A Kiss To Build A Dream On - Season 2: Bridge

Waltz For Zizi - Adagio

With every tick of the clock, whatever remained of Henry's confidence vanished into thin air. There was too much at stake, too much to lose. He paced back and forth in his living room trying to shake his nervousness away. When that failed miserably, he contended on reviewing the speech for the tenth time that day.

He chose his usual spot on the Ottoman to go over the whole thing, practicing timing and tone in his head. One of the few things Jabin Geber had taught him was that, when it comes to speeches, people might forget what you actually told them, but will always remember how you make them feel, so always strive to make whatever feelings you need to convey come across first, content second.

Fitting, given that Henry seldom thought about what Jabin said to him, but he sure could remember how miserable he always made Henry feel.

As the clock continued its relentless march, Zizi was nowhere to be seen. A side effect of her medicine is that it made her lose track of time, and would get lost doing the most inane things possible, wasting Henry's time in the process — which, were it anyone else, would've put her straight in his shit-list.

With a deep breath to suppress his annoyance, Henry tossed the speech aside and went to look for her in the only place she could be.

When not busy sleeping, Zizi spent most of her days in the attic, modified to serve as an atelier for her to paint and draw. It was the ugliest room in the mansion — according to Henry, at least. White walls shone almost sickeningly bright on all flanks, which usually gave Henry a headache. Small shelves littered the walls, each full of paint cans, brushes, canvases of every size, knives, sponges, and other things that, for all Henry knew, didn't belong in an art studio.

Jennifer sat on a small stool by the corner browsing a teen magazine, and occasionally stealing a glance over to the middle of the room where Zizi sat in front of an easel. Her brush dipped in a small tub of ink by her side every few seconds — each stroke on the canvas matching the tune of a chipper, feel-good song coming out of a little red radio tucked away in a corner of the room, right next to Jen.

When Zizi painted, her world was that canvas. The house could've been burning down and she wouldn't even budge from her seat. Every stroke, every splotch, every line, was carefully executed with surgical precision. Her head, slightly cocked to the right, made her hair tucked into her overalls, which were a tad too big for her size.

While Henry despised the room, he loved to see Zizi paint. He loved her mouth moved to the songs without signing, how her otherwise warm eyes filled with cold determination when planning the next stroke, how her soft face twisted into a pensive scowl when deciding what part she would paint next.

For Henry, she was the real work of art in the room. Sadly, he did not have the time to admire her. Time waited for no-one, not even him.

Henry waved his hand at Jennifer, who reluctantly stood up to turn off the radio. That was the only known way to snap Zizi back to reality, as she could become quite invested in music as much as in painting. She looked disdainfully towards the radio, mad at the sudden loss of inspiration, locking eyes with Henry in the process. Her cheeks flushed a deep red when she noticed him in the room. It was a rare sight having Henry in the atelier given that he hated it there.

"Hey, hon... didn't see you there. Is it time to get going?" she asked, pulling her hair out of her overalls.

She placed her brush on a white cup on the floor, accidentally splashing some black droplets around. Not that it mattered, since the floor was already stained with the ghosts of paintings past. "Sorry. I wanted to finish this piece today, while I have some clarity."

"Don't worry. You know who much I love to see you paint."

A diminutive smile crept on her face, one of those small treasures Henry liked to keep like trophies. She made a beeline towards Henry, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the plaster canvas she was working on.