Ryan finally collapsed onto his bed, tugging the blanket over his head like a shield. For the first time in an hour, there was no bass thumping through the walls.
No Romeo.
No Taylor swift song.
No cheerful voice singing.
Just silence.
Finally, by exhaling he thought. Maybe I'll get two hours of peace before sunrise.
His phone buzzed.
The sound was sharper than any alarm. He groaned, reached for it blindly, and squinted at the screen. A new message glared back at him.
Mr. Arden:
"Ryan. Draft tomorrow's schedule. Send it before 3 a.m."
Ryan sat up, disbelief flooding his veins.
"You've got to be kidding me."
He unlocked his phone, muttering under his breath. "Some people get a night off. Some people get weekends. Me? I get midnight memos."
For the next two hours, the room was lit only by the glow of his laptop. Fingers flew across the keyboard, typing with mechanical precision:
6:00 a.m. – Gym
7:30 a.m. – Script reading
8:00 a.m. – Breakfast
10:00 a.m. – Zoom call with brand collaborations
11:00 a.m. – casting session
12:30 p.m. – Lunch with board directors
2:00 p.m. – Product strategy session
4:00 p.m. – PR briefing
Ryan yawned, rolled his stiff shoulders, and glanced at the clock. 2:45 a.m. He dragged his palm down his face.
Then his phone pinged again.
Mr. Arden:
"Cancel everything.
I'm taking the day off.
I'll only take auditions
Ryan slammed his laptop shut for a second, the veins in his temple throbbing. He wanted to scream. Instead, he stood up, paced the floor like a caged tiger, and muttered out loud because talking to himself felt safer than bottling it all in.
"That girl" he jabbed a finger toward the wall of his apartment "ruined my whole night" His voice dripped with frustration. "And here I am, wide awake at 3 a.m., juggling Kai Arden's royal whims!"
He raked his fingers through his hair, sighing. "Actually… I should be the one... who should, checked my neighbors before shifting in. Could've avoided the pancake fairy next door."
Still, Ryan reopened the laptop. His tired eyes narrowed as he rebuilt Kai's new schedule from scratch. Every keystroke felt like punishment, but his discipline was too strong to let him slack. By the time he finished, dawn was threatening the sky.
He leaned back, exhausted, muttering to himself one last time:
"Perfect. My boss is unpredictable. My neighbor is insane. And I… am officially doomed.
***
The streetlamps flickered weakly as Alina walked back from the audition, her steps heavier than they had been in weeks. She pulled her coat tighter around her and muttered under her breath, every few seconds replaying that scene in her head — Kai Arden's sharp words, the way he had brushed off as if stories were nothing but numbers on a page.
Her jaw clenched.
Who does he think he is? Just because he's a star, the world bows to him? does he even know what it takes to write? A story isn't some quick recipe that cooks in ten minutes! It's… it's pieces of yourself, your time, your emotions. And he...
Her stomach twisted. What did he thought of writing? The sleepless nights? The endless rewriting until her fingers cramped? To him, it wasn't effort... it was nonsense.
She bit her lip, shaking her head as she climbed the stairs to her dorm room. When she finally pushed open the door, she let herself collapse onto the chair near the small desk. The audition papers, her manuscript, still lay there from earlier that day ...messy, wrinkled, as if mocking her.
Alina stared at the stack of pages in the notebook. She had worked on it for months, polishing, rewriting, staying up until dawn. And still, to him, it wasn't worth.
Her hands trembled slightly as she picked it up, flipping through the familiar pages. Each word seemed to echo back memories of when she first wrote them. Late nights, typing furiously on her old laptop. The sound of rain outside. Maya sneaking in with snacks so she wouldn't starve. Her own heart thudding with excitement every time a new twist came to her.
But now…
Now all she could hear was Kai's voice.
"Not good enough."
"Unpolished."
A writer pours their heart into a story, yet the world doesn't recognize their talent and say rubbish things about the story characters , which are not even real but we make it real ,emotions that are not even present but we write in a way that reader feel the emotion. they read our story while weeping, just because we made their favorite character die.
She slammed the notebook shut, squeezing her eyes shut, willing herself not to cry. For a while, silence hung heavy in the room. Only the faint hum of the ceiling fan kept her company. And then.. her eyes drifted to the corner of her laptop screen. An icon. A site she hadn't touched in years.
StoryNest.
The name itself made her stomach twist. She hadn't thought about it in so long. She had once uploaded chapters of this very story there. anonymously, nervously, like a child throwing paper boats into the sea and waiting to see if anyone noticed.
