Untouched Pixel
Chapter 1: Pixels and Promises
Shyam preferred the quiet of anonymity over the roar of fame. Behind the curtain of the internet, under the alias PixelSkull, he built an empire. Not with his face or his name, but with motion—edits, visuals, music videos that made people feel like their souls had ears.
His real subscriber count? 750 million.
Visible subscriber count? A humble 694.
Only a few engineers at YouTube knew about the feature he had—something he'd earned for being one of the platform's earliest, most powerful, and most private creators. He had the ability to completely hide his fame, showing the world only what he allowed. And he allowed very little.
One night, while falling down the algorithm rabbit hole with a bag of chips and a badly behaving cat named "Lag," he found her.
Raitha.
A VTuber with a broken green screen, a soft voice, and a pixelated fox mask that glitched every two minutes. She was adorable, clumsy, and raw. But what really got him? Her voice when she sang. It was shaky, unpolished… but real.
And that was enough.
He clicked "subscribe" without blinking.
From then on, every stream was a ritual. Every cover song was background music for his edits. Her subscriber count barely brushed 5,000, but to him? She was already viral.
One day, she posted a tweet:
> "Looking for a free editor! Someone who loves music and chaos. Let's make something beautiful together."
Shyam grinned.
> "Hi. I'm PixelSkull. I'd love to edit your videos. No charge. Just a fan of your voice."
The reply came fast:
> "OMG?? YES. I've seen your AMV with 103 views, it was SO CUTE. Let's goooo!"
He almost choked on a Dorito.
So began the dream team.
They made magic together. Her voice, his visuals—it clicked. The first MV they dropped pulled 500 views. Then 1,000. Then 10,000.
By the end of the month, Raitha hit 50K subscribers.
> "You're my secret weapon," she messaged.
"Weapon?" he replied.
"Yeah! Like… the sparkly kind in anime that somehow always makes the villain explode."
He laughed. "You're weird."
> "You're not weird enough," she sent back, with a dancing cat gif.
Soon, late-night file sharing turned into long conversations. They talked about their favorite shows, their worst songs, their crushes (awkward silence there), and how editing was basically sorcery.
> "I still can't believe you're not famous," she once said.
"Maybe I'm just a ghost," he teased.
"Then I must be haunted," she winked.
Their chats were light, fun, and full of pixelated energy.
That is, until she appeared.
---
It was during a stream collab. Raitha introduced her with a giggle.
> "This chaotic gremlin next to me is Ayani, my little sister. Be warned. She bites."
Ayani leaned into the virtual mic, voice dripping sarcasm.
> "Only if the editor's cute."
Shyam, watching from his editing cave, blinked.
> "Did she just—?"
"Relax," Raitha typed to him. "She flirts with anything that breathes and owns a GPU."
Still, Ayani was... different.
She showed up during calls. Popped in during streams. Commented on the MVs he made. She called him "Pixie" and asked a million questions about effects and transitions.
> "So you're telling me you made that fire effect out of 3 layers and regret?"
"Basically, yeah."
"Hot."
She was unpredictable. Bold. Hilarious. A digital gremlin with a sharp tongue and a soft heart. And somewhere between layers and renders… Shyam found himself laughing more when Ayani was around.
Still, Raitha was the dream. The inspiration. The one he edited for.
And she kept growing. 100K. 500K. 1 million.
> "We're blowing up!" Raitha squealed.
"You're blowing up," Shyam corrected.
"You're my silent MVP, Pixie," she said. "Promise me we'll go to the top together?"
> "Promise," he typed, smiling.
He meant it.
But promises are funny things.
They don't come with refunds.
The magic didn't fade—it mutated.
As Raitha's fame skyrocketed, so did the noise. Fans poured in like rain in a monsoon. Collab requests, sponsorship offers, TikTok trends… and with every upload Shyam edited, her voice reached further. Her face, even masked, became iconic.
