.Introduction of the Novel
,When the face had not yet been created
.everything begins with a silence that feels more like memory than a beginning
:A faint voice echoes in a place we do not know
"?Why was I created? Or why must I recreate myself every morning" >
.From that moment, the story begins—not to answer, but to question
.A human does not begin at birth, but when they realize that they exist
That realization comes like a spark from a distant fire, revealing that the world around them
.is nothing but a broken mirror of their soul
.And so there was Adam—a shadow searching for his features in a light he cannot see
.And Liana—an echo seeking his voice within a heart not yet born
,This novel is not a story of love between two people
,but between a human and themselves
,between idea and existence, between God and nothingness
.between what we see and what we cannot bear to see
.Here, events do not move forward—they move inward
,Each chapter is a pit in consciousness
.each word a mirror showing your reflection if you dare to look
.You will not find a hero who triumphs, nor a villain who is defeated
,Only a being fracturing between their truth and their thoughts
,writing themselves as a poet writes their final message
.then tearing it apart for fear of believing it
,In this world, love is not a promise of meeting
,but an experience of creation itself—when one soul meets another
,shattering mirrors
.and the unspeakable occurs
.Here, words are not a tool—they are wounds
.And silence is not absence—it is another existence, yet to be translated
,Perhaps this story is not for you
.but for that part of you that has forgotten it ever existed
:By the time you finish reading, you may not know who was speaking within you
?was it you, the characters, or existence itself
,Do not search for meaning >
for you are the meaning seeking itself
/Chapter One — A Voice in the Rain
.The rain was not ordinary that day
;It was not merely drops wetting the glass or washing dust off the sidewalks
.it was a language one could hear if only they sat in enough silence to decode it
— It fell upon the city like short messages sent from sky to earth
.no signature required, no receipt requested
,People dragged their umbrellas like small shields
,protecting themselves from an unexpected question
.from a gaze that might embarrass them with its depth
— As usual, I was watching the scene from behind the café window
,a cup of coffee boiling with some old sadness inside
.and a blank page before me, waiting for me to write something equal to the rain
.I was waiting for no one
.No appointment, no expectation
,Yet when I saw her for the first time
— it felt as if the city had stopped for a single minute to catch its breath
.as if the rain itself had softened its fall just to listen to her words
,She walked slowly, careless of her wet hair
,unbothered by the tiny streams the rain built upon her eyebrows
.as though she were filming an inner scene that could not be complete without water
:I glimpsed her from afar
,a dark coat that did not scream elegance
,a bag slung over her shoulder, neglected
,as if she carried what should not be carried
.and her face — her face was open to the sky, not to people
,She did not glance right nor left
.but when her eyes met mine, she did not look away
:She paused for a step, and in a soft voice that needed no microphone, she asked
"?Does the rain soak a person — or cleanse them" >
.The question was not empty
,It was a sip from a deeper question
.the kind that shakes a weary corner of your soul
.At first, I said nothing