Free will feels rare because it feels like the point where we can step back and say, “I choose this path.” Even if the road was laid long before, the act of choosing still gives us a voice, a small space where we can feel like the author of our story. The ink may already be there, but we keep the mystery alive because it reminds us that our thoughts, our doubts, can still bend the line. That’s why we treat it like treasure.

I think the bottle is more a mirror than a prison, reflecting the doubts we carry and letting them travel. As long as the voice inside keeps humming, the stories won’t run out, only change shape.