The Years Before the Yes

Mar 16, 2026

I’ve always loved stories—especially the ones that hide in plain sight.

The stories of small moments, quiet observations, the things people don’t usually talk about.

I had a story that I kept secret.
So hidden, I kept it in my heart for a long time.

I scribbled ideas, voice-noted myself, jotted down thoughts in the margins of notebooks.
Every draft felt like peeling back a layer—not just of the story, but of my own understanding of a childhood.

I kept writing, I kept daydreaming.
I kept my imagination alive—alive in my thoughts, hidden and protected from others.
Because I didn’t know… the last time I spoke my voice, it brought chaos.

And yet, life has a way of noticing.

First things first—

I’m not a content creator.
I’m a creative artist.
I make art with my brain,
my words,
my hands,
my voice—

As expression.
As processing.
As rebellion.

I don’tchase clout.
I build meaning.

I don’t recruit rage.
I cultivate empathy.

I am not the same as others, and that is okay.

And that’s the truth that guided this book.

While I was quietly crafting my stories, someone reached out.

Evan.
A kind, thoughtful editor who had read some of my work and wanted to connect.

I remember the moment vividly: I was ready.

Not because I had finished everything perfectly, but because the story had been simmering in my heart for years.
I had waited for the right moment, the right person, the right way to share it.

Our email exchange felt like opening a door I hadn’t known I was ready to open:

“One idea I’m exploring is a story called Too Bright Outside. It’s about a neurodivergent child who gets overwhelmed by light, noise, and the chaos of the world—but who builds a vivid, quiet world inside their mind as a way to cope. Eventually, they learn to invite others in and show them that their way of seeing the world is just as real, just as magical.”

And just like that, the quiet, hidden story in my heart started moving outward.

I was finally sharing what had been waiting to be told.

A little context

Writing this book wasn’t about teaching anyone a lesson.
It was about bearing witness—to experiences I know too well, to the subtle sensory details, the moments of quiet bravery that often go unnoticed.

The process was messy.
And yet, every scribble, every margin note, every whispered thought in a voice note led here.

It led me to Bindhuja Somesh, the illustrator who amplified the magic I had been holding back.

It led me to embrace warmth over technical perfection.
It reminded me that connection matters more than control.

Gentle invitation

If this story resonates with you, or if it reminds you of a story you’ve been keeping in your heart…

I’d be honored if you supported it.
Or simply witness it.
Your presence here is enough.

And if you’d like a signed copy directly from me once it’s ready, just reply to this note and let me know. No pressure, just a gentle invitation.

The Neurospicy Space by a Caffeinated Millennial

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?