But something else grew quietly—distance.
What used to be long calls turned into forwarded messages. Personal chats became team pings. Shyam found himself speaking more to Raitha's newly formed "management group" than to Raitha herself.
> "Hey, Raitha said she wants a sparkle filter here."
"This chorus feels weak—can we do a galaxy burst instead?"
"Speed up the edits, we're on a schedule."
He wasn't angry. Not yet. After all, he wanted her to succeed. She deserved the spotlight.
Still, his screen felt colder. Emptier.
The only warmth left? Ayani.
She stayed the same. Maybe even more annoying—in a good way. She'd pop into his DMs with random:
> "Pixie, rate my breakfast 1-10. Yes, it's pizza."
"How do I keyframe my emotions?"
"If I turn into a VTuber, will you still love me even if I'm a lizard?"
She became his digital chaos buddy. His favorite distraction. And slowly, the chats got longer.
> "Do you ever feel invisible, Ayani?" he asked once.
"Every day. But then I remember… ghosts can still punch people."
"Valid."
Ayani always noticed the little things too.
> "You okay, Pixie?" she asked during one late-night call.
"Just tired."
"You lie like an unrendered transition."
"I'm good at masking."
"You shouldn't have to."
She never pried, but she never left either. She just stayed—a quiet orbit around his crumbling star.
Then came The Day.
Raitha had hit 100 million subs. She hosted a stream party with over half a million viewers watching live. Fans spammed hearts, ASCII art, and confessions of love.
Then, she made the announcement.
> "Hey guys! Before we end the stream, just wanted to say I'm switching editors!"
Shyam froze mid-cut.
> "Yup, we're upgrading to someone with more industry experience. Gotta keep leveling up, right?"
"Thanks to my old editor, though. You know who you are."
No name. No credit. No DM. Nothing.
Just a public goodbye dressed in fake gratitude.
He stared at the screen. Eyes wide. Cursor blinking. Hands trembling.
> "She didn't even…" he whispered.
Ping.
Ayani:
> "I just saw. Please… don't vanish on me, Pixie."
But he already had.
He shut down his system. Logged out. Closed every tab that reminded him of her.
The betrayal wasn't just professional—it was personal. He gave her his skills, his time, his art… his heart. And she dropped him like an outdated plugin.
A week passed.
No messages from Raitha.
But Ayani kept knocking.
> "Wanna watch trashy anime?"
"I'm outside your virtual house with a bat and cookies."
"Don't make me code a virus called SadPixie.exe."
He finally gave in.
She called him.
"Dude," she started. "You look like a sock that's been through a blender."
"Thanks," he muttered.
"You were everything to her channel, you know?"
"Apparently not enough."
"She's stupid," Ayani said plainly.
He raised an eyebrow. "That's your sister."
"She's still stupid," she snapped. "And blind. You were the only one who saw her dream before anyone else did."
Shyam chuckled bitterly. "Yeah, and then she drop-kicked me from it."
Ayani grew quiet. Then, softly:
"You know what hurts me the most?"
"What?"
"She never deserved you. But you deserved someone better. Someone who wouldn't just use your magic—but protect it."
Their silence was heavy. Warm. Familiar.
Then she added, with a playful smirk in her voice:
"And also someone who can cook instant noodles without starting a fire."
"Are you… applying?" he asked.
She laughed. "Duh. I've been in the running since your first sparkly transition."
He looked at the screen. Her icon glowed beside his. Still here. Still orbiting.
Something flickered inside him. Not quite love. Not quite healing. But something close.
For now… it was enough.
If heartbreak was a render queue, Shyam's was stuck at 99%—dragging on, blinking endlessly, refusing to let go.
But Ayani? Ayani was a one-woman task manager—force quitting sadness and rebooting his life one snack and savage roast at a time.
"You're editing in the dark again," she said during their next call.
"I like the dark."
"You also liked my sister."
"…Point taken."
