The next morning, Masti awoke with a strange feeling.

Lightness.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic—just a subtle ease in her chest, like she could breathe a little more freely.

She reached for her phone, more curious than anxious. Notifications from the blog glowed softly on the screen.

5 Comments. 13 Likes. 2 Subscribers.

She blinked. Clicked.

The comments were short but kind:

“I felt every word of this. Thank you.”
“Late 30s here and still geeking out over anime—so glad I found this blog!”
“Subscribed immediately. Keep writing, please!”
“This hit me deep. I’ve always felt ashamed of loving stories. No more.”

Masti smiled, her hand pressed over her heart.

Someone saw her.
Not the polished version.
Not the office mask.
Her.

She poured a hot cup of chai and sat back at her desk, the sun already lighting up her room with possibility. No meetings today. Just her, her laptop, and the world she was creating for herself—one word at a time.

She opened a new blog post, this time for a K-drama episode review. Her thoughts were already tumbling over each other, eager to get out.

Before she started typing, she paused. She looked around her room—at the shelves of manga, the K-drama posters, the old notebooks, the quiet joy in the air—and whispered to herself:

“I’m doing this. I’m really doing this.”

Not for fame. Not for money.
But because it made her feel alive.

And for now, that was enough.