Maya finds the journal in her great-grandmother's attic.

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight piercing the gloom of the attic. Maya coughed, waving a hand in front of her face as she stepped inside. The air hung thick with the scent of aged wood and forgotten things, a familiar aroma that always made her feel a strange mix of curiosity and melancholy whenever she visited her great-grandmother's house.

Her mission was simple: find the box of old family photos her mom had asked for. But as she rummaged through stacks of yellowed newspapers and discarded furniture, a glint of leather caught her eye. Tucked away in a dark corner, beneath a pile of moth-eaten blankets, was a small, leather-bound journal.