I started writing when I was thirteen-when I didn't even have a phone of my own. My world was a small Barbie-designed notebook and a so-called "magic pencil" that carried every thought I was too afraid to say out loud. That was where my stories were born, quietly and secretly, like they were never meant to be seen.

When I finally had access to my mother's phone, I continued writing through its Notes app. But even then, I stayed hidden. I was too shy-too careful-because I didn't want my family to stumble upon the world I was building inside my mind. So I wrote in silence, like a secret I was guarding from the world.

By fourteen, I had already created nearly twenty stories-each one with full chapters, full endings, and pieces of my heart scattered between every line. That was when I took a risk and entered a writing platform where strangers became readers, and readers became a reason to continue. For a moment, my words were alive. I had almost three thousand readers who once believed in my stories.

But life doesn't always wait for dreams to grow.

School came rushing in like a storm I couldn't outrun. Slowly, my updates stopped. My stories were left unfinished, abandoned in the quiet corners of the internet. And one by one, the readers I once had... faded away.

Still, even in silence, writing never truly left me.

And now I return-not as the same girl who left her stories behind, but as someone who learned what it means to lose them. This time, I'm not just writing to be read.

I'm writing to be remembered.

So here I am... trying to find my way back to my prime.