It’s been a year.
A whole year since I randomly decided, on a quiet Tuesday night, to write something instead of just reading. I never thought I would call myself a writer here. I was always on the other side. The silent reader, scrolling endlessly, falling into stories, especially the Desi ones. I loved them, but somewhere, they didn’t always feel enough. Too many of them followed the same pattern, the same characters, the same silences.
But also there were beautiful stories too, rare ones that stayed with me. It made me wonder what would happen if I stopped waiting and started writing the kind of story I wanted to read.
I had ideas before. So many of them. But I never had the courage to put them into words.
Until that one night.
A random thought, what if a woman, even in the darkest place, could still find love? And what if that love didn’t break her, but taught her to choose herself first? That one idea became my first story.
'BOUGHT BY NIGHT AND HELD BY HIM'
I didn’t expect anything from it. But then the responses came. Kind, overwhelming in the best way. People read it. People felt it.
And I kept writing.
One story turned into many. Words turned into something that connected me to people I’ve never met. And now, a year later, I’m here, with almost 160 of you beside me.
That random decision… it was worth it.
More than worth it.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have reached here without you.
To everyone who stayed, waiting (sometimes impatiently) for chapters, commenting with so much excitement, feeling every little moment with me… thank you. You have no idea how much that means. Those comments, those small reactions, that’s what keeps me going on days I don’t feel like writing.
You didn’t just read my stories. You made me believe they were worth telling.
So yeah… this one year? It’s ours. ♥️