Chapter 6: After the Spark
The call to Maghrib prayer floated through the neighborhood, bouncing gently between buildings. The air had shifted—cooler, softer, touched by the scent of earth after someone sprinkled water in their courtyard. A dog barked once, then went quiet again.
Ash stood on the rooftop.
He liked it up there. The air was different. Less heavy. The kind of place where the city looked like it was pretending to sleep, even when it wasn't.
He held his phone in one hand, the YouTube Studio app open. He wasn't staring at it anymore—he had already checked it fifteen times today—but it was still there, like a pulse in his palm.
Subscribers: 146
Views: 891
Comments: 27
The numbers weren't massive. But they felt big. To him, they felt unreal.
People had laughed. People had typed real words with real keyboards to say things about his video. Strangers. With lives. With families and routines and names like "Mehedi Gamer BD" and "Zafrin94."
Ash sat down on the low wall at the edge of the rooftop, phone resting face-down beside him. His slippers were dusty from the old concrete, and he rubbed his heel absentmindedly against the floor.
The sky was slowly bruising into purple, a single plane blinking red as it cut across the horizon.
He thought about her. Not with bitterness. Just… out of habit.
She used to say, "You always talk like you're waiting for something."
Maybe he had been.
He didn't feel like that now.
Not quite.
The system had stayed quiet most of the evening. Occasionally it pulsed a soft blue notification in the corner of his vision, but he ignored it. He didn't want to talk to it yet. Not tonight.
This moment—this quiet victory—belonged to him.
Not the system. Not the algorithm. Not even the reactions.
Just… him.
A few years ago, Ash thought he'd marry her. He thought he'd get promoted. Maybe buy a little apartment near Mohammadpur. He thought life would be simple, maybe a little boring, but shared.
Now?
He was the voice behind Creepy Crap. A faceless, sarcastic figure making weird videos for the internet. Hiding his face, yet being seen more clearly than ever.
He didn't know what this path was. Or where it led. But for the first time in years, he had taken a step forward without needing anyone to hold his hand.
[System Notification: Body Sync Check – Minor Fatigue Detected]
[Recommended: Rest, Hydration, Light Walk]
[Note: Sustained stress may reduce productivity. Your channel is a journey, not a race.]
He chuckled.
The system was turning into his mom.
Still, he stood up and went downstairs. Slipped into a light hoodie. Grabbed his wallet and keys.
He took a walk.
Down the narrow alley behind his building, past the guy who sold chai in plastic cups, past the tailor who still used a rusted pedal machine, past the park where young boys shouted "Goal!" like they were in the World Cup finals.
He didn't wear earphones. He didn't need music.
The city was enough.
By the time he reached the lakeside, the night had fallen properly. Streetlamps flickered. A couple sat on a bench pretending not to be in love. A delivery guy zoomed past on a bike, his bag bouncing slightly.
Ash sat on a bench, arms resting on the back, head tilted up to the sky.
He didn't want fame.
He just wanted to make things. Real things. Interesting things.
He wanted to wake up in the morning and feel like there was something waiting for him—not a job, not a salary, not a future wife—but something his.
A notification pinged softly on his phone.
He didn't check it right away.
Instead, he closed his eyes and let the city breathe around him.
Tomorrow, he'd write ideas.
Tomorrow, he'd plan the next video.
But tonight, he'd let himself feel this small success.
Not as a creator. Not as someone with a system in his eye.
Just as Ash.
A 24-year-old guy sitting by a lake in Dhaka, watching the stars blink between clouds.
And for the first time in a long time, he felt okay.
End of Chapter 6