Days blurred, but Ayani didn't. She became a constant notification, a recurring playlist, a meme generator with terrible timing—but perfect presence.
And somewhere between shared ramen packets and 3AM conversations about the philosophical implications of catgirl VTubers, something shifted.
She started showing up in person.
"Wow," she said the first time she saw his workspace, "It's like a nerd museum in here."
"I prefer the term 'sanctuary of solitude.'"
"More like cave of sadness. Where's your light?"
"You're standing in it," he said, half-joking.
She didn't reply—just smiled. A soft one. The kind that could download itself into your memory and stay there forever.
---
Three weeks later...
Shyam had returned to editing—but this time for himself.
He uploaded a new video to his hidden channel. A raw, beautifully crafted visual story. No thumbnails. No trending tags. Just pain turned into pixels.
It got 41 views. Ayani watched it 18 times.
---
"Hey, you wanna go outside?" she asked one evening.
"Why? Is the router down?"
"Because the world exists, genius."
They went to a local fair. Shyam hadn't seen that many colors since his last RGB settings panel.
He caught Ayani mid-bite of cotton candy.
"You look like you murdered a unicorn," he said.
"Thank you. I was going for sugar demon."
They laughed. For the first time in weeks, his laugh didn't sound forced.
That night, sitting on a bench overlooking the city, Ayani said softly, "Do you still love her?"
Shyam didn't answer right away.
"I think… I love what we were. But I don't know if she ever really saw me."
"She didn't," Ayani whispered. "But I do."
Silence.
Then her fingers found his, slow and careful.
"I know I'm not some mega VTuber or an editing prodigy. But I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere."
He looked at her.
This wasn't a grand confession. No fireworks. No sweeping music.
Just her. Present. Steady.
And suddenly, that was more than enough.
---
Weeks turned into months.
Ayani and Shyam weren't flashy. They weren't even official. But they became them—a little chaotic, a little broken, but real.
She'd watch his rough edits, he'd test her patience with his bad cooking. She cheered for every tiny milestone he hit with his secret channel, while he wrote silly little poems just for her.
One day, she found an old notebook on his desk.
"You still keep this?"
He nodded. "It's the first MV I ever storyboarded for Raitha."
She flipped through the pages and stopped at a sticky note:
> "Your voice is starlight. I'll be your sky."
She closed the notebook.
Then gently placed her own note over it.
> "But some stars fall. And I caught you instead."
---
It wasn't until that day—the one Raitha called—that the final render of Shyam's heart truly began.
She messaged out of the blue.
> "Shyam? I saw you're doing some projects again. Can we talk?"
He hesitated.
Ayani sat beside him. "You okay?"
He looked at her. Really looked.
She wasn't just a rebound or a rescue. She was home.
"I think it's time I faced the past," he said.
"Want me to come?"
"Always."
They met at a quiet café.
Raitha looked as polished as ever, dressed in a brand she probably got sponsored for. Her voice? As sweet as always. But her eyes—empty.
"I wanted to say sorry," she began. "I made mistakes."
He nodded. "You did."
"I was scared. Of how much I owed you. Of how much you meant. So I pushed you away."
"You didn't owe me," Shyam said. "You just… didn't see me."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Then glanced at Ayani.
"You're with her?"
He smiled. "Yeah. She stayed."
Raitha looked away. "She's lucky."
"No," Ayani said, reaching for Shyam's hand. "I'm smart. Lucky is what you wasted."
Mic. Dropped.
Raitha left with tears in her eyes.
Ayani turned to him. "Was that too much?"
He kissed her cheek. "Not enough."
---
That night, he uploaded a new video.
Title: Untouched Pixel – Final Cut
Description: "This is for the love I lost. And the one I never expected to find."
Tokyo shimmered in neon lights as the Grand Face Reveal Convention reached its climax. A convention where the faceless legends of the internet finally showed the world who's behind the screen. Influencers, streamers, VTubers, and curious fans packed into the massive Tokyo Dome.
