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Luca

“Sorry, Luca, but I can’t accept that as a concept.”

Hearing those words from Verena, my mentor, felt like a slap in the face. “What?” I asked incredulously, as if she were joking. “But I’ve put together a flawless idea on paper.”

“I sent you examples. Did you even look at them?” Her dark brown bangs had grown so long that they covered her eyebrows, but I could still tell she was frowning.

No, I didn’t look at them, but is that important?

“What’s wrong with it? It’s an outline. A complete treatment.” I heard my own voice trembling.

“Yes, a treatment, but not yet a concept,” she corrected me.

“For the final project, you also need to reflect on the ideas behind your intentions. You need to make it clear to me that you know what you’re doing.

I’m not saying what you’ve written here is bad, but it’s not enough to give you the good to go. ”

“That … But that’s …”

Hold yourself back! I felt like I was about to lose my temper, so I bit my tongue and ran my hands through my hair.

“I didn’t make the rules, Luca. Why don’t you reach out to Oliver or Melanie? I’m sure they could give you some current examples.”

“To who?” I had no idea who these people were that she was referring to.

“Oliver Dietrich? Melanie Kopp?”

I shook my head slightly.

“My goodness, Luca. They’re your fellow students. For two and a half years. Don’t tell me you don’t know who they are.”

I shrugged awkwardly, indicating embarrassment, even though I didn’t care who the two were. They were probably nice, as they had left me alone throughout the past five semesters.

“Exchange ideas with them.”

I abruptly shook my head. “I’m not particularly good with other people. And since it’s usually mutual …”

Despite my trainer’s persistent attempts to reassure me that I wasn’t causing any inconvenience to others and encouraged me to be more forthcoming, my past experiences remained my guiding principle.

I was firm in my belief that maintaining self-restraint would ultimately lead to a sense of well-being.

Best example: Juri. I had stepped out of my comfort zone and tried to win him over, but he had fled the bar almost immediately.

Too bad, because I found it somehow easy to talk to him. Normally, interacting with people was exhausting to me, and especially so for Verena. But I wouldn’t vent my anger here. That’s what the training was for later.

Verena sighed. “It wouldn’t hurt if you still sat down with them. Sooner or later, when it comes to the final presentation, you’ll have to. And here on these three pages, it’s not even clear to me if it’s going to be a short film or a screenplay.”

“It’s a treatment; of course, it’s a short film.

” The conversation drained my energy, and I had to try hard not to roll my eyes—though I was less annoyed with my mentor and more with myself.

I knew the idea was good, but since I had spent the entire weekend trying to find a new job, I didn’t have enough time to put something tangible on paper.

With the semester coming to an end, I was starting to feel the pressure.

Damn it! I already knew it wasn’t enough, but I hadn’t expected her to reject me so outright.

“I’m sorry. I can’t give you my signature, unfortunately.”

That hit hard. She looked me straight in the eyes as I choked down the fat lump in my throat. “The semester isn’t over yet. Is there a possibility?”

Verena flipped through the pages of her Moleskine agenda.

“Wednesday in two weeks is December 21st. We can meet then. If you have a finished concept by then that meets the school’s requirements, we can wrap it up this semester.

Otherwise, it could be tight. Maybe it’s a good idea for you to extend the semester.

That way, you still have the entire spring semester to work on the final project. ”

I couldn’t handle this kind of pressure at all. This was about art, damn it! I leaned back and interlocked my hands behind my head. With her fine liner in hand, Verena raised her eyebrows at me.

“What choice do I have?” I asked in defeat.

“So, Wednesday, December 21st. We can meet here. Or would you rather go to a café?”

“Here is fine.”

I didn’t feel like sitting in a café. In the end, she might choose a place where I had worked in the past. No thanks.

It was enough that we were surrounded by other students here in the cafeteria.

If it were up to me, we would meet in her office, but she probably thought it would be more appropriate to discuss something like this over coffee.

“Again at ten o’clock?”

“Fine by me.”

“If you have something, you can also send it to me by email beforehand. I’d be happy to review it.

” In the meantime, she scribbled the appointment in her book and stowed it back in her huge leather bag.

A dark brown strand of hair fell across her face, which she tucked behind her ear.

She then checked to see if there was still coffee in her cup, and it was evident she wanted more, but I could also tell that she didn’t necessarily want to drink it with me.

As the study director, Verena eventually approached me and asked about my preferences for a mentor since I hadn’t made an effort to find one.

I had none, so she urged me to choose someone.

With a shrug, I picked her. Since she had only one student under her wing, she couldn’t exactly refuse me.

