Nida, a 13-year-old girl, was fixated on her iPad—her eyes glued to the screen, completely unaware of her mother’s loud voice calling from behind.

“Nida! Please help your younger brother with his homework.”

This was a daily routine at their house. No matter how hard her mother tried, the pattern remained the same. Her mother had tried every trick in the book—taking Nida to the library, to the craft shop, buying her new plants and paints—but nothing could compete with the colorful world her iPad offered. The stubborn young Nida was set in her ways, and no one could come between her and her screen, not even hours of her parents’ lectures.

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“What hobby or passion gives meaning to your existence?” asked the professor to a class full of young college students—his potential sociologists.

Nida sat at the back, doodling characters in her notebook. Staying focused for a 60-minute lecture was nearly impossible for her. She signaled her friend to pass the phone under the desk; if she was clever enough, she might just get through the class scrolling unnoticed.

The professor continued, “Crafts have always played a significant role in human history, serving as a means of creative expression and a reflection of cultural heritage. The art of crafting is deeply intertwined with traditions, beliefs, and values, making it an essential part of our collective identity. Craft is born from love—that’s the only force that motivates you to pick up your pen.”

Nida was indifferent to the lecture, proud of herself for getting away with her secret. In five minutes, her eyes could digest reels of war, funny cat videos, cooking recipes, and a podcast about celebrity downfalls—but a lecture felt unbearable.

“Miss Nida,” called out the professor suddenly. “My eyes may not be as young as yours, but thirty years of teaching have made them the sharpest pair in the room.”

While Nida’s Ammi often complained about how little her daughter listened, she also praised her sharp observational skills—the way she had picked up her parents’ manners just by watching them. So, when Nida got called out in front of the class, her sense of shame widened. Without a word, she handed her phone to the professor.

“For your next class,” he announced, “I’d like each of you to prepare a short presentation on a hobby or craft that you truly love. Explain how this craft reflects your personal beliefs, values, and cultural identity. Try to connect it to today’s discussion on how art and craftsmanship express human creativity.”

He paused, smiled, and added with a hint of humor, “And yes, you can copy your assignment from ChatGPT if you’d like—but you can’t copy and paste the sincerity with which you talk about your hobbies.”

The students’ mischievous smiles were enough to tell him that a teacher will always stay two steps ahead.

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Growing up some things in Nida’s house had remained the same—only with subtle changes. Every night, the family gathered together: Nida and her younger brother sat at the dining table with their books, while her parents occupied the living room, either deep in serious discussion like wise adults or laughing over jokes as if they were still teenagers. There was no in-between, and they loved each other all the more for it.

Nida stared at her blank screen for ten minutes before giving in to the familiar temptation—scrolling through her phone again. She repeated this pattern three times until her mother appeared and asked, “Are you even working?”

“I’m so blank, Ammi. What do I even write?” she sighed, rereading her professor’s question about craft, hobby, values, and life. For the first time, Nida felt a reality check—it hit her how mundane her life had become. Studies, eating, sleeping, and… what else?

“I mean, my life has to be a little more interesting,” she muttered.

Her mother, never one to miss an opportunity, smiled and said teasingly, “No beta, your life is interesting. You forgot the most important parts—scrolling, studying, scrolling, eating, scrolling, sleeping… and then scrolling all over again!”

Even though Nida didn’t want to admit it, her mother was right—and deep down, she knew it. She was no longer thirteen; she was almost seventeen now. What she couldn’t bring herself to confess was the serious part: how quickly she faded out of conversations, how restless she felt if she didn’t scroll for a while, and how her hours slipped away so easily—wasted without meaning.

That night, before going to bed, instead of opening Instagram, she opened her drawer—the same one that once held boxes and boxes of craft supplies. Now, it contained only a few scattered colored pencils and an old diary. It wasn’t as if she suddenly became an overnight artist or fell in love with crafts again, but that night, that one assignment made her pause and think: What else could she do with her free time besides scrolling?

And for the first time, Nida laid back on her bed and allowed herself to be bored. The silence felt strange—uncomfortable yet oddly peaceful. She made a quiet promise to herself: no Instagram this week until her presentation was done.

The next morning, she wandered into the kitchen where the smell of chai filled the air. “Ammi,” she asked curiously, “what did I love doing as a kid?”

Her mother’s eyes lit up with warmth and nostalgia. Without a word, she disappeared into her room and returned holding a worn, floral-patterned photo album. As the pages turned, the faint crackle of old plastic filled the air. Each photograph showed a younger Nida—tiny hands covered in paint, her face glowing with delight as she shaped paper petals and colored flowers.

“You were so fascinated with flowers, Nida,” her mother said softly, smiling at the memory.

Nida smiling back at her picture, she knew where she wanted to start.

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Soon, the day of Nida’s presentation arrived. All the other kids had made some projects; a pottery vase, a painting, crochet bunnies- one kid even showed up with a mixtape. Nida was the only one who didn’t have something in her hand, except for a small USB. Soon her turn came and she made her way onto the podium. All eyes looked at her expectantly, which did make her a little nervous, but she reminded herself that what she had made was something that was most authentic to herself.

Clearing her throat, she began introducing herself. Behind her was displayed her presentation on the projector screen. In a storyteller’s tone, she told the class that she didn’t have a particular hobby or passion—at least, not yet. She admitted she had never really explored what she loved, but she did know that five-year-old Nida once had an obsession with colors and drawing flowers. And with that her presentation began. One by one, collages of her childhood drawings and photographs of a younger Nida surrounded with flowers started lighting up the projector screen; videos of Nida drawing Tulips, Lilies, Peonies, and then explaining their habitats and unique features. Materials of different textures that would replicate the anatomy of the flowers used on each drawing. That was why her mother would take her to the craft store again and again, though back then, she was too caught up in floral YouTube videos to notice.

“I don’t know how far my floral drawings will go,” she said honestly, “but I do know that this project made me rediscover my younger self and all the potential that I have. I want to start this journey to discover what personal values and beliefs might be hidden inside me that I may have forgotten.”

She ended her presentation by showing a few short reels of herself sketching floral frames. When she looked at her professor, unsure if her presentation even met the assignment criteria, he smiled, winked, and said,

“Ten out of ten—for the sincerity of your delivery.”