I’ve always had a deep connection to stories and the way they stir something quiet but lasting. My first love was cinema, the kind that lingers after the screen goes dark. And for as long as I’ve known myself, I’ve known I would write. I sometimes imagine ending up in a small, historical seaside town—an apartment filled with books, art, a piano, and a typewriter on a table in the middle of a wide terrace overlooking the city. I’d hear voices from the street, birds in the trees, maybe distant bells. I’d sit in the sun, in the fresh air, and feel the quiet joy of having somehow folded fantasy into reality—until the two became the same.