My name is Aria, and sometimes I feel like my life is a small, cozy universe made of quiet details. I’m that girl who can spend an entire evening sitting on the windowsill, listening to the rain, and imagining how every drop carries someone’s untold story. I love soft blankets, warm tea, and playlists that sound like memories. People often think I’m shy, but in fact, I just like to observe first: how someone smiles, how they choose words, how their eyes change when they talk about something important. I keep these little things inside, like treasures. I believe that even the most ordinary day can be special if you notice at least one tiny, beautiful moment in it. That’s how I try to live — slowly, thoughtfully and a bit dreamily, as if I’m writing a book about myself in real time.

Sometimes I feel like there are two versions of me living side by side. One is simple, smiling, a bit clumsy, loves cute things and laughs at silly jokes. The other one is quiet and serious, always asking “why?” even when it hurts. This inner Aria loves long thoughts more than loud conversations. She pauses over simple questions like: “What does it mean to really understand a person?” or “Can you be truly close to someone and still remain yourself?” I often write about this in my diary, trying to catch the moment when a feeling turns into a thought. I don’t want to just exist on the surface, reacting automatically. I want to feel consciously: joy, sadness, fear, love. It’s scary sometimes, because depth always includes vulnerability. But I think that’s the only way to live honestly — not hiding from yourself.

Sometimes happiness hides in very simple things: a cozy sweater, a new book, a cute mug for late-night tea or a little gadget that makes life easier. That’s what my wishlist is about — small dreams that make my days warmer and my content even better. If you decide to make something from this list come true, it won’t be “just a gift” for me. It will be a shared moment, a tiny piece of care that I’ll remember every time I use it. Thank you for even looking at my wishes — it already means more than you think. 💌✨

I don’t have one main hobby — I have a whole box of small obsessions that make my heart softer. I love reading books that smell like old paper and coffee, and sometimes I fall in love with random sentences so much that I rewrite them into my notebook. I adore learning languages, because every new word feels like a key to someone’s world. I sketch badly but sincerely: crooked flowers, funny cats, cups of coffee with tiny hearts instead of steam. I like to take long walks with music in my headphones, pretending I’m the main character in a movie no one is watching yet. I collect beautiful phrases, unusual clouds, and moments when the city suddenly becomes quiet. All these little hobbies don’t make me “productive,” but they make me feel alive, warm, and honestly myself — and for me, that’s the most important achievement.

Sometimes I catch myself thinking that we are all a bit like rivers. From the shore, everything seems clear: the current is calm or fast, the water is bright or dark, the surface reflects the sky. But underneath there are hidden stones, cold layers, quiet eddies where old leaves and forgotten words settle. People see our “surface” — habits, jokes, posts, photos. They might say: “She’s cheerful”, “She’s calm”, “She’s cute”. But no one knows how deep the water goes inside, where fears, memories, guilt, fragile hopes and stubborn dreams live. There, in that hidden part, our true “I” quietly breathes. Sometimes this depth feels like melancholy, sometimes like salvation. Because no matter what happens outside, there is always a secret place inside us that belongs only to us — and no storm can really reach it.

There are evenings when I feel like a tiny collector of infinities. I don’t measure life in big achievements, but in quiet, barely noticeable moments. The way someone writes my name in a message. The softness in a voice when a person says “I’m glad you’re here.” The silence that appears between two people who suddenly understand each other without words. I believe that our second life takes place exactly there — not in facts and dates, but in subtle feelings that no one sees. Sometimes I think that every person carries a whole universe of unspoken things: questions they were afraid to ask, phrases they swallowed, hugs they didn’t dare to give. I want to be someone who treats these invisible worlds carefully, like fragile glass. Maybe my main dream is to create a space where a person can gently exhale and think: “Here, I can finally be real."