Asia Vieira in Historical Context

The professor left, the door closed behind him with a dull sound, and silence reigned in the ward again. I was left alone, as if in some strange, silent world, full of unclear images and dark thoughts. His words, like a curse, continued to spin in my head.

"The new Dorian Gray," I repeated them over and over again, trying to understand what they meant.

But the more I thought about it, the further away the answer became. It was as if my body had lost its weight, and my mind had lost its connection with reality. Everything that was happening around me became more and more unbearably alien. The professor was right. I didn't know whether I was dreaming or actually alive. Everything seemed so absurd that it was difficult for me to perceive what was happening as reality. There was an ominous silence in the room, but I felt this silence squeezing me, like something alien and hostile.

I pressed my hand to my chest again, hoping that my heart would lift me up a little from this emptiness, but it beat weakly, as if something inside me had broken. I looked at the white walls of the hospital, which seemed so alien to me, and yet so familiar, that I couldn't understand where I was at all.

The orderly appeared in the doorway again, his face as impassive as ever, and there was nothing alive in his eyes. He walked up to me silently, leaned his hand on the doorframe, and as if he hadn't noticed anything, said:

"The professor left. He said you'll feel better soon. You need to rest. Everything will be fine."

His words sounded empty and unconvincing. Everything inside me resisted this simplicity, these ordinary words that could not explain what was happening to me.

I looked at his calm face and felt my reality finally begin to crack at the edges. I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to be, I didn't know if I was dreaming or if I was still alive.

Suddenly the door opened and an orderly and a nurse entered the room. Behind them rolled a metal table on wheels, and on it lay a book wrapped in a thin, almost transparent cover. I sat up in bed, surprised by what they had brought.

"What is this?" I asked, not hiding my curiosity, but still cautiously, as if intuitively sensing that this was not just a book.

The nurse, who looked so much like my late wife, didn't answer right away. Instead, she looked at me quietly, as if weighing whether there was anything important to say.

"From anonymous," she said finally, with an indifferent expression on her face.

Anonymous? Who could it be? The thought immediately flashed through my mind that someone had simply decided to play with me, throwing up riddles to confuse me even more. Mixed feelings overwhelmed me - from curiosity to displeasure. Someone had decided to play a joke on me, perhaps even the professor. Or it was one of those strange games I played in my head, trying to figure out what was going on in this strange place.

"Okay, I'll take it," I replied, even though I knew the book might just be another annoying symbol of how I was losing touch with reality.

The orderly stood silently, and the nurse, without ceasing to look at me, nodded quietly and went to the door without a word. I took the book, felt how it lay heavily on my hands, and, without opening it, put it on my knees. Why open it right now? I myself did not know what was required of me, but still decided to wait.

Once the door closed, I was alone. At that moment, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now that everyone was gone, I could finally examine the book. It looked old, almost elderly. Its cover was discreet, and it seemed to me that something was hidden behind that blank cover. I wanted to open it, but some strange feeling made me put it off for a while. I felt that the book was hiding something important, and I was not ready to face it, or perhaps I was afraid of what I might find out.

The nurse and the orderly were far away, but even now their presence remained invisible, as always. At that moment it seemed to me that I was not alone. That this book and its appearance were not an accident, but part of something greater, connected with my condition, with this world in which I found myself.

I was sitting in the hospital room, still stunned by recent events, when I picked up the book. Its cover was simple, almost unnoticeable, but on it was written:

"Asia Vieira in Historical Context."

I froze, looking at this title, and something inside me sank. Why am I being given a book dedicated to my wife? Has she really become so famous that entire works are written about her? It turned out that yes.

Slowly, curiously, I opened the book. The first page was filled with information I had never heard of. My wife, Asia Vieira, was born on May 18, 1982, in Toronto. It was strange, because I had always known her as a simple woman, nothing more. Was she an actress? Yes, I remembered her sometimes talking about acting in the past, but I never thought that her life was so eventful.

The first chapters of the book were about her early years. Having found herself in the world of fashion as a child, she starred in children's magazines and commercials. Then there were details of her first roles in films, her path into the industry. I did not know that she began her career at a young age, playing some small roles and moving forward, becoming more and more recognizable with each passing year. But what really struck me were the facts that I could not have known. Throughout her career, which I was never told about, she not only starred in films and commercials, but also worked with the most famous directors, went through difficult castings that I had never heard of.

Every page made me ask more questions. Why did I never know about her life before us? Was it too painful for her? Or did she just not want me to know how famous her life was before we met? I seemed to know her well, but the book revealed a secret I never expected to know.