The first entry.

Mei's small but slender fingers traced delicately over the notebook bound by an old shoestring atop a stack of other similar ones. Dad's choice was always black, now a deep dusty grey. She had her own. It was an expense they couldn't afford; the damp smell in her dad's arms-width office was evidence of that. The scent made her insides twist with pain. It had been two months since his funeral and she still spent almost every day curled up under his desk, scared to open his drawers unless his perfume escaped to mix with the air becoming eternally lost. She often thought about opening and reading his notebooks, like they once did and yet a deep fear of something terrible happening held her back. Curious, she placed her index finger under the tattered shoestring and pulled gently; it held taut despite its years. If she unravelled them, would the words he had scribed lift off the page and float away? She lay on the floor, knees tight to her chest picturing that. Words floated, shimmering through the air around her, letters forming from specs of gold as the sunlight trickled through a small window. It made her smile watching her little world fizz and crackle with life.

A loud ringing shattered the ethereal display and the letters fell with a silent thud. The sound of ringing became louder and more piercing. Crawling out from under the desk and jumping to her feet Mei cautiously walked towards the sound. Her face pressed against the cold wooden door, she peered through the metal peephole onto the bright street outside. It was the start of summer and the streets were busier than usual with children clumsily pushing scooters ahead of smiling parents on bicycles. She looked down slightly to see a small and wrinkled lady of Asian descent stood impatiently on the doorstep sucking her teeth and shaking her head. Mei jumped backwards at the sound of ringing once more and fumbled to open the door. She recognised her instantly, it was her grandmother. Her dad's mum. She last saw her at the funeral but they had barely exchanged a glance. Everyone said they looked alike, though Mei was less tanned owing to her mum's fair-haired genes. Dad had insisted on calling her Năinai (grandmother in Chinese) so Mei always did.

"Năinai, what are you doing here?" She stumbled, still holding the door slightly ajar.

Unknown to her, that day was the start of a relationship that would save Mei from something dark and terrible. Năinai began to visit her at her family home where she lived in Hackney, London almost every other weekend. They'd sit for hours in the small sunlit well, which they called the garden. Re-filling teapots and pouring dinky cups of Jasmine tea they laughed and cried together all weekend. There were so many stories to be told. Năinai was so much like her dad, which meant that she was like her too. They shared a passion for storytelling, kindness and good grammar. Mei's mum and brother weren't interested in much at all and spent most of their time with friends or whoever they had chosen to date that particular month. Năinai tried to avoid them at all costs, she didn't agree with the way they treated Mei. That summer Mei began to face the world outside again, taking long, lonely strolls through the park every day and stopping to read for a few hours on a quiet bench. She was grateful that the sounds of the world outside no longer startled her or made her run for cover. She was grateful to have found some peace. She hadn't found herself curled up in the office in 2 months, things were going good.

Towards the end of summer, Năinai called asking if Mei wanted to spend the week in Cornwall with her at the cottage. She could only faintly remember visiting the cottage as a child and remembered the same musty smells that punctuated her dad's office. Books and damp aren't a great combination yet seemed to always co-occur in her family. She agreed, wondering why she hadn't already made the trip before and instantly felt guilty for not suggesting it herself.

Getting off the bus in Cornwall, she checked her phone to see if she was in the right place but there was no signal here. There was nothing but a bus stop and a beach with a never-ending shoreline. The silence was only pierced by the occasional shrieking gull that stalked the skies above and right now, the hum of the engine behind her. The bus driver waited for a moment, seemingly concerned about her. She smiled weakly over her shoulder at him and satisfied with this, he closed the doors and drove off down a long narrow road that snaked along the coastline.

After walking for what seemed like forever, the straps on her small rucksack began to dig into her skin and as the sunlight began to fade she became increasingly more agitated. The cold salty breeze stuck to her skin and mixed with her sweat. Năinai had said it was the small house at the end of the beach road, that it was the only one and couldn't be missed. Just as she began to give up hope of ever finding it, there it was. A small, dilapidated, almost wonky little cottage with a chimney that was puffing smoke from a warm fire that gave off a deep glow in the distance.

That evening Năinai came clean and told her everything. She had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She smoked heavily and expected it would come eventually. What's the use in fighting it she had chuckled. Though Mei could sense that she didn't truly find it so funny. Năinai was frightened and so was she.

