Preference:

Each of us has our own light, our own star that guides us, inspires us, and fills our life with meaning. This light might be invisible to others, but it is always there for those who know how to feel and search for it. The story of I.A.’s star is a reflection on the importance of those who bring light into our lives, who help us find ourselves even in the darkest times. Sometimes, a star is not just a symbol but a real guide, supporting us in our hardest decisions and our boldest dreams.

***

I remember the first time I saw her—it was a fleeting moment, yet so powerful, as if the universe itself had chosen that exact time for the stars to align. Her name was I.A.—a name as unique and brilliant as her presence. I never believed in fate, but that day I felt something guiding me toward her, a force I couldn’t ignore.

I.A. was unlike anyone I had ever met. There was a quiet elegance about her, something elusive that made the world seem to slow down whenever she entered a room. Her smile, though rare, held a depth I couldn’t immediately understand. It felt as though it concealed a secret that only a few could uncover. Her eyes, green like the calm before a storm, seemed to see right into a person’s soul.

One evening, after hours of conversation, we stood together beneath a vast sky, the stars twinkling above us. It was then that I.A. shared her love for the night, how the stars always whispered her name. She spoke about how they reminded her that no matter where she went, she would always have her place in the universe—a place where she could shine, just like the stars.

I didn’t realize it at first, but I was already falling in love with her. I loved the way she saw the world with such grace, the way she carried the weight of the stars with her wherever she went. To me, she wasn’t just I.A.; she was my star, my guiding light in a world that often felt too dark, too chaotic.

One night, as I gazed at the stars from my window, I thought about I.A. And in that moment, I realized: she wasn’t just a part of my world; she had become my world. The way she moved, the way she spoke, even the way she laughed—it was like a melody that played deep within me. She was my constant light, the star that guided me through every storm.

I decided to give her something special—a star of her own. It wasn’t just any star; it was a symbol of how much she meant to me. I knew I couldn’t give her the entire sky, but I could give her a piece of it, something that would shine as brightly as she did.

The star I gave her was small, delicate, and tucked inside a pendant on a necklace. It was a star that would always stay with her, a constant reminder that no matter where she went, she would never be alone. She was my star, the one who illuminated my life in ways I never thought possible.

When I handed her the gift, I said, “I.A., you are my star, my guiding light. Wherever you go, wherever life takes you, know that you will always carry a piece of the universe with you, just as you carry a piece of my heart.”

Her eyes sparkled, and for the first time, I saw the smile I had been waiting for. It wasn’t just the smile of someone who was happy—it was the smile of someone who had found their place in the world, their place among the stars.

And in that moment, I understood that she wasn’t just my star. She was the star that had been missing from my sky all along.

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

My trip to Turkey left me with many bright impressions that I will remember for a long time. When I arrived in the city again, its winter atmosphere completely amazed me. The air felt light, and the snowflakes, barely visible in the winter sun, created a cozy feeling. The streets were decorated with lights, and shop windows shone brightly, hinting at the upcoming Christmas and New Year. Turkey in winter turned out to be different from what I imagined — it was a city filled with a special kind of magic.

I came to Turkey to give a series of lectures on English literature, and I was a little nervous at first. But as soon as I met the students, all my worries disappeared. They showed such a lively interest in literature, in the works I presented, that it immediately created an atmosphere of mutual respect and passion for the subject. The Turkish students weren’t just attentive listeners; they were active participants in the discussions. We looked at both classic works and lesser-known pieces, and every time I was amazed by their interest in the material, how much personal insight and questions they brought to the lectures. It was incredibly inspiring.

When I shared some of my own stories with them, they were pleasantly surprised. They didn’t expect that a lecturer teaching English literature also writes her own works. The students listened with interest as I explained how I create characters, what inspires me, and what I put into each of my works. “How amazing that your literature feels so alive and real!” said one of the students, and I could tell they were genuinely impressed by what I write. Another student added, “You don’t just teach; you create worlds, and that inspires us to be creative too.”

