Tread Softly, Lest You Crush My Dreams by Barry Denson

 

Tread Softly, Lest You Crush My Dreams 

by Barry Denson

The sound of her footsteps echoed across the polished marble floor, a sharp rhythm in the otherwise silent gallery. Alice adjusted the hem of her pencil skirt nervously, her eyes flickering to the man sitting a few feet away. He was meticulously arranging the shards of what appeared to be a broken vase. Each piece, no matter how small, was laid with precision on a velvet-lined tray.

"Don’t step closer," he said without looking up. His voice was calm but firm, like a conductor calling an orchestra to attention.

Alice froze mid-step. "I—I didn’t mean to intrude," she stammered.

"You didn’t. But you’re wearing heels," he said, finally glancing up. His dark eyes were piercing, framed by glasses that sat neatly on the bridge of his nose. "And heels don’t tread carefully. They stomp. They fracture. They destroy."

She blinked, unsure whether to be offended or impressed. "I’ll take them off," she offered, already leaning down to unbuckle the straps.

He sighed, gesturing toward a bench. "Please sit. Removing the shoes is only the beginning."

Alice hesitated but did as he said, watching him as he turned his attention back to the shattered pieces. His movements were hypnotic, a dance of precision and intent. The tray now held a perfect mosaic of broken porcelain.

"What are you doing?" she asked softly, afraid her voice might disrupt his rhythm.

"Restoring a masterpiece," he replied without pausing. "This vase belonged to my great-grandmother. A gift to her from my great-grandfather on their wedding day. It shattered this morning. I couldn’t leave it that way."

Alice felt a pang of sympathy. "Accidents happen."

"Not in my world," he said sharply, his tone cutting through her empathy like a scalpel. "In my world, everything has its place, its purpose. There is no room for carelessness."

She fell silent, unsure how to respond. The weight of his words lingered between them, heavy and uncompromising.

He continued working, the click of porcelain against porcelain the only sound. "Do you know why I’m so careful?" he asked suddenly.

Alice shook her head.

"Because carelessness destroys more than objects. It crushes dreams, erases intentions, and leaves a trail of irreparable damage." He looked up at her again, his eyes softer now but no less intense. "Every time someone treads thoughtlessly, something fragile breaks."

His words settled over her like a shroud. She thought of her own life, her own dreams trampled by the careless decisions of others—or her own careless steps. "I think I understand," she said quietly.

He offered a faint smile, the first she’d seen from him. "Good. Then tread carefully. Not just here, but everywhere."

The cracks gleamed faintly in the light, as though they carried their own story. Alice thought of kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. This vase didn’t have gold in its veins, but it had something else: care, intention, and the refusal to discard what had been broken. "Maybe that’s all we need," she whispered. The man glanced at her. "What?" She smiled faintly. "To see the gold in what’s broken."

Word count: 488