ELARA
I found myself itching to write a new story, one inspired by someone whose name I prefer to keep to myself for now. Some might call it a life documentary, but that would be far from the truth.
What I’m writing is not a reflection of what actually happened—it’s a version of events I wish had happened instead. A version drenched in the “what-ifs” and “could-have-beens.”
The door flew open with a loud bang, jarring me out of my thoughts and Dave stormed in.
Startled, I quickly closed my diary, letting the leather-bound cover press my words into silence.
I tilted my head toward him, my eyes narrowing.“Knocking,” I said with irritation, “is highly appreciated. You know, basic manners?”
What if I was changing?
But Dave seemed completely uninterested in my words. His sharp gaze dar
