“Oi, mate, did you hear? Elin’s got a kid!” Dylan exclaimed one afternoon, catching Rhys mid-sneeze, his grand ballad completely forgotten. They stared at each other in disbelief, then erupted into laughter, their friendship blossoming anew with the rhythm of unwitting oblivion.

In the heart of Edinburgh, where the cobblestones whispered tales of ancient times, a young man named Alistair was confined to his wheeled-chair. He had exchanged the vibrancy of life for the stark reality of his 15-metre flat, devoid of windows – a silent prison that overlooked naught but the shadows of his own thoughts.

Yet, Alistair was a dreamer. With a mind that was soaring far beyond the confines of his brick walls, he was traversing distant lands. He imagined the bustling markets of Marrakech, the fragrant streets of Bangkok, and the sun-soaked piazzas of Rome, where food became an art – a symphony of spices and textures that danced upon his palate. Each day, he wove elaborate tales of his gastronomical adventures into the fabric of his solitude, savouring the imagined tastes of paella, sushi, and gelato.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of melancholy, reality would wash over him like the tides. His flat, that sheltered him from the world he was so desperately craving, echoed only with the silence of unfulfilled dreams. In that solitude, he too became a memory, floating endlessly through the vast landscapes of his imagination, yet, never truly belonging to any of them.

In every visit to the Astrakhan Kremlin, where the world seems removed from the bustle of everyday life, a little girl finds solace and her imagination carries her to a field. She sits down by a leaning oak tree, whose roots penetrate deep into the earth, and whose branches, despite withering, still carry hope. This place, lost among the grandeur of white brick walls, is her personal oasis.

With the arrival of spring, the old tree finds a new life, tender shoots blooming from the cracked bark. Every year this cycle reminds her of the importance of adapting, overcoming difficulties, as a smile breaks through tears. Summer days, when greenery seems to fill everything around, become for her a symbol of joyful moments, fleeting but bright, like sunbeams breaking through foliage.

With autumn comes reflection, when the leaves begin to fall, creating a colourful carpet underfoot. It is a time of purification and the birth of new hope. And so, sitting by her tree, she understands: every end is just the beginning of something new, and despite all the trials, life continues to blossom.

Aoife would sit by her window every day, the soft light of dawn streaming through her lace curtains. Her gaze was unwittingly following the young man, Fionn, as he was passing by on his way to work. He was a figure of a vibrant life, his laugh brightening the grey mornings and his dreams casting ripples of joy around him.

Day by day, Aoife was building a world woven from fleeting glances and unspoken words. In her mind, they were dancing under the stars, the gentle breeze carrying the sweet scent of wildflowers. She would conjure up picnics beneath the sprawling oak, each bite of bread accompanied by laughter, their voices mingling in a melody of joy. Sometimes, she pictured quarrels flaring like sudden storms – tempers rising, only to be calmed by a shared smile.

But as the days melted into weeks, the lines between her fantasies and reality blurred until she awoke one morning, having danced her last dance. Lifeless in her bed, Aoife remained in the embrace of her dreams while her heart, content in its clandestine love, had ceased to beat. In the village, the world continued, unaware of the love story that ended too soon.