He felt uncomfortable. The lack of efficiency felt like a sin. "Why am I doing this?" he asked himself, his hands shaking slightly. "There is no profit here. No networking. No logic."
She just handed him a cup of hot tea and a plate of warm túrós táska (cheese pastry). Csak mert
He decided he would start painting again. Not to sell. Not to exhibit. Csak mert. He felt uncomfortable
He arrived at the cottage. It was quiet, smelling of dry wood and chamomile. Ilona didn’t ask why he came, or how long he was staying. She didn't ask about his career or his anxiety. Csak mert
Csak mert. The answer hovered in the air of the compartment.