Soul of Wanderlust

No one really knew how the library came to be. It just appeared one day, nestled between two narrow alleyways, as if it had always been there. The windows were tall and arched, with intricate ironwork that looked like vines twisting around the panes, and the door was painted a deep, inviting shade of blue. There was no sign outside, no name to give it away—just a small brass bell above the door that tinkled softly whenever someone walked in. Alex stumbled upon it by accident. He had been wandering aimlessly after another argument with his girlfriend, the kind where words are thrown like knives, and they all find their mark. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to get away, to find somewhere quiet where he could breathe. That’s when he saw the library, tucked away like a secret, and something about it made him stop. He pushed open the door, and the bell chimed softly above his head. Inside, it smelled of old books and wood polish, the kind of smell that makes you feel ...

Rae had never been good at saying goodbye. As a child, she would cling to her friends at the end of playdates, her tiny hands balled into tight fists, refusing to let them leave. As she grew older, she got better at masking it—smiling and waving, even as something in her chest felt like it was splintering apart. But some goodbyes were too big to hide behind a smile, like the one she had to face now. The old house was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the air was thick with all the things left unsaid. Rae stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by boxes, each one packed with a part of her father’s life. It had been a month since he passed away, and now it was time to sort through the things he had left behind. Her father was a man of few words, but he always found ways to show he cared. He would bring her hot chocolate on rainy afternoons, or play her favorite records even though they weren’t his style. It was these small gestures that Rae missed the most—the lit...

Elliot had always been a dreamer. Even as a child, he was the kid who would rather watch clouds drift lazily across the sky than play catch with the others. He loved to imagine the world beyond what he could see—worlds where paper boats could sail across oceans and where every star had a secret story. But somewhere between childhood and adulthood, he had misplaced that part of himself. Maybe it was during the endless cycle of deadlines, meetings, and the quiet ache of routine. Or perhaps it was when life taught him that some dreams were meant to be just that—dreams. One Friday evening, Elliot found himself walking along the riverside, his hands buried in the pockets of his coat. The sky was grey, the kind of dull, overcast sky that seemed to mirror his mood. He used to love coming here, watching the water ripple and dance, but lately, it felt like even the river had lost its magic. He paused by the old bridge, a place he hadn’t visited in months, and glanced down at the murky water bel...

Mei never understood why grief felt so heavy. It was as if her whole body had turned to lead, and each step she took was a struggle to lift herself from the ground. It had been six months since her father passed, and the world hadn’t stopped for even a moment to let her catch her breath. The same routine, the same bus rides, the same emptiness. She thought she’d feel better by now, but every corner of their little house reminded her of him—especially his room. One rainy afternoon, while she was clearing out his things, she found an old, leather-bound journal wedged between two dusty books. The journal felt warm in her hands, its cover smooth and worn, as though it had been held and opened countless times. Her fingers traced the faint initials J.H. , her father's name, before she flipped it open to the first page. In bold, loopy handwriting, the words "Stars to Visit" stared back at her. Beneath the title, there was a list: The Warm Sea The Quiet Mountain The Blooming Gar...