She smiled to herself.
"Perfect timing," she thought, and transferred the amount to her newly created Apple Developer account.
After that, the process moved quickly. She uploaded the app build, filled in the details, and hit "Submit for Review."
Within minutes, it was live.
Her game — simple, clean, and entirely hers — was now on the iOS platform.
She stared at the screen, proud but composed.
She also understood how it worked: for every paid download or in-app purchase, Apple would take 30%, and she would receive the remaining 70% as the developer.
It was a fair share. Apple gave her the global stage. She had done the rest.
And now, somewhere out there, someone could be tapping her bird through pipes on their phone screen — unaware that the person who made it was just a quiet girl eating chapati and chicken in an empty college room.
No one knew.
Not yet.
And she liked it that way.
Bani didn't check the download stats.
She didn't even think about it as she walked home under the soft golden light of the evening sun, her bag slung casually over her shoulder and her thoughts calm. She had done what she came to do — built her first game and launched it. That was enough for now.
At home, the familiar smell of boiled milk and cardamom welcomed her in.
Her mother handed her a cup of warm milk and a small steel plate with rusk biscuits. She sat by the window for a few minutes, dipping each rusk slowly, quietly enjoying her snack while the world outside buzzed on.
After finishing, she went straight into her routine — helping her mother clean the floor, sweeping with practiced rhythm, and later doing the dishes at the kitchen sink. She worked without complaint. It was part of her life, and she liked the balance it gave her.
By 6 PM, she had freshened up, changed into a comfortable cotton dress, and tied her hair back in a loose bun.
She entered the shared bedroom where Manu, her younger brother, was hunched over his homework, quietly writing in his notebook.
Bani sat on her bed, opened her laptop, and placed it gently on her lap.
There was no excitement, no celebration — only steady focus.
Now that her iOS version was live, she turned to her next task:
making the game compatible with Android.
The process was slightly different — Android needed different tools, signing keys, and a separate store setup. But she had already absorbed everything from the glowing books in her space. It was just a matter of doing it.
She adjusted the controls again, tested the build using an emulator, checked the storage permissions, and began preparing the Android package file (.apk).
Once that was done, her plan was clear:
release it on PC and laptop platforms next — Windows and maybe Linux too. She didn't want the game to live in just one ecosystem.
She wanted it everywhere.
Because now she saw what this could become — not just a game, but a stream of profit, a seed to fund her future. Her own work, quietly done, quietly released. No marketing, no big company backing her. Just knowledge, discipline, and one upgraded laptop.
Manu looked up from his notebook for a moment and asked,
"Akka, are you working on a project?"
Bani smiled faintly without looking up.
"Yes. Something small. But it might help me build something big."
"Akka, have you finished your work?" Manu asked again, nudging her gently.
Bani looked up from her laptop, her fingers still on the trackpad.
"Hmm?" she asked, blinking out of her thoughts.
"I want to play for a little while. Please?" he asked, hopeful eyes already scanning the keyboard.
"You finished your homework?" she asked with a smile.
"Yes! All of it. I promise. Can I play now? Just for half an hour."
Something flickered in Bani's mind — a quiet idea.
Instead of handing over random files or letting him open cartoons on YouTube, she opened the browser and typed:
"Flappy Bird".
She scrolled for a moment, found the link to her version, and opened it in full-screen mode.
"Here. Play this. Let's see how long you can survive, Manu. Just 30 minutes, okay?"
Manu nodded, already focused.
He hit the spacebar.
Flap. Flap. Crash.
The bird slammed into the first green pipe.
He blinked.
"Oh... that was fast. Let me try again."
He hit space again.
Flap. Flap. Flap. Crash.
"Huh? Akka, this looks easy but it's not!"
Bani smiled.
That was the magic of Flappy Bird — the game that had once taken the world by storm in 2014. Back then, it had looked like a joke — a tiny pixelated bird, green pipes like Mario's, one control: tap or click to flap. That's it.
But it was deceptively difficult.
The physics were cruel. The bird either fell like a stone or shot up too fast. The space between the pipes looked generous… until you were right there, slamming into one side. Most players couldn't get past 5 or 10 points. And yet, they couldn't stop playing.
It was addictive — not because of rewards or shiny graphics, but because of pride. Because getting a score of 20 felt like climbing Everest. People would pass the phone around in frustration, shouting:
"Wait! Let me try one more time!"
And now, in their small room, Manu was experiencing that same madness.
"Ugh! I almost crossed that pipe! Let me try again!" he grumbled.
"Told you it's tricky," Bani said with a grin, hiding the fact that it was her creation.
She leaned back again, letting him play, letting the bird flap — one tap at a time — while in her mind, she began planning the next steps.
Maybe a high-score feature? Maybe multiplayer?
But for now, the sound of crashing pixels and Manu's laughing frustration was more than enough.
The sun spilled softly through the city streets as Bani walked to college, her bag slung across her shoulder, laptop safely inside. She'd tucked her hair into a loose braid and wore a light denim kurti — casual, comfortable, and just her style.
Classes went on as usual. In economics, she took notes quietly while the same boys from the other day whispered about Flappy Bird again — debating who got the highest score. Bani didn't say a word, just smiled to herself.
But during the lunch break, she sat beneath her usual staircase spot and opened her laptop.
The stats had now crossed 1,200 downloads on iOS.
Reviews: 19. Average: 4.9 stars.
And best of all, she'd earned her first $15 in profit.
It wasn't about the money — not yet. It was about the spark.
---
Later That Evening – Modeling Assignment
Just before 5 p.m., Bani received a message.
> [Prasad Bidapa Agency]
"Hi Bani, your look has been confirmed for the Mysore Cotton Heritage Campaign. Shoot tomorrow at 9:30 a.m. in Jayanagar Studio 3. Traditional Indian wear – minimal makeup. Please confirm."
Her eyes widened. She remembered applying for that one casually a week ago — one of those campaigns that wanted "natural charm with grounded elegance."
Bani quickly typed back:
"Confirmed. Thank you!"
This would be her second major shoot. The last one had paid ₹10000 — in which she used 5000 as Apple developer fee. And now this one… would be the next step.
---
That Night
She stood in front of the mirror after her shower, gently brushing her hair.
On the bed lay tomorrow's outfit: a simple white kurta and silver jhumkas. She wouldn't need much else — the shoot would provide the sarees and styling.
She whispered to herself:
"Game developer by day. Model by grace."
It made her smile.
Because her two lives — the silent coder and the quiet model — were finally walking side by side.