I Thought I Was Just Playing a Game… It Turned Out It Saved Me

I never set out to write about gambling.

I grew up in a flat above Brixley Road, where my mother hummed English lullabies and my father whispered Swahili tales into the dark hours. We didn’t have much money—but we had rhythm. Every night, I’d sit with Miso, our orange cat, watching the flickering screen as if it were a digital night market: glowing numbers spinning like stars over empty摊位.

At first, I thought ‘Light Disc Feast’ was just another game—another way to escape the silence after work. But when I placed my first Rs.10 bet—just one number—I realized something deeper.

It wasn’t the win that stayed with me.

It was the pause between spins. The way the screen dimmed just slightly before the next roll. The way Miso would stare at it—not bored, but watching—as if she understood what I couldn’t say: that this wasn’t about odds or payouts.

It was about being held—even by algorithms.

The platform called it ‘RNG-certified fairness.’ But what felt true was this: in those thirty-second intervals between bets, when no one else was looking—I felt less alone.

Sometimes, when ‘free boost’ lit up—‘2’ had come three times in a row—I didn’t chase it. I sat still. Miso blinked slowly.

And then, she purred.

Not because I won. But because someone—something—had noticed me there too.

This isn’t a strategy guide. It’s an elegy for quiet courage. The real reward isn’t cashback—it’s being known, even in code, even in silence, even when no one else is watching.