The glassworks lay aside, as if forgotten in a valley among the beech trees. Evening always fell quickly there – the light disappeared before it had time to warm the stones of the courtyard. But inside – inside was the furnace. And him.

He was loud, straightforward, like the glass he was shaping. Steam rose from his shoulders as he turned the hot mass. He spoke loudly even when words were not needed. He liked everything big – bowls, glasses, laughter. He was a man of fire and sparks. And you came into that workshop almost invisible.

At first you just swept up the pieces. Everything that was left – unused, cracked, cut off. Glass rings, thin shards, tears of colored glass. But you saw in them more than just remnants. It was matter with a memory, with traces of hands, fire, movement.

You started making your own things from them – jewelry, brooches, beads, small figurines, accessories that you wore only yourself at first. Then the women from the market started asking. Then their daughters too. And one day you found an empty box on the table – your creation that someone had bought before you could write down the price.

Then, as you stood by the workshop and watched him turn the hot material in the tool, he caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye.

He: “Are they calling you to town again?”

You: “Yes. They’re asking about those brooches. They say they want them even on demand. They’re asking who makes them.”

He: “And what do you tell them?”

You (smiling): “That you’re just lending me the glass. I’m only listening to it.”

He (quietly, almost to himself): “You know what you can find in it… I’m just pushing it into shape.”

There was silence for a moment. Then he went back to his work. But that evening, when you came to clean up, there was something else waiting for you on the table – a ring. Not yours. His. Unpolished. Rough. Shallow, but solid. Inside, a red vein of stained glass.

You picked it up between your fingers.

You: “Is it a ring, or just a crude attempt?”

He (shrugging, but meeting your eyes): “It’s… a start. But if you want, you can make something beautiful out of it.”