I got this notebook, right? Like, a real fancy one, not the spiral kind from the dollar store. It was a gift from my aunt, she knows I like stories. And in it, I started writing. Like, a whole story, not just little bits. It’s about this girl who lives in a world that’s kinda like ours but everything’s always a little bit broken. Like, the sky is always bruised, not just grey, and the food tastes like sadness. And she finds this thing, this tiny little spark, and it starts making things better. Every day I worked on it, every single day, after school, after I helped my mom with dinner, when everyone else was asleep. The words just came out, felt like they were already there, waiting. And it started getting good. Like, REALLY good. Even my mom, who never reads anything except the grocery list, she read a page and said, "Huh, that's something." Which for her is like, the highest praise. I could see it, like a picture in my head, how it would end. This big, bright ending, where the world isn't broken anymore and the spark is like a wildfire. And I was so close. So close to writing "The End." I mean, I don't even — whatever. But then... I started thinking. About what happens if it actually gets out there. Like, if people actually read it. Not just my mom. If it becomes one of those books, you know? The ones that are everywhere. And suddenly, my stomach twists. Like I ate a whole bag of sour candy. Because if it’s big, then I gotta be big too. And that means… talking to people. A lot of people. Like, going to places where everyone stares at you and asks you stuff. And my voice gets all shaky just thinking about it. My hands would get sweaty, I know it. I’d probably say something dumb. My mom works two jobs, right? Just to keep the lights on. And sometimes she comes home, and she just sits at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, and she doesn't even say anything, but I know it's about money. Always about money. And here I am, with this thing that could maybe, like, HELP. Like, REALLY help. And I'm just… sitting on it. Because the thought of all those flashing lights and strangers, it feels like drowning. Like, the whole ocean is coming to get me. And I’m so ashamed. Every time I open the notebook, the pages just feel heavy, like bricks. I can’t even look at the ending anymore. It’s just... there. Waiting. And I’m not.