Among the lineup was a curious name, listed with no photo or real name—
"Untouched Pixel"
Subscriber count: 721 subs
Views per video: less than 100
Nobody took it seriously. Some even assumed it was a mistake.
Yet there he was. Shyam.
Wearing a simple hoodie, slightly trembling but with a fire in his eyes. Ayani squeezed his hand before he went up on stage. "Go show the world who you are."
He stepped onto the stage.
The lights were blinding. The crowd murmured, confused.
"Who the hell is this guy?"
"He's got 700 subs. Is this a joke?"
Front row, dressed in designer everything—Raitha.
Still glowing from her own rise. Now with 110 million subscribers and a snazzy new editor at her side.
She barely glanced up from her phone.
Shyam took a deep breath.
He leaned toward the mic.
"…I don't really know what to say."
The crowd grew quiet.
"…But… I loved you, Raitha."
Every heartbeat in the room froze.
She looked up. Confused. "What the…?"
"I loved the way you smiled, the way you sang. I edited every MV like it was a love letter. I gave you my time, my talent, my heart. You threw it away."
Silence thick enough to slice with a sword.
Shyam gave a small bow. "That's all I had to say."
He turned to leave.
Then—
BOOM.
The entire stage behind him lit up. Giant screens flashed to life, showing a YouTube channel interface.
Everyone turned.
Gasps. Screams. Someone dropped their bubble tea.
A YouTube channel with 752 MILLION subscribers.
Views in the trillions.
A back-catalog of viral videos. AMVs, storytelling edits, animations, live premieres.
It wasn't a channel.
It was a digital empire.
Username: Untouched Pixel
Same name.
Same guy.
Shyam.
"W-What the hell?!" Raitha shot up, stumbling over her own jaw. "THAT'S—THAT'S HIS?!"
Ayani walked on stage with a mic. Calm, collected. "Yeah. That's his. He just… didn't need to flex it until now."
The world tilted.
People scrambled to tweet, post, breathe.
#UntouchedPixel trended globally in seconds.
And Shyam?
He turned, smiled at Ayani, and took the mic one last time.
"You know, I used to think love needed to be earned through effort. That if I worked hard enough, I'd matter to someone.
Then she left.
But she stayed."
He looked at Ayani. She nodded, tears threatening to fall.
"I didn't build this to impress anyone. I built it to tell stories no one else would.
But now… I think I'll start writing stories where the one who stays gets the happy ending."
Crowd. ERUPTED.
Raitha collapsed back into her seat, eyes wide, hands shaking. Her new editor leaned away awkwardly like, "I think I'm gonna go now."
---
Back in India – A Few Weeks Later
Shyam and Ayani sat on their rooftop.
"750 million subs and you still wear socks with holes in them," she teased.
He grinned. "It's for ventilation."
"You didn't need to do that reveal, you know," she said softly.
"I know," he replied. "But I needed closure. And to let her know… I loved her. But I love myself more now."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. "And what about me?"
"You?" He smiled. "You're the one who stayed when the screen went dark. That means more than subs ever could."
---
One Last Upload – Titled: "The Pixel That Stayed"
Views: 2.1 Billion
Caption: "To the girl who stayed, even when I was nothing but silence behind a screen."
Comments: — "Bruh. I'm sobbing." — "Justice served, with HD clarity." — "Raitha watching this like: regret.exe has stopped working" — "This isn't a love story. It's a legacy."
---
And somewhere across the world, on a lonely screen…
Raitha clicked replay.
Again. And again.
Not to remember him.
But to remember what it feels like…
To lose someone who truly loved you.
-----
Writer [ noobsuper2648 & chatGPT ]
Editors [ raitha & the_leafs ]
Review [ the_leafs, raitha & chatGPT ]
Version - extended
Untouched pixles / the pixle series / the hit of romances