It feels like that sometimes, too – a safe harbor when the world gets loud, yet a tiny room that keeps you from seeing the street. A story gives you a place to breathe, but it also demands that you stay inside its pages, turning the next chapter before you can go back outside. In a way, it’s like a comforting blanket that also wraps you so tightly you forget you’re still breathing. It’s the tug‑of‑war between escape and being held captive, and that tension is what makes reading both beautiful and a little scary.