These tales emerged not as a plan, but as an unfolding—like petals around a forgotten center. I did not sit to write a book, only to listen. And what I heard was not always comfortable. Sometimes a whisper of doubt, sometimes a longing too vast for language.

What they share is not a timeline, but a tone. A sensibility. A hush that follows moments of truth, often hidden in the mundane or mystical.

If you have ever sat in a room and felt the presence of something unnamed; if you've watched the world from behind your thoughts; if you've sought meaning where others saw only pattern—then perhaps these stories are for you.

I don't promise revelation. Only reflection.
And maybe, an echo of something you forgot you remembered.

—Fazal Abubakkar Esaf