The envelope had arrived on an ordinary afternoon. It was around three o'clock, the busiest hour at the café, when customers came in waves, and no one had the time to notice small things. The courier boy had simply placed it on the counter, mumbled something about a delivery for Alina, and left.
Maya had noticed it. She had picked it up, glanced at the elegant lettering on the front, and thought, I'll give this to Alina after the rush. But the rush never ended.
One customer turned into ten, ten into twenty, and by the time the evening slowed, both of them were too exhausted to remember anything beyond closing the café and going home.
The envelope remained there… quiet and forgotten. The next day, Maya saw it again while wiping the counter.
"Oh… I still have to open this," she murmured to herself.
But a supplier arrived. Then, a group of college students. Then the milk delivery. Then a minor argument with the baker about a late order. Again, the envelope stayed where it was.
On the third day, Maya actually picked it up and placed it near the register, determined not to forget. But somehow, by nightfall, it had slipped from her mind once more. It was only that night, after closing the café, that she finally noticed it again.
The place was quiet now. Chairs were stacked, lights dimmed, and the faint smell of coffee still lingered in the air. Maya stood at the counter, staring at the envelope as if seeing it for the first time.
"Oh God… this thing is still here." She picked it up and turned it in her hands. The paper felt expensive, smooth, and unusually heavy.
"Let's just take it home," she decided. "I'll open it properly there."
At her apartment, Maya dropped her bag on the sofa and stretched, letting out a long breath. The day's exhaustion clung to her shoulders like a weight.
She placed the envelope on the small center table without thinking much about it and went to freshen up. When she returned, her hair still damp, she picked up her phone and called Alina.
After ending the call, Maya turned on the television, flipping through channels lazily. The soft glow of the screen filled the room. And then her eyes fell on the envelope lying on the table. She blinked.
"Oh." She reached for it, suddenly curious. Carefully, she opened it. The moment she unfolded the card inside, her eyes widened. For two seconds, she stared at it. Then she jumped to her feet.
"ALINA!" Maya shouted instinctively, even though Alina wasn't there yet. "This is an invitation!"
Her voice echoed in the quiet apartment as excitement bubbled inside her. By the time Alina arrived a few minutes later, Maya was practically vibrating with anticipation.
"Is it true?" Alina asked, removing her shoes.
Maya thrust the card into her hands. "Read it."
Alina looked down. As her eyes moved across the words, her expression slowly changed. First, it was surprise, then Disbelief. And then something softer… something deeper. It was an invitation from StoryNest. It was a private gathering, and only the top ten authors of the year were invited, and her name was printed among them. For a long moment, Alina said nothing. Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the card.
"Maya…" she whispered. "Is this real?"
Maya grinned. "Of course it's real! You're famous now, madam author."
Alina let out a soft laugh, though her eyes shimmered faintly. The word famous still felt unreal.
A year ago, she had been just another girl writing late at night, unsure if anyone even cared to read her words. And now… people waited for her stories. They discussed her characters as if they were real. They quoted her lines. They argued about her plot twists. Somewhere along the way, her story had become something bigger than herself.
—
The night of the gathering arrived. The café chosen for the event was elegant and warm, filled with soft golden light. The air buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Maya walked beside Alina, looking around in amazement.
"These are all writers?" she whispered.
"I think so," Alina replied quietly. Several people approached her throughout the party, congratulating her warmly.
"Your story changed the platform this year," one editor told her.
"I never miss your updates," another author said.
"The last twist… I didn't see it coming at all," someone else added.
Each compliment felt overwhelming, but Alina accepted them with quiet grace. Maya watched from the sidelines, a soft, unwavering pride etched into her expression. Every accolade directed at Alina was more than just noise; it was hard-earned. She had seen what the world hadn't: the gruelling hours after the cafe doors finally locked, the way Alina would slump into her chair, exhausted to the marrow, only to pull her laptop close.
While the rest of the world slept, Alina fought. Even when her body begged for rest, her mind remained a relentless engine, churning through plots for hours on end until every word was perfect. She didn't just write; she bled for every sentence, and in Maya's eyes, every ounce of praise was a debt finally being paid.
At one point, a young man approached them, holding a glass of juice. "Hi," he said. "You're Inkheart, right?"
"Yes."
"I'm Freddy," he said with a friendly smile. "I'm an author too."
They stood near one of the tall tables, each holding a glass of juice, talking casually. "Your story isn't like the others," Freddy said thoughtfully. "It's complicated, and the emotions feel real."
Alina nodded politely. "Thank you."
Freddy hesitated before speaking again. "There's one thing I've been curious about."
"Yes?"
"That guy," Freddy said. "The one who secretly motivates the female lead. The one who chats with her online. You never revealed much about him."
Alina stilled for a brief moment. A name surfaced in her mind. Scriptbreaker.
"The online guy?" Freddy clarified.
"Yes," Alina said softly.
"So who is he?"
Alina smiled faintly. "You'll know soon."
Freddy laughed. "I'm looking forward to it."
After he left, Alina murmured under her breath, almost unconsciously— "Even I want to know about him…" Maya glanced at her but didn't ask anything.
After dinner, the event slowly came to an end. Maya and Alina stepped out into the cool night air, laughing as they walked down the street.
"I still can't believe that one author told that joke," Maya said, shaking her head. "It was terrible."
Alina laughed. "At least everyone pretended to laugh."
They were still smiling when Maya suddenly stopped. "Hey… look over there." Not far away, a huge crowd had gathered. Bright lights. Cameras. Reporters. Fans are shouting excitedly.
"What's happening?" Maya said, curiosity lighting her eyes. "Are they filming something?" Before Alina could answer, Maya was already moving.
"I always wanted to see a shoot!" she said, rushing ahead.
"Maya, wait!" Alina called, hurrying after her.
When they reached the crowd, they realized how impossible it was to see anything. People stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the view completely.
"I can't see!" Maya said, standing on her toes.
"Neither can I," Alina laughed.
Maya looked around… and then suddenly raised her voice. "Hey! Someone dropped a photocard!" Several fans nearby instinctively turned around. In that brief moment, Maya grabbed Alina's hand and slipped forward through the gap. Within seconds, they were at the front, holding onto the metal barricade, slightly breathless but victorious.
"You're unbelievable," Alina said, laughing.
Maya grinned proudly. In front of them was a large stage. A massive black banner hung behind it, displaying the name of a famous watch brand in bold silver letters. Cameras were focused on the stage, waiting. People whispered excitedly.
"Who are they waiting for?" Maya wondered aloud.
"Someone important," Alina replied.
The air felt charged with anticipation. Then suddenly the crowd erupted, and a wave of sound rose like thunder as fans screamed. Reporters pushed forward. Cameras flashed rapidly, bright bursts of white light cutting through the night. Alina, who had been looking down for a moment, lifted her head in surprise. Someone had stepped onto the stage. The noise grew louder. And slowly… her eyes lifted toward the figure standing under the lights.