He was just an ordinary boy with dreams of university and a peaceful life with his parents. But everything collapsed when they died in an accident at the age of fifteen. Left alone, poor, and without a future, he struggled to survive day by day. To escape reality, he started writing a simple, clumsy story filled with heart.
Only one reader ever commented. One reader who always encouraged him.
Until one day, she disappeared...
I didn’t start writing because I was talented.
I wrote because I was lonely.
Writing gave me a place to hide, to imagine, to breathe.
My first novel was clumsy, rough but it was a world I built with all my heart.
When my first and only reader left, I stopped writing.
But in my mind, that story never truly ended.
Now, I’m writing it again — not for anyone else, but for myself.
Thank you… for listening, and for giving this story a chance.
I didn’t start writing because I was talented.
I wrote because I was lonely.
Writing gave me a place to hide, to imagine, to breathe.
My first novel was clumsy, rough but it was a world I built with all my heart.
When my first and only reader left, I stopped w...
