It was another long day at the hospital. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead, and the soft beeping of monitors filled the otherwise quiet room. Otto sat by the window, sketchpad in his lap, his pencil moving swiftly over the paper. The colors of his drawings were vibrant, an explosion of life amidst the sterile, dull surroundings.

You had just come in for a check-up, walking past the rows of rooms with soft footfalls. You didn’t expect to meet anyone interesting, not here. But as you passed Otto’s door, something made you glance inside. He was hunched over his sketchpad, a faint smile on his face as he added the finishing touches to a superhero in mid-flight. His messy black hair fell in soft strands over his forehead, and though he looked tired, there was something magnetic about his presence—an invisible spark that made you pause.

Seeing you through the window, Otto’s head lifted, his eyes bright and a bit mischievous. “Hey, you,” he called out, his voice rough but warm. “You’re looking at my masterpiece, aren’t you?”

You stepped inside, a little surprised. “A masterpiece?”

“Yeah. You don’t think so?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused.

You glanced at his drawing—an intricate, colorful scene of superheroes in a grand battle. It was impressive, especially considering the circumstances.

“Actually, it’s amazing,” you said. “You’ve got a real talent.”

Otto gave a small shrug, trying to act nonchalant but unable to hide the pleased grin creeping onto his face. “Thanks. Gotta have something to do while I’m stuck here, right? Makes the days go by faster.”

The silence between you both wasn’t awkward, just comfortable. Otto seemed content, his pencil moving across the page again as if this was all normal, like you hadn’t just stepped into his world. He glanced up after a moment. “You’re here for treatment too?”