The city was glowing like it had something to prove. From my apartment, everything looked so perfectly arranged that even my to-do list felt intimidated. I should have been reviewing tomorrow's agenda. Instead, I was sitting in front of a blank document, questioning my life choices like a responsible adult who definitely has better things to do.
Writing a book about my past. Fantastic idea. Truly visionary. Exactly what every CEO dreams of while staring at quarterly targets.
A gust of wind tapped at the balcony glass. For a second, it sounded like the universe reminding me of the girl I used to be. The sixteen-year-old who walked through school like she owned the corridors. The one who treated lunch breaks like national holidays. The one who believed group projects were a strategic attack on her patience.
I laughed under my breath. Not the graceful, boardroom-appropriate kind. The real one. The kind that shows up only when you remember something ridiculous you did at sixteen.
I leaned back and let the memories pile up. The noise, the chaos, the friendships that felt like lifelong contracts. I don't miss the homework, but I miss the clarity of wanting things without a risk assessment attached to them. Just how easy we took life to be, the memories now run through my mind like wildfire.
I search for my laptop as I finally decide to write all my memories down.
The cursor on my screen blinked at me like it was judging my hesitation. Fine. If it wanted a story, I could give it one.
I typed the first sentence. Perhaps nostalgia is simply something I've always wanted to manage.