100 Battles To Return Home.

At exactly six a.m, an alarm started ringing, breaking the silence. It rang again five minutes later. The alarms kept going until six-thirty a.m. But the person who set them hadn't even tried to reach the phone.

Eventually the alarms stopped as if they had given up on waking her up.

As if on cue Garima moved slowly, still under the blanket, still half-asleep, stretching out her arm towards the book beside the pillow. She stayed like that for a while and wrapped herself around its weight instead of getting up.

But beyond her bedroom doorway, morning had already taken hold.

"Garima!'' A shout came, followed with continuous banging at the door. Garima groaned and tugged the blanket up,hiding beneath its weight.

But few things work when facing an Indian mother's stubborn care. Here children are not even allowed to lock their rooms, so what will the covers do?

A shadow crept across the room. And shook her awake. " Arrey...ma" a muffled voice came out. A shape began to unfold under the covers as she sat up and shook herself free. Her hair stuck out in all directions. Her eyes squinted as she looked at the figure in front of her.

"It's already six-thirty, aur madam abhi bhi so rahi hain" her mother said as she stood beside the bed, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

Garima rubbed her eyes and looked at her mother. "Kya mummy? I was already awake. I was just resting a little" she said, smiling.

The woman looked at the heavy books lying around the mattress. She counted-- a total of seven books. "Tum phir raat bhar novel padh rahi thi na?" she asked.

Garima smiled. "Research"

"Research?"

"Yes"

"Beta, what about your eyes, think about your skin. You will get dark circles. Who will marry you then?."

"Mummy, you already know my dream. I won't get married without my own best-selling novel"

The woman felt a slight pain in her head, and she applied pressure with her fingertips against her forehead.

"He Bhagwan, every morning she has to give me a headache. Now come and have breakfast. I have to go to the office"

Garima was twenty-six, a Master's in English Literature. According to everyone who knew her — unemployed. That last word had started appearing in relatives' conversations the way a stain appears on a white shirt. Quietly at first, then impossible to ignore. Her parents and relatives had expected a teacher, a respectable job, a wedding date on the horizon. She had nodded through all of it and kept reading.

She had other plans, of course. Had always had them. A novel. A best-selling one, specifically. The kind that gets a hardcover edition and a dedicated shelf at Crossword. Her family didn't say no — they just sighed in different frequencies. Her mother's sigh was sharp. Her father's was soft, almost fond. Her brother's wasn't even a sigh, just a running commentary.

She read Novels. Lots of them. Endlessly.

Fantasy, Romance, Adventure, even strange books where folks become blades.

No one understood her love for the fantasy genre. She tried explaining but what she meant never reached them.

It was her family who indulged her even if they didn't understand. And her younger brother used it as a weapon to tease her.

And that's how every morning starts. She saw her brother as he propped himself in the doorway.

"Oh look, the great author is awake!" he said "Ready to grace us with her presence."

Brothers are always a menace. And they attack when you are most vulnerable. Garima glared at him, if she could shoot beams with her eyes like superman. Her brother would have turned to dust by now. Just thinking about it gave her pleasure. She let out a laugh. He He He. Not like the girly hehehehe but Heh Heh Heh with an expression that meant evil.

"Mummy look at your crazy daughter, she has gone crazy" he shouted.

"Who is crazy, you are crazy, your whole lineage is crazy" she shouted back.

"Mummy, she is calling you and Papa crazy too" He shouted grinning.

Garima grabbed a pillow and chucked it at him with all her might.

"Go away, harami kahika!" She shouted at the top of her lungs.

Her brother dodged it easily and ran away. Shouting "Violence."

And suddenly she felt tired again. She tiredly pulled herself out of bed. Still sleep deprived she tripped and got up huffing and puffing. And made her way to freshen up.

By the time she reached the dining table. It was already Seven. Her parents and brother were already at the table. Dressed up for work. Only she was in her pajamas.

Looking at her state made her parents let out heavy sighs.

"Look at this girl. Who will believe that you are a master's degree holder? All you do is read story books like a kid."

"Mummy those are novels, and they are for inspiration"

"Inspiration doesn't feed you." Her mom said.

"Behen, this is India, now you are just a burden at home." her brother said as he laughed.

Her father smiled too. "Leave her be, you too. It's fine, let her do what she wants," he said smiling softly.

"Oh Papa! Only you care about me," Garima said, eating her meal heartily. Not that she minded her mother's concern and her brother's teasing.

She just laughed and ate and then waved when they left for work. Her brother also left for school.

And now after a fresh morning meal. Garima sat down with her laptop on her desk.

It was her comfort zone. Her corner. Walls covered with handsome and beautiful actors and actresses. Shelves full of books. Small figurines of fantasy creatures like dragons and mermaids were on her table. With normal cute creatures like Pandas and cats. A forest wallpaper that almost covered her whole room. It felt like she was inside a meadow. She liked to imagine being transported to a fantasy meadow.

