The university hallway was buzzing with the usual midday noise, a tangled mixture of laughter, hurried footsteps, and fragmented conversations echoing against pale concrete walls. Nadine Oswalt was walking slowly, her notebook clutched against her chest, her bag hanging from one shoulder. The weight of the previous night's criticism still lingered in her mind, not as sharp pain anymore, but as a dull pressure that refused to fade.
She had barely slept. Not because of the trolls, nor because of Olivia Donovan's pointed comments, but because of something quieter, more insidious—the growing awareness that her passion existed in a world that did not respect it.
As she entered the lecture hall, she was scanning the room instinctively, searching for Maggy. Spotting her near the window, Nadine felt her shoulders relax slightly and made her way toward the seat beside her. Before she could sit, a voice floated over from a row behind them.
"Did you hear? Someone in our year is wasting nights writing web novels."
The words were casual, almost amused.
Another voice replied, low and mocking. "Seriously? Like those cheap online stories? That's embarrassing."
Nadine froze for a fraction of a second. She did not turn around. She did not need to. The laughter that followed was soft, restrained, and far more cutting than open ridicule.
Maggy noticed immediately. She leaned closer and whispered, "Ignore them."
Nadine nodded, but her fingers tightened around the edge of her notebook. "They're not even talking to me… and yet it feels like they are," she thought. The realization settled uncomfortably in her chest: people did not need to know her name to judge her. The mere idea of someone like her—someone who wrote light novels online—was enough.
The professor began speaking, his voice droning on about theory and methodology, but Nadine struggled to focus. Words blurred together as her thoughts spiraled inward. She imagined her classmates scrolling through StoryBloom, sneering at amateur writers, dismissing them as delusional dreamers clinging to childish fantasies.
"Is that how they see me?"
During the break, Nadine followed Maggy into the courtyard. Groups of students clustered together, coffee cups in hand, discussing internships, grades, and future plans. The conversations were sharp, pragmatic, grounded in measurable success.
"I applied for three internships already." "My parents want me to go abroad next year." "At least that guarantees a real job."
Nadine felt increasingly out of place, as if she were standing slightly out of sync with reality.
She sat on the edge of a low stone wall, pulling her notebook onto her lap. The familiar weight of it usually comforted her, but today it felt heavier, almost accusatory.
Maggy watched her quietly before speaking. "You know… people are afraid of things they don't understand."
Nadine let out a short, humorless breath. "Or they just think it's stupid."
"No," Maggy replied firmly. "They think it's useless because it doesn't fit into their idea of success. That's not the same thing."
Nadine looked at her, surprised by the intensity in her voice. Maggy's expression was calm, but her eyes carried something deeper—conviction, perhaps, or protectiveness. For a brief moment, Nadine felt seen in a way that had nothing to do with her writing metrics or online comments.
Later that afternoon, as Nadine walked past the campus café, she overheard another conversation.
"Have you seen those StoryBloom rankings? Some people really think they'll become famous from that." "Yeah, right. Adaptations, anime, comics… total fantasy."
She slowed her steps, her heartbeat echoing in her ears. "Fantasy," she repeated silently. "That's what they think my dream is."
She reached the bus stop and sat down, staring at her reflection in the dark glass of the shelter. She looked ordinary—tired eyes, loose hair, ink-stained fingers. Nothing about her screamed "future famous author." And that, perhaps, was what hurt the most.
"Maybe I really am invisible," she thought. "Invisible until I succeed… or invisible forever."
That night, back in her bedroom, Nadine opened StoryBloom again. She read through her comments carefully, even the cruel ones. The words from strangers hurt, but they were distant, abstract. The contempt she felt at university was different—it was real, immediate, woven into everyday interactions.
She closed her laptop and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.
"If I stop now… they'll be right," she thought. "But if I continue… I'll be alone for a long time."
Her chest tightened at the thought.
A message notification buzzed softly.
MOONLOOM: Did you write today?
Nadine smiled faintly.
YUMEWRITE: A little.
MOONLOOM: That's enough. That's always enough.
She let the phone rest against her chest, eyes closing slowly. The contempt she had faced that day did not disappear, but it settled into something quieter—an awareness, a warning. The world would not applaud her for trying. It would test her patience, her resolve, and her loneliness.
And yet, beneath the weight of judgment and doubt, Nadine felt something stubborn and unyielding taking root.
She would keep writing.
Not because the world believed in her.
But because, somewhere deep inside, she still believed in herself.