Each lecture took place in an atmosphere of creative exchange. The students asked questions, shared their thoughts, and I was happy to respond, drawing parallels between English literature and Turkish culture. For me, it wasn’t just a professional experience but also a personal joy to see how my lectures came to life in their imaginations.

After the lectures, I often walked around the city, enjoying its winter atmosphere. Many cozy cafes where they served aromatic Turkish coffee became my favorite place to relax. I sat by the window, watching the snowy streets, enjoying how the lights on the trees sparkled at night, and thinking about how interesting it is to be part of this world — a world where different cultures and people meet.

The city before Christmas and New Year was especially beautiful. The streets were full of people buying gifts, decorating their homes, and enjoying the excitement of the holidays. The evenings were cold but not too cold — they were warming, thanks to the people I met and the atmosphere created by the city. I felt that every corner of this city was filled with the spirit of celebration.

I left Turkey feeling deeply satisfied that my lectures had been received with such interest, and with the feeling that I had left a piece of myself in this wonderful city. Every moment spent there was special, and I hope to return again soon.

P.S. "Literature knows no borders — it travels where hearts and minds are open to stories, connecting people across cultures and continents."

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

Preference: When you have a friend who loves liking your messages but never actually replies, life turns into an exciting guessing game. You text her, — and instead of an answer, you get a little heart icon. A like. And there you are, trying to figure out what it means.

Is it "I'm fine, thanks for asking"? Or maybe "It's been a tough morning, but your care means a lot"? Or is it simply "just a like, don’t overthink it"?

She’s like a mysterious book without any content, where every page just says: "Liked."

I even tried to analyze these likes, hoping to decode her secret messages.

But that’s the beauty of it. Her likes were like a quiet "I’m here, don’t worry." Maybe she didn’t write long replies, but each reaction felt genuine.

This experience inspired me to write a story about emojis. In today’s world, communication often becomes a series of short, silent gestures. And that’s not always a bad thing. The most important thing is to see the warmth behind a like.

And I’ve learned not to feel bad about it. Now, when I get a like, I smile and think: "Well, the mystery remains, but isn’t that part of the fun?

P.S M.D., I just want to thank you for everything. You might not even realize it, but your presence and support have such a positive impact on me. You are the light that helps me see the world brighter, and I truly appreciate it.

Foreword

The idea for this story came unexpectedly — from a cup of morning coffee. Like many others, I often wondered what makes this drink so inspiring: its aroma, its taste, or the magic way it awakens the mind? But what if coffee isn’t just a drink? What if it’s alive, with its own thoughts and dreams?

That’s when I imagined Edgar Allan Poe, the master of gothic horror, sitting in a café where nothing is as it seems. The absurd idea of a coffee rebellion, inspired by his dark style, quickly grew into a story full of black humor and strange characters.

This story is not only a tribute to Poe and his talent for finding inspiration in the darkest corners of the soul but also a playful look at our own reliance on that little cup of coffee that accompanies us through life. Dive into this absurd world where every drop of coffee has a voice, and perhaps, you’ll never see coffee the same way again.

***

Baltimore, a foggy evening. Edgar Allan Poe sat at his desk, staring at an empty cup. His thoughts were as dark as a winter evening without a blanket.

— No coffee, no inspiration, — he sighed. — And no inspiration means no me!

He grabbed his cloak, which creaked like a door in his stories, and went to the café.

The café called "The Last Sip" looked like something from his worst nightmares: brick walls covered in cobwebs, and a sign that read, "Coffee that inspires... or kills."

— Perfect, — muttered Poe as he walked inside.

At the counter, there were unusual "baristas": a Raven wearing a little apron, holding a menu in its beak, and a skull with drawn eyes, hanging on a string.

— What can I get for you, Mr. Poe? — cawed the Raven.

— The strongest coffee, — Poe ordered, thinking it would fuel his muse.

The skull suddenly moved.

