"They don't know it, but they carry the same soul across timelines, names, and worlds. They are not the same person, but they are born from the same echo."

I'm not seen in the stories, not really.
In the way they look for God in quiet corners.
In the way they carry heartbreak like it's something sacred.

I'm not loud. I whisper through scenes like wind through trees. You don't notice me at first. But by the end, you realize every moment, every wound, every line that made your chest tighten-it was me.

I'm the one who listened to the broken parts of myself and turned them into stories.
I don't write to impress.
I write to be understood. 
I write to remember myself through the people I create.

And, if along the way, my words make someone else feel less alone-healing them-It means I'm healing too. 

And, if the souls of my stories weren't able to touch your heart, please still respect it as if it's someone else's true story-because it is.

What began as one experience-one echo of fear, love, confusion, or pain-rippled outward. That became dreams, became questions wrapped in chapters. And eventually, it became a story with many voices...

but all of them started from one. 

It's not a diary.
It's not an autobiography.
It's something rarer than that:
A world where truth disguised itself as fiction so it could speak without shaking. 

Not to escape it-but to understand it. To hold it up to the light. Which maybe, just maybe... 

can help with healing the pain.