As the rain intensified, Leo pulled the wool blanket tighter around his shoulders, picked up a pen, and started a new map. This one wasn't of a far-off land—it was a map of his room, marking the "Sea of Unfolded Laundry" and the "Mountains of Textbooks," because even a small room can be a whole world if you look at it the right way.
One rainy Tuesday, Leo sat in his Nest, listening to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of raindrops against the glass. He realized that while the rest of the house belonged to his parents, and the street belonged to the city, this room—this specific patch of carpet—belonged entirely to his thoughts. bedroom
The walls of Leo’s bedroom were painted a deep indigo, the color of the sky just before the stars decide to show up. To anyone else, it was just a twelve-by-twelve square with a squeaky floorboard near the closet, but to Leo, it was a kingdom, a laboratory, and a sanctuary all rolled into one. As the rain intensified, Leo pulled the wool