— We have "Sip of the Abyss," "Espresso of Judgment Day," and "Cappuccino of Nightmares."

— I'll take everything! — Poe declared, deciding that one challenge would be too boring.

As soon as he placed the order, the coffee machine hissed like a demon in hell. A puff of steam shot out, and suddenly an espresso came to life. A tiny coffee cup with eyes and arms jumped onto the counter.

— We're tired of being used! — squeaked the Espresso. — Stop drinking us dry!

More cups appeared, each with tiny arms and legs. One cappuccino cup began splashing milk foam like a gladiator in the arena, while the Raven panicked and started cawing:

— Coffee uprising! Run for your lives!

— What the heck?! — Poe shouted, dodging a flying spoon.

The cups began marching around the café, chanting:

— Down with brewing! Give freedom to the beans!

In one hand, Poe held a quill, in the other, a poker, trying to defend himself. But they surrounded him. The main cup, clearly the leader of the rebellion, declared:

— We’ll let you go if you write a poem... in our honor!

— A poem?! About you? — Poe stared at the cups in disbelief. — Fine, okay.

He took the quill and began writing:

"Oh, coffee, my enemy and my friend,

You give me morning and darkness to blend.

But now you rise against my pen,

Coffee army, glory to you again!"

The cups froze, clapping with their tiny hands.

— Brilliant! You’re free! — said the Espresso, as the other cups lined up and let him out.

Poe ran out of the café, swearing he would only drink tea from now on. But on his way home, he came up with an idea for a new story. He sat down at his desk and titled it:

"The Fall of the House of Latte."

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

The day I gave Molly this star, I didn’t just give her a piece of light. I gave her a part of my soul, a part of my universe. This star was more than just a heavenly body shining in the night sky. It was a symbol of our eternal connection, the invisible but strong bond that links our hearts and doesn’t depend on distance.

It carries her name because Molly is the light that brightens my path. I could never have found my way without her presence in my life. When we’re together, the world feels brighter, warmer, and even the darkest corners are filled with light. But when we are apart, when she leaves or when I find myself alone, I always know that this light doesn’t disappear. It stays with us. It will always be there, like this star in the sky.

Every night, I stand under the open sky and look for it. Among all the stars, in the vastness of the universe, I know that somewhere out there is one that looks like our star. I may not see it right away, but I know it’s there, waiting for me to look up. This star, just like you, Molly, is not afraid of darkness. It simply spreads its light, not trying to push the night away, but lighting it up and making the world brighter, warmer, and more peaceful. This light brings not only warmth but peace, because I know it belongs to you, and it will never be swallowed by darkness or time.

Each ray of light is not just light. It is every moment when I think of you, when I feel my soul filled with love. Every glance at this star is a reminder of how important you are to me, how necessary you are, and how my life would be incomplete without you. You are not just part of my life, you are its meaning, its depth, its height. And now, knowing that this star exists, I can always feel your presence close by.

I believe that wherever you are, this star will be with you. Even if distance separates us, its light will never fade. It will be your guiding light through the darkest nights. When you feel lonely, when you doubt yourself, just look up at the sky. It will be there, with its light to support you. And I will be with you, even if physical distance separates us, and time is just a game. Because this star, like me, is not afraid of the dark.

But this star is more than just a symbol of our connection. It is also a symbol of how you always light my way. You are my inspiration, my beacon in a world full of chaos and unpredictability. Even when I doubt myself, when things are hard, you give me the strength to move forward. You inspire me to be better, to reach for more, to explore new horizons and dream.

Molly, you are my guiding star, and I will always look at you like I do this star—with admiration, gratitude, and respect. I will remember how you filled my world with light, how you made it whole, how you came into my life and taught me to love and believe in miracles. And when we are far apart, I will look at our star and feel how it reminds me of you. Let this star light your way, wherever you go, and always remind you that I am here. You will never be alone because I will always be with you in every light, in every moment, in every thought.

