Beneath the celestial canopy, I wander—a seeker of constellations and hidden verses. By day, I am a scribe of sunsets, penning tales in hues of saffron and indigo. By night, I unravel stardust, weaving dreams into the fabric of existence.

My heart, an ancient manuscript, bears ink-stained memories. I am the echo of forgotten ballads, the fragrance of petrichor after a tempest. My laughter, a symphony of wind chimes, dances upon the zephyr’s breath.