Setting: Summer. A newly reopened school. The hallway smells of fresh paint and humid books. Fans whirl loudly. A world on the brink of change.
The bell rang — loud and jarring — yanking the school out of its sleepy summer coma. Students returned with sunburnt skin, half-charged energy, and scattered excitement. But I… I was in another world altogether.
I'm Herry Senju. Sixteen years old. Slouched behind a rusting metal desk in 11th grade Biology. Sweat trickled down my temple. My collar clung to my neck like wet regret. I didn't care who sat next to whom, or who wore what. I was chasing something else. A twist. A real one.
Inside my schoolbag was a thin blue notebook — twenty pages scribbled with a story that existed for no one but me. The characters had voices, dreams, fears… but I was their only audience. I believed — truly believed — that if I could find the perfect twist, the world might finally see me. Maybe they'd even understand me. Maybe my family would stop saying, "What's the point of writing? Focus on your studies."
But that day, under the suffocating heat of June, the twist found me instead.
I remember it so clearly — the sharp clack of shoes echoing down the hallway… and then our Biology teacher's voice, slightly breathless but stern:
"Class, we have a new student joining us today. She's a topper — first rank in the entire district. Her name is Payal."
I didn't even bother looking up. Just zipped my bag and pushed the notebook deep down like I was hiding something sinful.
And then… she walked in.
A girl. But more than that — a presence. She walked like the space already belonged to her. Not arrogant. Not timid. Just… calm. Like she'd stared down the world once, and the world had blinked first.
Right then, I realized what I'd been writing all these years — the metaphorical light in my darkness, the divine savior, the unknowable goddess. Only now… she wasn't a character. She was real.
And worst of all? She sat right in front of me.
Then after this class the voice : -
"Herry!"
The voice shattered my thoughts like broken glass. It was Enky — my only friend, and the one person who hadn't vanished from my life when I went silent.
"She's calling you. Hurry up."
"Who?" I blinked. My throat dry.
"Payal. She said she wants your notes."
My heart didn't flutter like in movies. No butterflies. Just static. Like a system crash.
This wasn't a scene I'd written. This was real. And I was absolutely not ready.
[Flashback: My Life Before This Moment]
I was born in a middle-class home drowning in expectations, starving for empathy. My mother, Asha — kind, but quieted by life. My brother, Neel — always better, always compared. My father, Zuhan — success was the only currency, and failure was a crime.
I asked for tools to build my dreams. They gave me lectures. I asked for books to write stories. They gave me science textbooks. I asked for time. They gave me guilt.
From 8 to 16, I studied because I had to. Not because I thought it would save me.
I was never the golden child. Never the rebel. Just… the invisible line between pressure and survival.
And by 16, I had learned one thing:
When your voice is always questioned, silence becomes your armor.
I had dreams, but no means. Words, but no ears to hear them.
Until now.
[Back to Present — Biology Class]
I walked up to her desk slowly. My notes trembled in my hand. She turned.
Payal.
No smile. No smugness. Just a calm nod.
"You write stories, right?"
I froze. How did she—?
She tapped her pen gently on her notebook. On the back, I had absentmindedly written a title:
Half Light Half Night.
"Nice title," she said. "But the light shouldn't try to save the night. It should dance with it. Don't make your story about saving darkness… Make it about understanding it."
I just stood there. That one line — that one sentence — broke something in me. Or maybe… it healed something.
She had read one word… and seen my whole world.
[Scene: School Rooftop — After School. Herry and Enky, Alone]
Enky (teasing):
"So? Goddess Payal talks to mortals now, huh?"
I smiled. Not because I had a chance. But because — for the first time — I felt seen. Not as a roll number. Not as a disappointment. But as a creator.
Herry:
"You know what's weird, Enky? I always thought I had to escape reality through fiction. But maybe… the twist is that fiction needed to enter my reality."
Enky (grinning):
"You're starting to sound like a protagonist."
Herry (soft laugh):
"No. Just a writer who finally met his first reader."
[End of Episode 8]
Narrator (Voiceover):
"Sometimes, the greatest stories don't begin with heroes, wars, or ancient powers. Sometimes, they begin with sweat, silence… and the courage to hand your story to someone — even when your hands are shaking."
To be continued…