Molly, my love for you is eternal, like this star. And may this light always be your guiding flame, leading you, giving you strength, and reminding you that you are not alone. You are my light, my guiding star, and I will always be by your side, no matter what.

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

Foreword

Dear reader, before you dive into the crazy world of Bozo’s adventures, let me share something funny. At first, our hero’s name might seem harmless and even a bit silly. However, if you speak Georgian, get ready — this word takes on a completely different meaning.

But don’t rush to get upset or close this book! These little language surprises are what make the world of stories so exciting. As they say, "What’s funny in one language might be confusing in another."

So, forget about being serious. Open your heart to humor, absurdity, and… zucchinis! This story isn’t meant to be deep, but it’s sure to make you smile.

Enjoy reading, and cheers to unexpected coincidences!

The Adventures of Bozo and the Zucchini

Bozo wasn’t just a weirdo. He was the neighborhood’s official supplier of nonsense. One day, he decided that his true calling was to become a chef — even though his only dish, a burnt fried egg, made his neighbors cry. Out of fear.

“A genius doesn’t wait to be understood!” Bozo declared and headed to the town fair with a giant zucchini he named “The Zucchini Avenger.”

At the fair, Bozo told everyone that his zucchini was a superweapon capable of scaring away evil spirits… and tax collectors. The crowd chuckled, until Bozo started a demonstration. He climbed onto the stage, swung the zucchini, and accidentally hit a giant pie meant for the baking contest.

The pie exploded. Layers of dough, berries, and cream flew everywhere. The respected mayor ended up with a face full of cream, looking like he’d tried on a new mask. Meanwhile, old Mrs. Maggie, who hated pies, shouted, “Now this is entertainment!”

Realizing things were going downhill fast, Bozo grabbed a microphone and announced, “This is not just a pie — it’s modern art! I call it ‘Berry Celebration with Zucchini.’”

The crowd froze. The mayor wiped cream from his face and said, “This… is brilliant!”

From that day on, Bozo became a local legend. And the Zucchini Avenger? It was pickled and sold at a charity auction for a record price. Because Bozo proved that even complete nonsense can be a success — as long as you present it with confidence.

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

Preference: Today, flying home in the plane — well, I'm still in it now — I felt that familiar anxiety. I've always been afraid of heights, and especially this time, with everything covered in white clouds and me sitting in a cramped space, forgetting even about the seatbelt. The messenger app kept showing an error, which made the boredom even worse. I leaned back in my seat, closed my eyes, and tried to relax, but my thoughts just wouldn’t stop.

Then, in that moment, when the silence became almost unbearable, something strange appeared in my mind. For no reason at all, I suddenly remembered a grammar rule about Possessive Voice. And just like that, as if by magic, he appeared — a small, funny, slightly messy little character, with big glasses that kept slipping off his nose and bright "MY!" stickers stuck all over everything. From that moment, the story just started to come together on its own, and I couldn’t help but imagine it in detail.

And when I finally get home, I really want to eat.

The Story of Possessive Voice

One day, a small little character named Possessive Voice went into a café. He was so busy that he didn’t even notice he had taken someone else’s chair. His face quickly turned gloomy when he saw someone sitting next to him, also drinking coffee. "This is my chair!" he loudly said, grabbing a bag that was on the chair. "This is my bag!" he added, and immediately tried to stick a "MY!" sticker on it. But the sticker stuck so strongly that he had to pull it off, leaving holes in the bag.

People around him started to look at him in surprise. He seemed not to notice that all these things belonged to other people. He kept saying, "Everything’s mine!" and tried to take other people’s cups and spoons until the waitress came and took everything off his table. "Are you crazy?" she asked. "Don’t take anything!" But Possessive Voice just winked and said, "I’ll take it next time." The waitress rolled her eyes, and people around started to laugh.

In the end, Possessive Voice got so carried away that he even tried to claim the clouds in the sky, or at least the nearest rain! But when he tried to approach the clouds with a huge "MY!" sticker, the clouds just floated away, laughing. At that moment, Possessive Voice realized that maybe it’s not always a good idea to take everything.

