Beyond the dreams 3 : The Final chapter

PROLOGUE

It was a typical monsoon evening in Mumbai. The rain had been pouring down steadily for hours, turning the streets into a labyrinth of shimmering reflections and puddles. The sky was a deep, moody grey, the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the cityscape for a brief, electric second. The sound of the raindrops hitting the windowpanes echoed through the apartment like a steady heartbeat, creating a soothing rhythm against the bustling chaos of the city below.

Inside her cozy apartment, Mahira Sengupta stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection with wide, anxious eyes. Tonight was important. It wasn’t just any evening—it was the night she would finally step into the world as herself, revealing her face for the first time to the millions of fans who had read her words but never seen the woman behind them.

For years, she had kept herself hidden. Writing was her escape. She had always been an introvert, preferring the quiet comfort of her imagination over the noise of social interactions. Her stories had been her way of communicating, of expressing herself without having to face the scrutiny of the world. But tonight was different.  was about to meet the people who had followed her work so faithfully, and she couldn’t help but feel a wave of nervousness washing over her.

Mahira took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She glanced down at the red saree draped neatly on her bed, the soft silk catching the dim light of her room. It was her favorite—a rich, deep red that always made her feel a little more confident, a little more daring. She had chosen it for tonight because she knew she would need all the confidence she could muster.

As she picked up the saree and held it against herself, she looked into the mirror again. Her reflection stared back at her, uncertain and a little anxious.

"Come on, Mahira," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pattering rain. "You’ve got this. You’ve done harder things. It’s just a fan meet... just a few hours, and you’ll be back here in your comfy pajamas, sipping tea. It’s nothing."

But it wasn’t nothing. Deep down, she knew that. This was a big step for her—bigger than any of the characters she’d written, any of the worlds she had created in her books. This was real. For the first time, she would be stepping out of her safe, fictional world and showing her face to the people who had loved her work. And while that thought thrilled her, it also terrified her.

She started pacing around the room, her bare feet making soft sounds against the cool wooden floor. Her apartment was her haven . The walls were lined with shelves filled with books—everything from classic literature to the latest bestsellers. A small desk by the window was cluttered with notebooks, pens, and loose pages covered in scribbled notes and ideas. It was here that she had written every word, crafted every story, and lived out her dreams of being a writer.

"Why did I agree to this?" she muttered to herself, standing in front of the mirror again. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the saree, and she sighed. "I mean, they don’t care what I look like, right? They’ve loved the books. They’ve loved the stories. That’s what matters. And they would love me too !! " Please!

But as much as she tried to convince herself, the butterflies in her stomach refused to settle. She had always been a private person, content to let her words speak for her. The idea of stepping into the spotlight, of being seen and known, was overwhelming. She wasn’t used to attention, wasn’t used to being the center of anything.

Her eyes drifted to the small framed photo on her bedside table. It was a picture of her and her orphanage where she grew up . Mahira smiled softly, remembering how her dean mother and abhi -he was like a brother to her , had always encouraged her to pursue her dreams, no matter how impossible they seemed. She had been her biggest supporter,and he always believing in her even when Mahira didn’t believe in herself.