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Printed from https://web1.writing.com/main/profile/blog/sindbad/month/9-1-2025
Rated: 13+ · Book · Experience · #2171316

As the first blog entry got exhausted. My second book

Evolution of Love Part 2
September 5, 2025 at 7:07am
September 5, 2025 at 7:07am
#1096689
For their 25th Birthday, your character is gifted with a trip to a parallel universe to celebrate their special day. What is different about their life, friends, and the celebration itself there? Do they meet themselves? Write the story or poem.




This year, turning 25 felt both thrilling and unsettling. My apartment clock ticked quietly, shadows dancing on worn curtains as Leo, my dog, cartwheeled by my feet. I was lost in spreadsheets and receipts, comforted by routine. Tonight was simple—a quiet dinner with Mariam and Marty at our favorite Italian restaurant. Mariam always picked quirky cards full of meaning. Marty, shy as ever, was nervously rehearsing a toast. Simple constancy felt the safest place to be.

Aunt Lena’s card arrived, special and strange this time. A riddle was written in her careful handwriting:
"For a quarter-century of you, a different perspective awaits."
Inside was a polished silver compass, elegant but without a needle, etched with the word “Elsewhere.” Excited but doubtful, I traced my finger along it, wondering what new perspective it might mean.


The moment I touched “Elsewhere,” the world shimmered and twisted. My cluttered apartment dissolved into a vibrant garden bathed in a warm golden glow, despite the night falling. Fairy lights hung from glowing trees, and a band played a haunting melody that stirred something deep inside me.
Mariam appeared alongside me, her hair streaked in electric blue and fiery red, wearing a shimmering jumpsuit full of boldness—I barely recognized my once-timid friend. Marty stood laughing nearby, a radiant figure of brimming confidence, guitar in hand, the life of the party.


The sight unsettled me. I remembered Mariam’s fears years ago—how she hesitated to show her art. Marty, always scared of performing live, once skipped an entire concert. And yet here they were—living so boldly, so free. I looked for something familiar, something mine, and found an ice sculpture of a hummingbird—my favorite since childhood, watching them flit near Aunt Lena’s garden. This wasn’t my birthday party. Mine was quiet, simple—a table of three and comfort food.


Suddenly, a voice called out:
“Alex! You’re here!”
I turned to see another me—taller, confident, wearing style like second skin, their smile wide and unburdened. “You’re me, right? From somewhere else?” they asked, eyes bright with warmth. In this world, they were a fashion designer, creator of the glittering jumpsuits everyone wore. Mariam was a beloved tattoo artist; Marty a charismatic musician commanding the stage. “A single choice changed my path from accounting to passion,” the other Alex shared. “Choosing courage over comfort rippled through everything.”


Talking to this alternate me felt like looking into a possibility mirror. I recalled the painting I never showed, the chances I abandoned for safety. The vibrant garden, so alive, slowly faded as I revisited the compass in my hand. I thought of my quiet birthday waiting and the laughter I knew would always be there. But now, I felt a new fire—a flame fueled by the vision of courage and change.


As the night stretched, I learned more about this other life—how taking one leap brought creation, color, and boldness replacing numbers and routine. “I’m glad you came,” the alternate Alex said with a mischievous grin, “you’re a lot more fun than I expected.” The party was not just a celebration of age but a celebration of all the “what-ifs” turned into “why nots.” Friends who had grown into larger-than-life versions of themselves were living a world richer in possibility and joy.

When I finally returned, Leo wagging at my side and the quiet night wrapping around me, I clutched the compass. I understood—the gift was not just an adventure to another universe, but a message: Even at 25, I had time. Time to reshape, to dream, to find my own “Elsewhere.” The quiet celebration was mine, but so was the fire sparked by what I’d glimpsed.







675 words


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Printed from https://web1.writing.com/main/profile/blog/sindbad/month/9-1-2025