Scribblers View

                                                     2. Déjà Vu?  All heads turned. Everyone rushed toward the next table, craning their necks to see what was happening. Confusion rippled through the crowd. And then, my eyes caught sight of something or rather, someone right beside the table where I was sitting. A girl with blonde hair, probably of Irish descent. I’d never seen her before in my life. Yet somehow, all the noise faded into a strange kind of silence as the crowd’s eyes shifted from her… back to me.She began to sing.The piano joined her, its melody flowing in perfect sync.I stood frozen, clueless, a mic still in my hand. My eyebrows arched in curiosity, my eyes locked with hers. One of us didn’t blink, and the other didn’t look away. When the song ended, the applause erupted. But I couldn’t move. I was still standing on the edge of surp...

                     Chapter 1 .'A Whisper Or A Call'? The evening started to dim, the snow now started to drizzle like the rain, not so thick but far enough to cover the pavement, and almost everything, there's always this thing, a particular in Prague , it transcends you straight to the Victorian era , kind of gothic yet romantic , with buildings made of patterened wood with crafted cornices, it would be inhuman to call it as merely buildings, as I could appreciate nothing, but the love for the art in the people who crafted this. And there I'm walking across the streets in the decorated cobblestones searching for the ideas for my next music, my debut wasn't a great hit but surely it did provoke me to keep pushing against the odds. I just stopped for the moment , to let myself indulge in the beauty of the city for a moment.  The tall ,slender streetlights flickering through the fog ,Kids playing with the snowball hitting th...

Have you ever missed a home away from home that never existed? The home that is filled with love and peace instead of chaos and quarrels, starting the day with slow mornings and a cup of coffee in New York City, and ending it with the views of sunsets through the Brooklyn Bridge in your flat that serve as a special treat to your eyes. Those snowflakes feel happy on your skin, and the dazzling Christmas lights, grabbing a hot chocolate in your hands and those cozy dreams. Sometimes the home might be a person we never met, whom we expected to do so, who feels like a warm hug in the midst of the winter arc, in whom you find peace and happiness, forgetting those nights you've spent with nervous breakdowns and aching pain in your chest.  Someone who pours into your heart without making you yearn for it, that kind of love you always craved. Someone who feels calm to your soul instead of triggering your emotional traumas. Someone who feels like extra sugar in your coffee, that sweetness. ...

Some places remind you not of where you are, but of who you’ve been . The morning light splits into beams as it passes through the tallest buildings. Beneath them, the city breathes, rushing, honking, racing with footsteps. People chase after something unseen maybe dreams, maybe distractions. I can’t tell if they’re running toward life or away from it. And there I stand, in the heart of New York ,not the city of love like Paris , but the city that loves someone's passion and their dreams. Around me, everything is alive, yet within, I'm being wrapped by the solitude. They say no matter how far we go, what once lived in us travels along softly hanging in the crispness of the air. The memories we outgrow never truly leave; they rest quietly in reflections, resonating with every stride we take. I take the ferry from Staten Island , the skyline painted in orange . Manhattan stands drenched in gold, the sun dipping low and with passing beneath the Brooklyn Bridge , the world feels...