Success had a strange way of bringing both joy and pressure.
Akutu's work had been featured. People were talking about it. Her inbox filled with praise, and for the first time, she felt seen—not just as a student, but as a writer.
But with recognition came expectations.
What if she couldn't live up to it?
What if her next piece wasn't as good?
What if this was just luck?
The pressure built slowly. At first, it was just a whisper in her mind. But as deadlines approached, it became louder, heavier.
She found herself second-guessing every sentence she wrote. Ideas she once loved now seemed weak.
She wanted to write something even better, something that would prove she deserved this recognition.
But the weight of perfection was crushing her.
One night, as she stared at a blank screen, frustrated and exhausted, Jenny walked in and sighed dramatically.
"You have that look again," Jenny said, sitting on Akutu's bed.
"What look?" Akutu mumbled.
"The I'm carrying the weight of the world look."
Akutu sighed. "What if I disappoint everyone? What if I can't meet their expectations?"
Jenny tilted her head. "Whose expectations?"
Akutu hesitated. "Everyone's."
Jenny folded her arms. "And who were you writing for before all this?"
"...Myself," Akutu admitted.
Jenny leaned forward. "Then why are you letting all these people take that away from you?"
Akutu stared at her screen, her mind racing.
Jenny was right.
She had started this journey for herself, for her love of storytelling. But now she was chasing approval instead of passion.
That night, Akutu made a decision.
She closed all the messages, all the emails, all the expectations. She turned off the noise.
And she wrote—not to impress anyone, not to prove anything, but because she loved it.
The pulleys of life had shifted once again.