Verena was okay, but she definitely was not my first choice to grab another coffee with.

So I packed my things, stood up, and slipped into my jacket.

“Okay, then …”

“Don’t worry, Luca. Your ideas are good.

But they’re still scattered and a bit all over the place.

Like you’re trying to do too much. Once you’ve organized them and put them into a reflective concept, you’ll find it easier to get to work.

Besides, this is a final project, not about winning an Oscar. ”

She was right, and yet it annoyed me as I stepped out onto the street. I got on the bus and headed to training. It was the only way to relieve this inner pressure. On the way to the studio, my thoughts were solely focused on the final project, and it was driving me crazy.

The back rooms were everywhere now. But the worst part was that they were spreading in my mind, gnawing through my brain and sucking up everything that was left of conceptual ideas.

All that remained were empty rooms, their walls gradually threatening to collapse under pressure.

And me? I wandered aimlessly through the labyrinth, still trying to figure out how I had even ended up in these back rooms. What did I have to lose here?

Or better yet: What was I actually looking for?

Because every time I sat down to work, there was a gaping void inside me.

The studio wasn’t very busy yet, which suited me just fine. The punching bag was free, so I claimed it and started working out. I knew very well that I was responsible for most of the pressure, not Verena, but that didn’t necessarily make it easier to deal with.

After about half an hour of working out on the punching bag, I was already drenched in sweat when Dario came over with the mitts.

“Come on, let’s continue in the ring. You look like you need to blow off more steam than usual.”

I didn’t object to that. I just wiped the sweat from my face and followed him into the ring. But after ten intensive minutes and still no sense of relief, I threw my hands up in frustration.

“It’s no use!” I exclaimed.

Dario sighed. The broad-shouldered trainer had known me for six years and had become familiar with my tendencies. “You can forget about a fight,” he said dryly. “First, you need to calm down.”

I smirked. “Are you still playing the social worker?”

“No, but I also learn from mistakes. When I sent you into the last competition, you were so stressed out that you broke your opponent’s nose.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“Believe what you want! But anyway. Tell me what’s bothering you. That’ll work better.”

I pressed the sweat towel to my face and reached for the water bottle.

Dario put the mitts away and sat down next to me on the bench.

It took me about two years to dare to open up to him.

Tirelessly, he had shown me time and again that he had my back, even though he had been assigned to me.

But ultimately, he gave me back some of my lost confidence with the training and helped more than the psychotherapy I had been sentenced to.

“My mentor is already pessimistic and recommends that I add another semester if I can’t come up with a flawless concept soon.”

“That’s your problem?” Dario asked in an incredulous tone.

“Fuck, man! I gave her a treatment! A finished treatment!”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s an outline for movies. I know that it’s not yet a finished concept like they want, but this thing is good! I could turn it into a screenplay right away or use it as the basis for a short film. And the mentor’s best suggestion is for me to get in touch with my fellow students.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

I raised my eyebrows. Dario knew perfectly well that I hadn’t made any effort to make friends since the incident with Jér?me on the roof.

The time in juvenile detention had opened my eyes completely and showed me that I couldn’t count on anyone but myself.

Yes, I had lost trust in people six years ago.

Quite late for a seventeen-year-old who had been bullied for years, but hope dies last, as they say.

“And what would be the solution?” Dario asked genuinely interested.

“I need a source of inspiration,” I said matter-of-factly. “Like back then with Matteo.”

“Then why don’t you call him?”

I laughed and made a grunting sound. “He wants nothing to do with me anymore.”

“And when did that happen?” Dario asked suspiciously.

“Oh … last year,” I replied quietly. “Right after the submission.”

“Why am I not surprised that I didn’t know about this?” Dario sighed. “What happened?”

“You’re asking now?”

“You thought that if you let the matter rest, I wouldn’t care anymore. Wrong. I’m too much into gossip for that. So … spill it.”

I chewed on my lower lip, nervously tapped one leg, and glanced at Dario, feeling hesitant and unsure.

But he wouldn’t let up as he continued staring at me.

“Well, he claimed he was in love with me, which is completely absurd. And when I told him that, he freaked out. Accused me of using him and called me a selfish asshole.” With a shrug, I finished the story.

“Oh, Luca.” Dario shook his head in bewilderment. “It’s okay if you’re not in love with him, but what if I say that Matteo really did fall in love with you?”

I squinted at Dario, unable to speak. The idea seemed ridiculous. Instead, I thought of the dark-haired guy, Juri, who had caused a scene at the café last Friday.

He would have been perfect.

Too bad he slipped away from me.