Once upon a time—before morning commutes, spreadsheets, and back-to-back meetings—I was a storyteller. My world spun on metaphors and moonlight, where characters whispered their secrets in the quiet hours of the night. I poured heart and soul into the page, chasing stories that danced just out of reach. Then life happened, as it often does. I traded pens for paperwork and plotlines for deadlines. These days, I work in an office in Canada, where the coffee is warm, the air is crisp, and the view outside my window is often more inspiring than what’s on my screen. But something in me never stopped writing. Even if my hands forgot the rhythm, my heart remembered the melody. So here I am—ready to reclaim that part of me that once found magic in the mundane. In my spare time, I’m letting imagination bloom again. No pressure. No deadlines. Just art for art’s sake. Words for the joy of them. This is my reawakening. And this time, I’m writing the story I want to live.