This is not a story about salvation—it's an invitation to get lost together.

At 2:07 p.m., he walks away—not just from a place, but from every label that erased who he truly was. There's no map ahead, only questions, cracks, and stones in his pockets. He isn't searching for someone to "fix" his path. He's looking for someone unafraid to wander off it beside him.

A House with Windows Facing North is a delicate, piercing novel about staying whole in a world that insists you need fixing. It's about how home isn't found in coordinates, but in trust—in a note on yellow paper, a chipped teacup, and silence that doesn't need to be filled.

There are no grand dramas or easy answers here. Only light slipping through the seams. And someone asking, "Mind if I sit with you?"—without demanding explanations.

For those tired of being "fixable."
For those who know that sometimes disappearing isn't leaving.
And for those who still believe cracks aren't the end—but where the light begins.

"I'm not looking for someone who'll fix my map.
I'm looking for someone unafraid to get lost in it with me."