I've never always loved books or thought of writing; I got introduced to reading romance novels in my senior secondary school by my then-friend Crystal, whom I always called Xtalia.

I started with historical romance; it was so good, you couldn't have imagined how it felt for me at the time. I lived and breathed those books and I always got into trouble because of them. I read about 250 pages of novels in 3 days, and I wanted more. I even told myself I was going to be a writer. I got those 80-leaf notes and I wrote down my author name, Cindy Michael (my father's name) and I started writing.

I was so good; my vocabulary was top-notch at SS2. It was such an interesting story that I never got to finish. It was an in-the-moment thing for me. I never wrote again except for exams and schoolwork. "Lol." I kept reading books; I even divulged into sales and marketing books, horror, murder mysteries, and the rest, but I never got motivated to write again.

I always imagined stories in my head and examined how they would go, but I would never pick up a pen or tab to write.

Stories come and go like the wind, carrying them far and wide. But I'm taking the bold step today, as this is the first ever story, short or long, I'm putting out there. I hope I don't falter, and I hope you stay with me too.