Wings of her own.

Dear Unknown Reader,

There are so few stories here. So I decided to write my own.

I sit atop this city, notebook in hand, scribbling worlds that don’t exist—at least, not here. My pen moves faster than I can think, as if the words have been waiting, hidden somewhere deep inside me, desperate to escape.

I write about a girl who can fly. Not with machines, not with state permission, but with wings of her own—invisible, untethered, free. She soars above mountains, over rivers she has never seen, past borders drawn by men she does not know. No one can stop her, because no one can see the sky like she does.

At the library, nothing has changed. The same books remain on the shelves, their pages stiff from disuse. Glorious Harvest Strategies. Coal Production in the 21st Century. But at night, after the doors are locked and the city is quiet, I slip my notebook between them. I leave my stories hidden, waiting for someone, anyone, to find them.

Maybe one day, a girl like me will pull out a book expecting a guide on irrigation techniques and instead, she’ll find a world where people chase the horizon and never look back. Maybe she’ll start writing, too.

Until then, I will keep filling these pages.

Curiously yours,
Ji-hye