Ruhi's Return — The Poem That Answered Everything
Ten days after the plagiarism storm, Ruhi sat alone in her PG room.Her roommate Simran was out conducting a poetry workshop, and the evening sky was soaking in monsoon blues.
Ruhi hadn't written anything in a week.
But then she opened her diary — the one she always called her truth mirror — and began to write.This time, not for publication.Not for applause.For herself.
Her poem was called:
"Not Yours to Borrow"
*I did not steal these words,I survived them.
I did not echo the old lines,I stitched new ones with bleeding hands.
My sorrow wasn't read —it was lived, line by line,Alone, unheard, under hostel blankets and leftover tea cups.*
She submitted it anonymously to InkFrame's open column.
The editor called her the next day.
"Ruhi. Your piece went live at 8 a.m.By 9, it had 10,000 reads.
At 10, even your loudest critic tweeted:'This is not plagiarism. This is power.'"
And with that,she had her voice back.
📓 Beyond the Buzzer – Page 183
"You cannot cancel the truth.Especially when it writes back."
🧳 Rudra's Return — Against the Clock
He shouldn't have been on a plane.His ankle was still healing.He had a final sports evaluation pending.
But he booked a ticket anyway.
Because silence was choking him.And Ruhi's last letter — the one he wasn't meant to read but did — told him what he already knew:
She needed him.
He landed in Delhi two days later and limped his way to her college gate, leaning on a walking stick but heart racing faster than any sprint.
Ruhi was near the campus tree where they'd first fought — about coffee, books, and basketball.
When she saw him, she blinked as if her mind was rejecting the miracle.
"You're here," she said, stunned.
"I couldn't wait to come back with medals," he said. "I came back for you."
She ran to him, hugged him without a word, and whispered:
"Thank you for showing up.That's the only prize I ever wanted."
🧑🏫 Simran in Bihar — A Room Full of Fireflies
In a small school outside Patna, Simran stood before 25 girls who had never read poetry before.
She didn't start with a lecture.She simply read them this:
*"You don't need to rhyme to be heard.
You just need to say what no one else dares to."*
And one by one,the girls began to write.
One wrote about a broken bangle.One about a brother who left.One about a marriage she didn't want.
By evening, Simran knew:This was bigger than her.This was a revolution of quiet voices.
Local news picked up her story.Within 24 hours, she was trending.
🎤 Aarav's Big Moment — From Player to Speaker
Aarav stood on stage at the National Youth Summit, wearing a navy blue kurta and white sneakers.
His talk was titled: "Why We Fall — And Why We Rise Anyway."
He told the crowd about:
Failing a grade
Disappointing his father
Almost quitting
Starting over
Coaching kids who reminded him of his past
At the end, he held up a note one of his students gave him:
"Sir, I want to be like you.Not famous. Just free."
The hall gave him a standing ovation.
But Aarav wasn't watching the audience.
He was watching Simran — who was crying quietly in the front row.
📖 A Book She Didn't Know She Published
Later that night, Ruhi got a courier.
Inside: a printed book with a purple floral cover.
Title:"The Diary She Never Shared" — by Ruhi Sharma
She stared at it in disbelief.
Inside was every poem, letter, and confession she had ever written — curated, edited, and bound.
The publisher? Simran.The dedication?
To the girl who never needed a stage to be unforgettable.
Ruhi called her.
"I… I don't even know what to say."
"Say thank you," Simran smiled. "And start thinking about your next book."
📓 Beyond the Buzzer – Page 185
"Sometimes, your story becomes someone's survival guide.Even if you wrote it just to stay sane."
💫 End of Chapter 37