Sitting on an old couch, a book in his hand, he had his eyes closed, lost in deep thoughts. His fingers gently touched the pages of the book to keep it from closing. Every now and then, without opening his eyes, he would run his hand over the page, as if this action was creating a bond between him and the book. He had no desire to read; just touching the book gave him the familiar feeling of being a reader, a sense of calm and belonging. The book was like a subtle reminder, occasionally whispering, “Read your story!” But he had long forgotten his own story. The constant humming of the old refrigerator from the kitchen, like the roar of a jet engine, continuously interrupted his train of thought, breaking his concentration.

He opened his eyes and glanced at the book for a moment. He murmured to himself, “Why do people read stories?” He had no clear answer to this question. After a brief pause, he quietly answered himself, “Perhaps people read stories to escape reality. A good story, even if it’s fictional, helps a person forget the world in which they are trapped.” He flipped through a few pages of the book and then closed it, gazing out of the window that was attached to the old, faded wall. The first thing that caught his attention was the clothes hanging on the balcony’s clothesline: two white T-shirts and a navy blue pair of shorts that had fallen onto the balcony floor due to the wind. He remembered that he needed to gather the clothes.

A little further away, the green trees in the yard stood tall and firm, resisting the wind that was shaking their branches from side to side. Pieces of white cloud hurriedly moved across the blue sky. The wind was carrying them westward, with no resistance on their part. He stared at the clouds and fell into deep thought. Like him, the clouds had no control over themselves, being pushed wherever the wind desired.

He stepped out onto the balcony and continued to gaze at the sky. The white clouds added a unique beauty to the blue sky of the city. He was lost in the view when suddenly, a large white cloud seemed to come to life and said, “Why are you looking at me like that? Haven’t you seen a natural phenomenon before? It’s the nature of clouds to be carried by the wind.” He smiled and replied to the cloud, “I’ve seen it. But the truth is, like you, I too have been brought here by the wind — to this balcony, to this life.” He wanted to continue the conversation with the white cloud, but the cloud was already gone, carried away by the wind. He glanced at the trees in the yard. The wind was fiercely shaking their branches, but it couldn’t uproot them. No matter how hard the wind blew, it couldn’t pull their roots out of the ground.