Unwritten hours

 When Rachel was eight, her grandfather gave her an old, beat-up acoustic guitar. The wood was scratched, the strings were rusty, and the case smelled like forgotten summers — but to her, it was treasure.

She wasn’t the type of child who fit neatly into the crowd. While her classmates scrolled through endless videos and compared followers, Rachel sat on the front porch, plucking strings, learning chords from YouTube tutorials and scribbled notes from her granddad. There were no fancy lessons although her neighbour hearing her efforts and chimed in to help. She had no expensive equipment, just her stubborn fingers and a passion that made time disappear.

Her parents told her to focus on school. Her friends teased her for staying home on weekends, strumming instead of hanging out. But Rachel felt something every time her fingertips ached from hours of practice: purpose.

By 14, Rachel was writing her own songs. They were rough around the edges, but they were honest songs about growing up, feeling lost, and chasing dreams that seemed too big for her tiny town. She recorded in her bedroom and backyard and uploaded them to a public page without thinking much of it.

One of her songs — "Unwritten Hours" — went viral. Not because it was perfect, but because people felt the truth in it. One video led to another, and suddenly she was booked for small gigs, then bigger ones, and by 17, Rachel stood on the stage of the National Teen Music Awards, guitar in hand, a crowd chanting her name.

She wasn’t born into fame. She wasn’t “lucky.” She had simply spent more time developing what she loved, when no one was watching, when no one believed it could lead anywhere.

That guitar — the same scratched, old one — hung on her shoulder that night, as she accepted the award. The world finally saw the star she’d always been growing into.

Because the truth is simple: the moments you spend following what lights you up are never wasted. They guide you, quietly but powerfully, along a path that’s entirely your own.