It was half past three in the morning—
that strange hour when the night feels almost alive… watching, waiting.
A time when the mind is not meant to stay awake,
and the heart is not meant to wander.
But Hana wasn't just awake…
she was trapped by something unseen.
Sleep no longer escaped her—
it had been taken from her.
This wasn't new.
For three months now—since the loss of her father—
the nights had grown longer than they should be, heavier than she could bear.
And the house… was no longer a home.
It had become a silent grave, breathing memories.
She turned in her bed, as she had done countless times before,
trying to convince herself to sleep.
It didn't work.
Even the bed felt as though it rejected her.
The pillow had lost its comfort,
and the blanket felt suffocating—like it was stealing her breath.
There was no drama in it.
Only a quiet surrender to a truth she had come to accept:
Sleep, these days, was no longer a guest that could be invited.
She got up and walked toward the balcony.
As she opened the glass door, a cool breeze greeted her—soft, refreshing… almost kind.
She lifted her gaze to the sky.
The stars were perfectly aligned, beautiful.
The moon sat still in its place, like a pale, unblinking eye.
As if the entire world moved in perfect order…
a system she was no longer a part of.
"How peaceful…" she murmured softly.
Then, after a pause, she added in a lower voice:
"If only sleep came with it."
That was when she noticed it.
A faint light… near the entrance of the house.
It wasn't particularly striking,
but enough to awaken her curiosity—a quiet curiosity that had always been part of her.
She hesitated, as any reasonable girl living alone would.
But the simple thought—that someone might have dropped something—
felt far more logical than anything else.
So, she decided to check.
She walked down the stairs quietly.
When she reached the door, her hand rested on the handle… and stopped.
It wasn't fear.
It was a feeling.
That if she opened that door…
nothing would ever be the same again.
Still, she opened it.
The night outside was still—nothing alarming,
except for that silence one might overthink.
She approached the source of the light and bent down slightly.
It was a book.
Old in appearance, with a dark cover—
yet strangely well-preserved.
A faint glow pulsed from it…
as if it were breathing.
She picked it up and looked around.
No one.
"Someone must have dropped it," she whispered.
And since it didn't feel right to leave something like that outside,
she took it back in with her.
She returned to her room and sat on the bed, the book resting in her hands.
Naturally… she opened it.
The first page held only one sentence:
"You must bear the consequences of reading."
She raised an eyebrow slightly.
"A ridiculous warning… just a cheap attempt to spark curiosity."
She turned the page.
"Make a wish… and we will grant it."
A faint smile crossed her lips—uncertain, skeptical.
"Sounds like one of those books trying too hard to be interesting."
But the next line made her pause.
"But your fate… will no longer be yours."
It wasn't fear she felt.
It was… curiosity.
She shut the book abruptly.
"Ridiculous…" she muttered.
She stood and headed toward the balcony—
But before she could reach it—
The windows shook violently.
As if something outside… had awakened.
The wind roared.
The air slammed against the walls,
and the sky suddenly twisted into a mass of restless darkness.
Thunder didn't rumble—
It tore through the sky.
"No…" she whispered.
She rushed to shut the windows, her heart pounding in a way she didn't recognize.
"The weather… it wasn't like this…"
She placed the book on the table beside her.
After making sure everything was in place,
she returned to her bed and lay down quietly.
She pulled the blanket over herself,
like a child hiding from something unseen.
"I just want… to sleep," she whispered, her voice trembling.
And then, she closed her eyes.
It wasn't a big wish.
Nor an impossible one.
But somehow…
It felt like it had been made at the perfect moment.
Moments later—
Everything fell silent.
The wind.
The thunder.
Even the silence itself… grew deeper.
And on the table beside her—
unnoticed—
the book slowly opened.
Its pages stopped at a new place.
Words began to form…
as though written carefully by unseen fingers.
Letters appearing—
one… by one.
"Sleep deeply, dear."
"Your first dream… has begun."