The comment appeared.
One sentence.
"I don't know why, but I feel like this was written for me."
He stared at it, reading it once. Then again. Then a third time, afraid it might disappear if he blinked.
For a moment, the room felt unreal—as if the walls had shifted slightly, as if something invisible had crossed the distance between him and a stranger he would never meet.
Written for me.
He leaned back in his chair, a quiet laugh escaping before he could stop it. Not joy. Not relief.
Disbelief.
Out of all the people scrolling endlessly through stories, ads, distractions—someone had paused. Someone had felt something.
One person.
His phone vibrated again.
Views: 3
Then another refresh.
Views: 7
He sat up straighter now.
This wasn't a fluke click anymore.
Someone was sharing it. Or rereading it. Or maybe—just maybe—telling someone else.
The thought sent a strange fear crawling up his spine. Writing alone was safe. Being read was not. Being read meant expectations. Judgment. The risk of disappointing someone who had decided his words mattered.
He scrolled back to the beginning of the chapter and reread his own opening line.
It suddenly felt… incomplete.
Not wrong. Just unfinished.
Like a door half-open.
His fingers returned to the keyboard without him consciously deciding to move them. The blank page for Chapter Two waited patiently, just like the cursor had earlier.
Waiting.
"What if I ruin it?" he whispered.
The comment sat there on the screen, quiet but solid.
Written for me.
He began typing.
Not carefully this time. Not perfectly.
Honestly.
Minutes passed. Then an hour. The city outside grew quieter, the sky slowly lightening at the edges. He didn't notice. He was too busy chasing the fragile thread connecting him to someone he didn't know, someone who had reached back through words alone.
When he finally stopped, his hands were trembling.
He uploaded Chapter Two.
This time, he didn't stare at the counter.
He already knew something had changed.
Because stories didn't need millions to begin.
They needed one voice to answer back.
And somewhere in the endless noise of the world, his story had just spoken—and been heard.