There are moments in our lives we think we’ve left behind. Closed chapters, pages we assume have nothing left to say to us. Then, one day, almost by chance, they come knocking again. For many years, I hadn’t thought about those stories. Not because I’d decided to abandon them. Simply put, life had taken other paths, and those pages had stayed behind, tucked away in a forgotten corner of my memory. I wasn’t looking for those stories. I didn’t even know I’d kept them; I didn’t know I still had them. And that’s perhaps the most surprising part: rediscovering something that was a part of you, but that you had almost forgotten you ever created.

A box from the past It wasn’t a planned moment. It was just a box. One of those that sit for years in some corner of the house, filled with things we don’t remember keeping. Inside were them. My old notebooks. I still remember the moment I opened those notebooks and recognized my old handwriting. The sound of the pages turning after all those years. Those words belonged to me, yet they seemed to come from someone far away in time. Pages written so many years ago, with ideas, notes, characters, and fragments of worlds belonging to an earlier version of me. An earlier version of me, who wrote without knowing where those words would lead, or if anyone would ever read them.

Meeting a part of myself again Re-reading those pages was like opening a door to a distant time. I found myself right back there: sitting in the silence of the night, with a small lamp lit, letting my imagination build places, atmospheres, and characters. Those notebooks didn’t just hold words. They held emotions, doubts, dreams. They held the beginnings of worlds that didn’t yet know what shape they would take.

When a story finds a new path Among those pages were the first fragments of what would become Le Ombre di Áetheria. A world born from images, ideas, and questions, built around mysteries, ancient secrets, and hidden truths. A journey where the most important battle isn’t just against what lies outside, but above all, against one’s own Shadows. But the writing process still had a surprise in store. While I was working on my first novel and waiting for its release, a new story arrived. A story different from the one I had imagined writing. At that moment, I wasn’t looking for another story. I just needed to write. That story would become La Ragazza di Mezzanotte. I still remember writing two versions of the first chapter and having my son read them, asking him to choose the one he preferred. He chose the second one. More poetic, more suspended. Me? In the end, I chose the first one. Because perhaps that’s part of writing: listening to others’ advice, but then recognizing the voice that truly feels like your own. Because a story already exists inside you in a certain way, and only then do you feel it must be told. The most important thing, however, is to stay true to your own voice. Style may change from story to story, but an author’s voice is what makes every tale recognizable.

Giving stories a new home Rediscovering those pages changed the way I look at writing. What I thought was simply something forgotten, left in the past, was actually a part of me waiting to be rediscovered. Those stories crossed years, changes, and silences, waiting for that part of me, the one who imagined universes during sleepless nights, to come back and give them a new life. Who knows, maybe one day those stories will see the light of day too. I just hope I won’t have to make them wait another fifteen years. And now, some of those stories have found a new home. No longer just between the pages of my notebooks. But together with my readers.

The invisible room where stories are born Every author has an invisible room where stories are born. A room made not of walls, but of memories, images, emotions, and fragments of imagination. For a long time, that door stayed closed. Today, I’ve decided to open it. Because perhaps stories don’t just belong to those who write them. At a certain point, they ask to be shared. Welcome inside. Sometimes, encounters happen that seem simply casual, but they arrive exactly when they are meant to. Some call it serendipity. But that’s another story, and I’ll tell you that next time.

And you? Have you ever rediscovered something from your past that reminded you of a part of yourself you had forgotten? I’d love to hear your story.