Mei didn't know how to process the news. She had very nearly lost her mind when her dad died earlier this year. She was only just starting to regain some semblance of a life again and now this? There was no way she would recover from this.

How does one person become so unfortunate she wondered. No amount of counselling could ever resolve the pain she was due to experience now. Năinai had been her life-boat and rafted her to safety from the most catastrophic event in her life so far. Who would save her from the next?

Her mind swelled with thoughts as her head hit the pillow that night.

Not many months passed before Năinai was taken from her.

She left everything she owned in Mei's name; the cottage, £20,000 and a little black notebook with a message written on the first page.

"Do not cry Mei-mei. Wipe away your tears.

You will walk out of this dark period with your head held high.

I know it in my heart.

Write in this book every day.

Fill it with your thoughts, nightmares and dreams.

Write that bloody novel you keep talking about.

Your father never did, it's about time you started.

Talk to me here. I will always listen.

Forever with you.

Năinai."

She smiled, hearing the soft but pert tone of Năinai's voice in her scribbled words. Having lived alone in the cottage now for over a week this was the first time she had opened the notebook. At 20 years old and with no income apart from the small fortune that Năinai had left her, Mei knew she needed to write that novel. She wondered if it could be about her experiences over the past year, she wondered if anyone would even care to know. She wrote that down. Her first entry, her first conversation with Grandma. She wondered if she could even hear her.

Staring out the window, watching the skies turn to grey and form rolling clouds over the eerily calm sea, she also hoped she wouldn't have another nightmare tonight.

Blinking her eyes open she yawned and pulled the bedsheets up over her head to block out the sunlight. It was too bright, too early and too cold. She decided she was staying under the warm covers this morning but then the door to the bedroom creaked open.

Someone is in the room with her. Not again.

Her heart beating hard against her rib cage she shrieks internally. Wake up, wake up, wake up.

Footsteps come towards her, faster now and the blanket flies off. Exposed, she cradles herself in a fetal position.

But nothing happens. Her eyes have been squeezed shut. She silently counts to three and opens one to see what's going on.

"Come-on Mei, up you get." A man, in a strange uniform.

"Mei come-on, we haven't got all day. Let's go. You're booked in for 10 o'clock" He barks again.

"I won't ask again Mei. Up, now."

She does as she's told though she's never seen this man before. This room isn't her bedroom. She was here last night. Another nightmare but why can't she wake up this time. She googled this today, she's been lucid dreaming; aware that she's in a dream. She managed to wake up last night but for some reason, she's still in the dream tonight.

The man leads her through a hallway and occasionally they pass someone standing absent-mindedly by a doorway. One girl they pass pulls her pants down baring all for Mei and everyone else to see.

Finally, they come to a door at the end of another sterile-looking hallway. He opens the door for her, gently pushing her into the room. She steps backward into the room watching as the man walks away, leaving her to whatever fate awaits her here.

"Mei, you're welcome to sit down." A warm voice says from behind her.

Taking a seat opposite a kind looking young pregnant woman, she cocks her head in confusion.

The woman smiles.

"You've been somewhere else again haven't you? I'm Esmé, your counsellor. Now let's talk about these dreams then shall we? Could you start by telling me how you've been coping since grandmother, Năinai passed away sadly this month?"

Mei stared at her blankly, unable to summon the words that the nice lady assumed she was capable of producing.

So she continued,

"Do you remember that your father passed away early this year?"

Mei nods her head slowly.

"And where have you been since he passed?"

"At home and then at Grandma's in Cornwall" She stammers.

"I see. So what have you been doing?"

"Walking in the park, reading, writing a novel now I think. Yeah. Not sure yet. Think I will."

"In the black notebook that your grandmother sent us for you?"

"Yeah. I think." Mei was confused now. Năinai had left the book in the cottage for her.

"I hope you remain encouraged by her words Mei. You will make it through this. It's such a shame that she can't visit any more." Esmé's gaze wandered as she spoke without looking at her and instead at the window towards the small sunlit well that they call a garden here. "She was right, you know, you will make it through this and I'm very hopeful you will be able to rebuild your life outside again someday soon."