than I imagined,” you admitted, glancing back at the statues.

“Ah, well,” he mused, “interpretations change with time. Every artist sees them a little differently.” He let the silence settle for a moment before gesturing toward you with a faint smile. “You’re doing well with the paper?”

You glanced down at the worksheet in your hands, fingers absently running over the rough texture of the paper. The words blurred, the letters shifting, dancing out of order before your eyes. You blinked hard, trying to force them into place, but they refused to cooperate, twisting into something incomprehensible.

The frustration built in your chest. It always did. No matter how many times you tried, no matter how many hours you spent staring at pages filled with words that refused to sit still, the outcome was always the same. Why did you have to be so different?

Mr. Brunner’s gaze was knowing, patient. He didn’t rush you, didn’t press for an answer. Instead, he simply waited, as if he already understood.