The Phoenix Cover

By Divya Behl

Last Saturday, I walked into BlueSky Mall with 120 rupees, solely meant for a milkshake, and exactly zero plans to meet the author who was the creator of the only world I had ever wished was real. Somewhere between the food court and the stationery aisle, I sensed a quiet rush of whispers, camera clicks, and a flicker of disbelief in the air. Then, I saw her. J.K. Rowling – yes, The J.K. Rowling. My feet froze. My brain short-circuited. I forgot how to breathe for a second. Was this real? Was this a dream? I blinked twice, and she was still there, casually signing books like she hadn’t just broken the laws of my universe. In the corner of the bookstore, under a warm glow of fairy lights, sat J.K. Rowling, head bowed, pen gliding across books like butter. People were buzzing with excitement, while I gripped my notebook so tightly that the spiral spine left a red mark across my hand. Her pen moved slowly, her presence felt less like fame and more like someone had written reality backwards to give me this moment.

I stepped forward. She glanced up. “I love your stories about Hogwarts,” I blurted. “They make me feel like anything is possible.” She smiled and reached for my notebook. Inside, among the messy scribbles and coffee stains, was a sketch I’d drawn of a phoenix curling through flames.

“You drew this?” she asked. “Yes, ma’am,” I said, my voice barely keeping up with my heartbeat. She paused, looked again, then whispered something to her assistant. Moments later, they handed me a slim envelope marked with the Hogwarts crest and my name in ink. “Congratulations,” the assistant said. “Ms. Rowling would like you to design the cover of the final Harry Potter book, which is yet to be announced, officially.” The world seemed to stop. I wasn’t breathing. She was smiling, and I was shaking–no, vibrating–with disbelief. I was designing the cover of the last Harry Potter book! Not someday, now! I walked out of the store as if I were in a dream. My feet were barely touching the floor, and my thoughts were a beautiful blur. My fingers were still smudged with pencil. My notebook smelled of magic, as if it had been to Hogwarts itself! Later that night, I sat at my desk, staring at the sketch she had chosen. And I whispered into the quiet night, like a secret spell to myself: “Harry Potter is the only universe I’d stake every book I own to step into, once again.” That moment? It wasn’t trodden black by crowds or cameras. It was untrodden, mine alone. And I know one thing for sure, ages and ages hence, when someone asks how I got here… I’ll smile and say, “It all started with a milkshake, a mall, and a phoenix rising in flames.” Because sometimes, magic isn’t waiting on a shelf, it's hiding in the undergrowth of the ordinary world, waiting to be found.

By Divya Behl