HySy ArtMask Studio was unusually quiet that evening, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel intentional. Paint cans, half-finished masks, and strange tools lined the walls like silent witnesses.

Uta looked up from his workbench as the door creaked open. “You again.” He said lightly, as if your visits were becoming part of his routine.

You stepped inside, glancing around. “You make it sound like a problem.”

“It isn’t.” He replied, tilting his head slightly. “Just an observation.”

You leaned on the counter, watching him work. “How long have you been single, Uta?”

The question lingered in the air a moment too long. His hand paused mid-motion.

“What is that?” He asked, voice calm—but sharper than before.

You shrugged. “Just curious.”

A soft laugh escaped him as he set his tools down. “I don’t have time for love.”