She remembered how her hands had shaken when she first posted. How she had checked every five minutes for comments... for views ... and didn't got any
At first, she refreshed the page every few minutes, her heart racing with hope. May be someone would click . May be someone would comment.. May be someone would out there would care.
But the number didn't move . Zero views. Zero comments. zero.
She told herself it was fine maybe tomorrow, it will change but tomorrow came, and the silence stayed. It was like dropping her words into a bottomless pit and hearing nothing come back. Her chest grew heavy. She thought of the nights she stayed awake shaping sentences, the way her heart had gone into every line, every chapter. And yet, it felt invisible, like she was invisible.
Slowly, her excitement turned into doubt. Maybe I'm not good enough. Maybe no one wants to hear my stories. The emptiness on the screen started to echo inside her, until opening the app itself felt painful.
So one day, she just… stopped. She closed the tab, shut the notebook, and told herself she'd had enough. Writing, something that once felt like breathing, now felt like shouting into an empty room. she thought her story wasn't worth it so ... she stopped writing after writing for days .... the story is left in between ... unfinish... unsaid..
It was My pain no one would understand that not even that... Kai Arden
Her throat tightened. That was five years ago. And she had never gone back.
With trembling fingers, she opened her browser and typed in the site name. The interface had changed, sleeker, brighter, but somehow the login box was the same. Alina hesitated. Did she even remember her old password? She thought she'd forgotten the login details. Surely five years was enough to erase such thing.
Two tries. Three. On the fourth, she was in.
Logged in successfully.
And just like that, the floodgates opened.
Her stories .. her draft ... all still there.
For long time she just sat there, scrolling through her old account. the old tittles, the chapter she had poured her soul into. She felt warmth, because there words reminded her of a girl she once was, and guilt, because she had abandoned that part of herself.
Her profile picture... blank.
Her username.... Inkheart
Her old works ...still there.
And her story. The same one she had auditioned with today. Half finished, frozen in time. She clicked it open. No Comments on any of the chapters. Her lips trembled. Even through its been years. that's the reason she had never came back.
Frustration boiled in her chest. She didn't want to feel this way. She didn't want to be reminded of everything she had left unfinished, she had disappointed herself. Maybe… maybe she should just delete it. Erase it all. That way she wouldn't have to carry the guilt.
Her finger hovered over the Delete Account button. Its better to let this go. Better than pretending I can still do this
And that was when it happened.
Ping!
It was a notification
A message.
A notification popped up in the corner of the screen. Alina frowned. That was strange. Who would message her after five years of inactivity account? She clicked it open.
The username was unfamiliar. ScriptBreaker.
The message was short. Simple.
''Don't you think it's cruel to leave a story...and your readers...without an ending?"
Unfamiliar. Anonymous. A name she has never seen. the message carried a weight that felt... personal. As if this stranger knew exactly where to strike, exactly what to say to break through her defenses.
Her breath caught. She couldn't believe it. someone ... someone still out there, still remembering her story, still waiting for her . For a moment, she sat frozen, staring at the screen, rereading the line again and again. her mind went blank. no though just froze.
deep down… she had thought the same. She had tried to bury it, to pretend that leaving halfway was just moving on with life. But someone....some stranger....had put it into words so sharp that she couldn't look away. and messaging me up after so many years?
She pressed the back of her palm against her mouth, trying to steady herself, but her emotions tangled. there was something that felt like an old flame flickering back to life
Did they know that I'm online now ? or it as just random message?
That single sentence... it was gentle, yet accusing, like a reminder that she wasn't invisible. Her mind spiraled. Who are you? Why now? How did they even find me after all these years?
Her finger hovered over the keyboard. Should she reply? Or just close the laptop and pretend this never happened? She couldn't bring herself to type. As if she might scare this connection away
The message replayed in her mind like a haunting melody.
Cruel to leave a story.... without an ending.
But her heart was beating faster than it had all day. Maybe… maybe this was a sign. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the glowing screen, that single message burning into her mind.
For a moment, the bitterness of Kai Arden's words faded into the background. His arrogance, his dismissive tone ... it didn't matter as much compared to this tiny message from a faceless reader
ScriptBreaker.
The name felt like a riddle, Like the start of a story she didn't know she was living in yet.
The glow of the laptop was the only light left, a thought formed slowly, heavily, impossible to push away....
Who is he?
The question sank into her bones. Because if someone still believed in her, even after all these years, may be ..... just maybe.... the story wasn't over yet.