The Sky That Wasn't Mine.
Preface There are places we visit that don’t exist on maps. They arrive in sleep or just before it. They breathe behind walls, shimmer in reflections, and sometimes, speak through the silence of people we thought we knew. These places don’t ask for passports or logic. They unfold like riddles, stitched from memory, emotion, and echoes of moments never lived yet deeply felt. I call them dreams, but not the kind that vanish with daylight. These dreams linger. They whisper even after you wake up. They build corridors inside you and return at the most unexpected times like old songs on rainy evenings, or strangers with familiar eyes. This collection was born from such dreams. Not as stories, at first but as feelings too stubborn to leave. Some arrived in fragments: a staircase spiraling out of a wall, a silent man holding my hand, a war fought in a room that no longer felt mine. Others came whole, already narrating themselves, as if I were just a scribe. ...