In a cramped corner of the city sat a cheap, dilapidated mess house. The salt-crusted plaster was peeling off the walls in chunks. On the desk, the fan of an old laptop groaned loudly, sounding just as exhausted as its owner. Ayan stared at the screen, where a 'WebNovel' page was open. Beneath his latest chapter, there were only a handful of likes and two lonely comments.
He hadn't slept properly in three days. His eyes burned. His father had called from home yesterday, his voice sounding thinner and frailer than usual. He didn't ask for anything; he only said, "Is the city too expensive, son? Take care of yourself." Ayan knew that behind those simple words lay the gnawing worry of an empty rice sack and his younger sister's overdue school fees.
Ayan let out a heavy sigh. He had exactly twenty taka left in his pocket. It was a choice: a humble meal of egg and rice, or a pair of pen refills and a candle. He muttered to himself, "Can the pen move when the stomach is empty?"
He began to type. This time, he wasn't writing about heroes. He began to write about the vultures—the moneylenders who crush desperate people under the weight of interest, building palaces out of commoners' curses. Ayan's fingers trembled as he typed. He wondered: Will these words ever turn into bread? Will I ever see my mother smile again? Or will my dreams suffocate and die in the narrow alleys of this web-novel site?
Suddenly, the power went out. The room plunged into pitch-black darkness. Ayan stood by the window, looking out at the shimmering, distant city. It felt like everyone was running—some for a meal, others for luxury. And here he was, chasing a story that might at least guarantee him two square meals a day.
In the dark, Ayan kept typing until the very last drop of his laptop's battery. He knew this writing was his life; it was his battle for survival. As long as death didn't come to stay his hand, he wouldn't let the ink run dry.
That night, he went to bed hungry. But in his dreams, there was a beautiful morning—a morning where his family was laughing, and no one had to beg a moneylender for mercy.
Life was exactly like that dark room right now, but Ayan knew one thing: he had to be the one to finish the story. And he had to finish it beautifully.