“Are you sure you want to work alone? I can get you an assistant,” Mr. Min asked for the nth time.
 
I had asked him to help me find a place where I could work and build furniture—with all the tools and materials I’d need. It’s been a long time since I last created something with my hands, not just drawing or sketching. I grew up watching and helping my grandpa make furniture out of bamboo and scrap wood. He could turn them into something wonderful. He was actually the reason I started designing furniture in the first place. The ‘no nails and no sharp edges’ concept? That was his.
 
Only two people know about him—my mom and Iliana. I was a freshman in college when he passed away. That was also when I stopped holding any materials—except pens and paper.
 
“I’ll be fine,” I assured him again. “This isn’t my first time making something. Don’t worry. If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.”
 
He brought me to this old warehouse not far from Han’s village. He said it was one of our family’s properties, just abandoned and unused. He had someone fix it up and stock it with everything I’d asked for—materials for a swing chair, a dining table set, and a center table.
 
“I can call your brothers and tell them that—”
 
“Mr. Min,” I cut in, gently but firmly, “I’m good. Really. I want to work alone. Trust me. I’ll call you if anything happens.”
 
He sighed in defeat. He knew better than to try and stop me.
 
“Are you sure you don’t want to tell your brothers about this?” He asked again.
 
“They don’t know about the exhibit Lindsay is planning for me. You and Iliana are the only ones I told. If I knew where to get all these materials on my own, I probably wouldn’t have even asked you.”
 
“Why do you need to make furniture if you’re just going to showcase your paintings?” he asked, puzzled.
 
“I’m thinking of using the name Gabrialla for the exhibit. If I do, then I should include something Gabrialla is known for—her furniture designs. I also want to show what inspired her. Before Gabrialla started designing furniture, she knew how to make them first.”
 
Mr. Min went quiet for a while, then let out a long, resigned sigh.
 
“Okay. But… promise me you’ll call if there’s a problem.”
 
“Promise. Now, go,” I teased, shooing him away.
 
“All right, all right.” He chuckled, shaking his head. I walked him to his car and waved as he drove away.
 
I turned back toward the warehouse and looked around. I could have done all of this inside the village, but I didn’t want anyone to know—not yet. If they found out I was working on something, they’d definitely get involved. I wanted to work freely and alone, as much as possible.
 
A quiet thrill ran through me as I surveyed my temporary workshop. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The rich textures of the wood stacked neatly along the walls caught the golden light.
 
The center table would be my first challenge. I envisioned a piece that seemed to grow organically from the wood itself—a swirling, sculptural form that defied gravity. With a deep breath and a massive slab of polished cherrywood in front of me, its grain a rich tapestry of light and dark, I began to work.
 
The workshop had an old woodcutter, but it still worked just fine. The first step was to cut the wood into the shape and size I wanted. Using only meticulously carved interlocking joints and strong, flexible wood dowels, I began shaping the table.
 
I lost track of time until a delivery guy showed up with lunch. Mr. Min had sent it, of course. His message threatened that if I didn’t eat, he’d tell my brothers about everything. So childish—but thoughtful, too.
 
Days blurred into weeks as I poured myself into the work, shaping and fitting each piece with practiced grace. The final result was a marvel—a twisting, rising-and-falling table that seemed to breathe, its smooth curves inviting touch and admiration.
 
Next came the swing chair.
 
Instead of the usual harsh angles and rigid supports, I opted for a flowing, ethereal design. I used lightweight but incredibly strong ash wood, bending and shaping it with steam and careful pressure. The chair’s frame resembled delicate bird wings, gently curving to cradle the body. I wove hand-dyed hemp ropes through the framework—I thought of using bamboo here but it was too rare to find—creating a surprisingly sturdy suspension system. The finished piece was elegant and strong, a graceful dance of wood and fiber.
 
Finally, the dining table set.
 
I chose richly grained walnut, its deep brown hues exuding warmth and intimacy. I designed a set of six chairs to complement the oval table, each chair’s back mirroring the gentle curves of the table’s legs. The joints were flawlessly executed, each piece fitting snugly into the next. It wasn’t just functional—it was inviting. A place for conversation, for family, for moments shared. It radiated quiet elegance.
 
“You finally made it,” Mr. Min said when he came to pick me up before dinner at the main house. After weeks of work, I had finished my three masterpieces.
 
“You’re not supposed to see them yet.”
 
“Well, no matter how much you try to hide them, I’d still see them. Who do you think will be the one to bring them to the gallery?”
 
I rolled my eyes at him.
 
“Anyway, have you and Lindsay set the date already?” he asked.
 
“I haven’t confirmed it with her yet. She said it’s an open invitation, so I can tell her anytime.”
 
“Do you have a specific date in mind, then?”
 
“Maybe… before Christmas. The brothers might get really busy with the holidays, so I thought we could push through next week.”
 
“Okay. I’ll talk to Lindsay about it.”
 
“Why would you? I can do that myself. You already have too much on your plate. You’re like everyone’s assistant already.”
 
“It’s my job to assist all of you.”
 
“I know. But you don’t have to assist me with this. Can’t you just let me handle it?”
 
“You’re still going to insist even if I say no.”
 
“Look at that—you already know me so well.” I smiled.
 
He shook his head, amused.