In a forgotten little gallery, at the heart of a city where time seemed to have fallen asleep, hung a mysterious painting: « Square One ». No one knew who had painted it, or when it had appeared. Some said it had always been there, hanging between two crumbling walls, like a window open to another world.
 
The painting depicted a perfect square, so deep in black that it seemed to absorb the light around it. Yet, if one came close enough, one could discern shifting reflections, flashes of color dancing on the surface, like buried memories. Intrigued visitors would stop before it, lost in their own thoughts.
 
One day, a solitary artist named Clara lingered before « Square One ». At first, she saw only a simple geometric shape, but the longer she gazed, the more she discovered unsuspected details: fine lines, almost invisible, tracing infinite paths. She thought she recognized landscapes, faces, entire stories. Each glance revealed a new layer, as if the painting adapted to its observer.
 
An old man, the gallery’s keeper for decades, whispered a secret to her: « It’s not a painting, it’s a mirror. It doesn’t show what is, but what could be. » Fascinated, Clara returned every day, seeking to unravel its mystery. One morning, she dared to place her hand on the canvas. At that moment, the square lit up, and she felt herself drawn into a whirlwind of colors and possibilities.
 
When she opened her eyes again, she found herself before a vast blank canvas, with a single instruction carved in one corner: « Start over. »