Once her brother commented that the room looked like an artificial garden. She had taken that as a compliment regardless of what he meant.

The screen blinked. She opened the document.

My Fantasy Novel — Version 37.

She stared at it. It stared back. This happened every morning — this specific, personal standoff between her and a blank page that wasn't even blank anymore, just full of the wrong things.

She started typing. A dragon— she deleted it. Too obvious. A red dragon— deleted. A black dragon, ancient, sleeping beneath a city that had forgotten it existed— she paused, almost liked it, then deleted that too. It felt borrowed. Like something she'd read at 2 a.m. and absorbed without meaning to.

She groaned and pressed her palms against her eyes.

Then, quieter, she tried again.

A princess. Lost during a coup. Everyone thought she was dead — that was the point. Fate had chosen her without asking. A gentle girl, careful eyes, the kind of person rooms forgot. But she carried something. Didn't know it yet. Nobody did.

Garima stopped typing. Read it back slowly.

"Cliché," she said out loud. Then, after a beat — "but nice."

She saved it before she could change her mind.

Later that day. Her mother and brother had already returned from school. And a quiet moment found her tucked into the couch, in the living room. Her fingers scrolling the phone as she watched reels of beautiful people.

Her brother sat at the table doing homework.

Her mother came with her arms full of washed clothes and sat beside her. Then she started folding them. The scent of clean clothes filling the air.

And Garima quickly stopped watching reels and started reading a novel. With a slight tilt of her head. She moved her fingers side to side as if turning the pages on a digital book. And she remained completely silent while doing so.

"Phir Novel?"

"Research."

On the screen Garima was reading an Isekai story. A girl reincarnated into another world as a baby. Followed by magic, adventure, dragons, handsome knights and political intrigue.

Garima sighed dreamily.

"Why doesn't it happen to me? Even I want to be transported somewhere"

Her brother paused while writing. "It won't happen to you"

She glared at him " Why?"

"Because other worlds also have standards"

She just got up and walked to her room. Anyway she was supposed to meet her friends this evening.

She arrived twelve minutes late, which her friends had already accounted for.

Maria spotted her first and waved from the corner table — the one they always took, near the window, away from the speakers. Maria was in her second year of MBBS and had the specific exhaustion of someone who hadn't slept properly in months but refused to admit it. She still talked about books sometimes, in that wistful way people talk about a hometown they've moved away from.

Aisha was mid-sentence when Garima sat down, hijab perfectly in place as always, the kind of put-together that made Garima feel faintly chaotic by comparison. Aisha was doing law, and it showed — she had an opinion on everything and delivered it cleanly, without softening the edges.

Rohan was reading something on his phone and didn't look up until Garima stole a fry from his plate. He was the engineer of the group, practical in the way that occasionally tipped into blunt.

"The hermit emerges," Aisha said.

"I'm not a hermit. I was working."

"You were reading," Maria said, smiling. "How's the writing? Any progress?"

Garima shook her head.

"How?" Maria leaned forward. "You read like five novels a day. Where does it all go?"

"Reading is completely different from writing," Garima said, with more edge than she intended. "Five is exaggeration. It's two at most."

A small silence settled over the table.

Rohan put his phone down. "You want to know what I think?"

"Not particularly."

"You're waiting," he said. "For something to arrive. Some big idea, some sign. And until it does, nothing counts as real work."

Garima opened her mouth. Closed it.

"I'm not saying it to be mean," he added.

"I know," she said. Which was the worst part — she did know.

And when she came back. She was still out of it.

She didn't eat dinner saying she was full. She crawled into her bed under the covers. Scrolling through her half-written discarded manuscripts. Six of them. Six beginnings . Bright certain and alive--- until they weren't. Maybe Rohan was right. She was waiting for something that didn't come to people like her. She didn't let herself finish the thought.

She didn't notice when her mother came to her room. And night had already settled outside.

"Bas karo ab!" Her mother said "It's time to sleep, and remember to pray once in a while"

Her fingers slid off the phone. And Garima looked at her mother.

"Maa.."

"Yes?"

"You pray for me"

"What"

"You do it, just like you did during my board exams"

"Why?"

"For inspiration"

Her mother sighed and looked at her without speaking. After a pause she spoke.

"Why don't you do it yourself?"

"Because you are better at it!"

"Ye ladki, okay sure, now sleep"

Her mother switched off the lights and left.

But Garima laid awake. It was far past bedtime. Her parents must have slept, even her brother too. Only she was awake.

There was silence. And just shadows, as dim light came from the windows. The moon was bright outside.

"I just need one good idea" she whispered into the silence.

"You know" she said to the universe or whoever is up there "if you want to help, now would be a great time"

And nothing happened. It was expected. This was reality. Nothing arrived. No miracle. No convenient flashes of inspiration.

Just her.

She sighed and turned over. The laptop screen dimmed.

For a moment the blinking cursor seemed to move on its own.

Then everything was still.

Then the screen went dark.

Garima was already asleep.