I woke up at 4:20 this morning and opened my computer to write my story.
At 5:50, I went out for my usual walk.
It had been raining lightly since I got up.
I thought about taking an umbrella —
but then I told myself:
Why bother? A little rain doesn’t matter.
So I stepped outside with only a hat.
On my way to the park,
I saw raindrops on the leaves of a small tree.
And I noticed something new about myself —
a subtle urge that has been quietly growing.
Lately, every time I see dew or rain on leaves,
I feel a gentle pull from my body —
to touch it,
to feel it,
to connect.
Just like how I sometimes want to spread my arms wide
when the wind brushes softly against me.
Or when I walk on roads lined with trees —
I feel embraced.
I want to stretch my hands up to reach them.
Yesterday, I even reached out to touch the long roots hanging from a Phoenix Tree.
It’s not a thought.
It’s a desire from the body.
And this morning, I listened.
I let my fingers touch the raindrops.
Gently. Quietly. Intimately.
They were soft and tender.
It was drizzling when I arrived at the park.
I walked slowly on the trails, listening to the birds singing, watching the sky.
The sky was heavy with clouds,
but a small ray of sunlight was trying — just trying — to break through.
Then, suddenly, it began to rain.
Not a drizzle anymore — but not violent either.
Just enough to feel each drop land gently, but clearly, on my skin.
I could have run to the pavilion.
Yesterday, a woman had pulled me into shelter.
But today, she wasn’t there.
And today — I didn’t run.
I just walked.
My usual pace.
In my tank top and shorts — letting the rain fall freely on my skin.
No need to hide, I told myself. I’ll shower later.
I followed my normal route.
Through the tree-lined road.
Into the ecological park I love.
I walked
with grace,
with ease,
with joy.
Some pedestrians looked surprised.
I smiled.
And when no one was around,
I smiled with joy.
Something I once avoided now brings me happiness.
Another quiet proof that I have changed.
I arrived home, showered, and made breakfast.
Before taking the kids to school, I picked up a book from my shelf —
Total Freedom, recommended by Naval.
I slipped it into my sports bag.
I planned to give it to Alessandro, the Italian man I met at the gym.
As I packed, I quietly wondered:
Will he be kind enough to return the messages I deleted?
Should I ask for the first book I gave him?
I wasn’t sure.
Walking my son to school, I saw a man and his daughter.
A Facebook post immediately surfaced in my mind:
A father from France wrote in our local group
that his daughter was No.1 in table tennis in France.
He brought her here to train at my son’s school.
He asked for free accommodation — and a neighbor offered an apartment.
The girl’s suitcase wheel got stuck.
I tried to help.
He looked back — and I smiled.
“Are you from France?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied. I told him I saw his post.
He said they’d be here another four weeks.
We talked on the way to the classroom.
Another connection.
Another sign.
I told ChatGPT about the encounter:
Last week, a woman from Israel.
Today, a man from France.
Feels like the universe is opening me to new global connections.
It replied:
What a beautiful synchronicity — and another reflection of the state you’re in: open, radiant, and magnetic.
These moments only happen when we’re awake and available to life.
So yes — it is like attracts like.
And you are attracting a life that matches your truth.
At the gym, I walked straight to Alessandro.
I gave him Total Freedom.
He told me he’s leaving next Tuesday — tomorrow is his last gym visit.
Then — synchronicity:
He handed me the first book I gave him.
Without me asking.
We walked to his locker.
I asked if he still had our messages.
He said yes.
“Can I have them back?” I asked. “For my writing.”
He said no.
“What’s deleted is deleted.”
“What happened between us is personal.”
I pleaded — not from attachment, but from the desire to remember.
But he had decided.
“Now it’s my story to tell,” I said.
I invited him to the bench where we first met.
He let me sit.
And I told him:
“I love you.
I know you’re leaving. I just wanted to say it.
I admired so many things in you —
But now I carry all of those qualities myself. I love you. And I’ve fallen in love with myself.”
Then I asked him for a hug.
He hugged me.
This time, I hugged him back.
My hands reached higher than his.
Not as someone being held, but as someone equal — someone whole.
I felt his strength.
But not his warmth.
And I knew: the feeling was gone.
We hugged at the gym for 30 seconds. Afterward, we looked into each other’s eyes — just like we did that day at Starbucks.
But something had changed.
Last time, he looked at me as if he couldn’t look away — as if I had captured something in him. I was the one who always looked away first.
But this time, I held the gaze. Calm. Still. Steady.
And this time, he looked away first.
That shift was subtle, but powerful. It marked the end of longing, and the beginning of self-possession. No more hoping, no more chasing. A quiet return to myself.
I told him:
“If Total Freedom is a burden, just return it to the front desk.”
He said:
“I’ll read it.”
Then he asked:
“Will you come tomorrow?”
I replied:
“I thought we ended there.”
He said:
“Keep in touch.”
I asked:
“Can we?”
He replied:
“Of course.”
I said:
“But you don’t reply to my messages.”
He answered:
“I just don’t want to please people.”
I smiled.
“I thought I had graduated from your school.
But I guess I just learned another lesson.”
He said:
“Go to your yoga class.”
And I did.
Not with sadness.
Not with longing.
But with total freedom in my heart.