After spending many years of my life, I have started to notice quiet changes happening within me—thoughts and feelings that rise on their own, without effort. This writing is a reflection of those inner shifts. It expresses the thoughts, emotions, and beliefs of an ordinary person—feelings that are often difficult to put into words or share openly with others.

I don’t have anything grand or important to offer the readers. In fact, a part of me fears that I might sound silly or out of place. Still, there is a strong emotion deep within me that pushes me to write. As I write, somehow, a string of words takes shape and settles onto the pages—words that are honest and true, even if I’m unsure whether they are meaningful or well-crafted. I don’t know if these writings will touch anyone or leave an impact.

To me, writing is a strange mix of joy and pain. It’s a personal journey filled with mystery. Sometimes, ideas come to me when I least expect them—in my sleep, while walking, riding a bus or rickshaw, or during a quiet morning stroll. The urge to write often appears suddenly, like a whisper from within. It is something deeply personal. Yet, when that feeling spreads beyond me and reaches others, my own thoughts and struggles begin to feel like they belong to everyone.

I often feel like I have so much to say. Words and sentences stir inside me, ready to come out. But when I finally sit down to write, those same words seem to escape me. I often wonder—why do I write? Why does this need to write pull me in again and again?

There is still so much for me to learn. So many stories remain inside me, waiting to be told. Though I do not consider myself a writer, I write simply to pass the time and to enjoy moments of peace and solitude.

In truth, I am waiting for just one attentive reader. Someone who picks up no other book, holds no other stories—only mine. In that moment, I wish to be their only book, their only story. And maybe, that reader, even if they begin with little interest, will read through every page. And by the time they reach the end, their eyes might fill with silent wonder. In that quiet pause after the last word, they may feel a stillness—calm and deep, like a river that has stopped flowing.