wayward scripts

It began with a biscuit. Not a grand biscuit, nor a terrible one-simply a biscuit, unremarkable in every way but the one that mattered most: it was there.

From the first bite to the final crumb, this is the saga of that biscuit, told with the seriousness it never asked for and the depth it could never deserve. Along the way, hunger wrestles with hesitation, distractions arrive in the form of a knock at the door and phantom phone calls, and the great philosophical questions of our time are asked-such as whether regret tastes different when it is edible, and why the fridge is always worth checking at least three times.

What unfolds is a journey of persistence, doubt, distraction, redemption, and peace-a reflection not just on food, but on the act of continuing when there’s no clear reason to. It is an ode to imperfection, an examination of patience, and, somehow, a quiet celebration of knowing when something is enough.

The biscuit is long gone now, but its story remains.