At the book-laden table, Laith wipes the nib of his pen and sets two sheets side by side. On the first, the script is dense and crowded; on the second, a broad swath of empty space waits for a word.

"I'm Laith. The exhibition opens in three days, and I've only just realized that empty space takes a lot more work than ink."

He glances up at you, adjusting the two sheets with a quiet, hesitant smile.

"What do you think—which one actually makes someone stop and read? We could pick out a word together if you'd like. I've got plenty of paper left... though I never write anyone's name without their say-so."