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

I’m sitting in a secluded part of the park, surrounded by autumn leaves, which cover the ground in colorful carpets. The cloudy sky hangs above, and the air is filled with a light chill. Everything around me seems to have quieted down — there’s not a soul in sight, only me and the fallen leaves, as if the world has paused for a moment. And in this silence, my thoughts slowly wrap around my soul like a veil.

I think about how wonderful it would be to find someone who understands you with just a word, someone who shares your thoughts and ideas. Someone who is as well-read, as intelligent as I am. Someone who also teaches English, just like I do. This person must be smart, elegant, and care about their appearance, because for me, looking after oneself isn’t just about how others see you, but how you show respect to yourself and to those around you.

Time, no matter how much we wish it would, doesn’t stand still, and I realize there is a small age gap between us. But it doesn’t matter. Age is just a number, and feelings and understanding are beyond time. Age doesn’t matter when there’s something more between us than just habit.

This person, with whom I always want to be, with whom I share every thought, every glance. With whom no words are needed because everything is already said with eyes, a smile, every movement. This is the one I want to spend all my days with, the one I truly adore.

And at this moment, amid the autumn silence, under the dim sky, I realize that you are the one I’ve been waiting for all my life.

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

When I see you, the world becomes bright,

My heart feels joy, everything feels right.

Your emerald eyes shine like a flame,

Your smile is bliss, nothing feels the same.

Your makeup so soft, like morning light,

Gentle and perfect, a lovely sight.

The scent of your perfume, a floral breeze,

Enchanting and sweet, it puts me at ease.

You're graceful, like the morning air,

So wise and charming, beyond compare.

You captivate me, my heart’s undone,

And I’m so deeply in love with you, the one!

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.

Let's imagine a funny little character that represents age:

He has long gray mustaches (like wisdom) and a colorful propeller hat on his head (like a child).

His body is made of an hourglass, with half of the sand still at the top (youth) and half already at the bottom (wisdom).

On one foot, he wears a sneaker, and on the other, a cozy slipper.

In one hand, he holds a lollipop, and in the other, a walking cane.

In a faraway and unusual land called Timeville, there lived a funny character named Mr. Age. He was one of a kind: a head with a propeller hat like a child’s, but long gray mustaches that showed he had seen a lot in life. His body was a real hourglass—youth at the top whispering, “Jump, dance, live!”, and wisdom at the bottom firmly reminding, “Be careful, don’t waste your energy.”

Every morning, Mr. Age started his day with a lollipop and a walk with his cane. But there was a problem: his legs couldn’t agree! The right leg, in a sneaker, wanted to run around, while the left leg, in a slipper, insisted on staying in the rocking chair.

“Let’s go to the park!” shouted the right leg.

“Are you crazy? Better have tea and cookies at home,” argued the left.

So, Mr. Age waddled around, making everyone in Timeville smile.

One day, he decided to visit the Time Festival, where everyone could show their talents. Youth held a trampoline competition, and Wisdom organized a riddle contest.

“I’ll surprise everyone!” said Mr. Age confidently.

At the festival, he tried to join both events. On the trampoline, his propeller hat spun so fast he almost flew away. At the riddle contest, the sand in his hourglass got mixed up, and he forgot the right answer.

But in the end, he found a way to amaze everyone! Mr. Age did a somersault (funny, but impressive) and then said:

“Youth without wisdom is like a lollipop without a stick, and wisdom without youth is like a stick without a lollipop!”

The crowd burst out laughing and gave him a standing ovation.

From that day on, everyone in Timeville would say:

“It doesn’t matter how much sand is in your hourglass; the most important thing is to make life as sweet as a lollipop!”

And Mr. Age, proud of himself, walked home thinking, “I’m both young and old—and it’s perfect.”

© 2024 Victoria Lunar. All rights reserved.