In a quiet room lit by overhead lighting, a red plastic chair stands alone. The chair looks ordinary, but its shadow—ah, its shadow holds a story.
The light above it creates two symmetrical reflections, like a pair of outstretched wings. Its shape almost resembles a heart, yet also resembles a pair of hands reaching to embrace. The chair says nothing, but its shadow seems alive, telling a story of longing, loneliness, and hope.
The shadow is created not simply by light, but by a moment. A moment when silence becomes a canvas and light becomes a brush. Someone has sat in that chair, perhaps someone thinking, waiting, or even remembering. The chair becomes a witness, and its shadow a trace.
In that shadow, we are invited to reflect—that something ordinary can become extraordinary when combined with a different perspective. And that in silence, a story lives on, waiting to be discovered.
The shadow is not just a shape, but a symbol: that even something as seemingly simple as a red plastic chair can have a captivating side, if we are willing to see it in the right light.