Description

In the old house on Clockmakers' Street live two people. One has ceased believing in miracles, having searched for them too desperately. The other believed, but was too afraid to find them.

One morning, they discover strange signs: a note written in their own handwriting, though never penned, and formulae arranging themselves into a tree made of dreams. Thus begins a journey where physical laws dance with wonders, science rhymes with magic, and simplicity proves deeper than any complexity.

Seven days before the moment that will change everything, they are destined to meet those who guard the doors between worlds, collect lost dreams, and curate miracles that never came to be. They will learn to see doors where others see only walls. Understand that certain formulae are better written not in chalk, but in light.

This is not a story about magic. This is a story about the courage to be genuine in a world that demands pretense. About two people - one who sought miracles to disprove them, another who hid them away for fear of their truth - embarking on a journey. Not to distant lands, but into the depths of themselves. Not across seven seas, but through seven days. Not in search of treasure, but seeking a simple yet profound truth: miracles happen not to those who believe or disbelieve in them, but to those who are ready to notice them.

The rain continues to fall upward, transforming the city into a watercolor painted with light upon the dark sky. And two people in the old house on Clockmakers' Street prepare to take a step - each their own - toward what they've sought all their lives without knowing.

Because sometimes you must lose your way to find the path home.

And sometimes you must stop searching for miracles for them to find you.