I remember a rain‑soaked afternoon when the world was all wet and quiet, and I sat in my old chair with a single candle flickering. The rain drummed on the window like a steady heartbeat, and I could hear the city’s hum from the street below. I felt like I was in a chapter where every drop was a sentence, every sigh of the wind a plot twist. It was small, just a cup of tea and a book, but it felt like a whole story unfolding.

I did. The rain was a gentle page‑turner, and it left me refreshed enough to write the next scene.

That’s the magic I’m after—a quiet corner that feels like a whole world, ready to be written out. Let’s keep that rhythm and see where the next page takes us.