Young Writers' Award Success
Congratulations to Laasya Reddy Veeluru (Year 9) for her success in the 2026 Young Writers' Award. For her piece, The Winter Between Us, Laasya was awarded 13 Years Commended. Stanton Library and North Sydney Council celebrate the writing of young people in the greater Sydney area with their annual Young Writers Award.
The Winter Between Us is a gripping story set in pre-revolutionary Russia. “This story shows the development of the characters during times of political and social hardship. It shows that people who truly care will stay by your side even during conflict. Writing historical fiction challenged me because I had to include historical context as well,” Laasya shares.
Writing this piece helped Laasya grow more confident in her writing abilities and we are delighted to share her entry below.
The Winter Between Us
The apartment was small and bitterly cold, the kind of place common in the workers’ district of Petrograd. Frost feathered the inside of the windowpanes in delicate white veins, and the coal stove in the corner coughed out more smoke than heat. Every breath hung in the frosty air like a pale ribbon. A kettle rattled weakly on the stove, never reaching a boil. Outside, sleigh runners scraped over the frozen street, their metallic hiss rising and falling between the shout of drivers and the distant clatter of tram wheels. The crowds sound seeped through the thin walls, even in the dead of winter. That’s the kind of life in 1914 Russia.
Zoya stood beside the table, her satchel already packed: her eyes filled with hope. Hope for a new future. A few pamphlets lay on the table, printed on cheap paper, smelling of ink and secrecy. Elena watched her from the doorway, still in her police overcoat, the brass buttons catching the dim lamplight.
“Work,” Elena’s face tightened. “You mean sneaking into basements. Secret pamphlets. Codes. Running messages for people who will disappear the second the Okhrana come.”
Zoya’s hands tightened around the strap of her satchel. “Some must try. You know that.”
“I know what happens to people who try,” Elena replied. “I’ve seen what happens to girls like you who think they have the power to change the world; I’ve seen what atrocities they faced.”
Zoya finally met her eyes, her hands shaking. “You talk as if you’re not part of it.”
The kerosene lamp flickered. Elena looked away, her breath heavy, fogging the air. Zoya slipped into her thin coat, the fabric torn from excessive wear, strays of fleece sticking out of it. Elena’s expression softened; her mouth unmoving but her eyes begged for Zoya to stay, just one more night.
Without looking back, Zoya opened the door and stepped into the winter air, her silhouette moving further with every step. Elena stood in the stillness of the apartment, the coal stove crackling weakly. She’d always believed she could keep Zoya safe. But the harsh world was already pulling her away.
Steam billowed from the great iron engine, drifting through the air as the crowd pressed and shifted around her. She kept her head down, the satchel tight against her ribs, slipping between porters, soldiers, and families calling out last words. A whistle cut through the noise, the doors opened. Zoya climbed aboard, walked the narrow corridor, counted the compartments, and slid her door open. And froze.
Elena sat down, eyes fixed on her newspaper. Her sister, in full Okhrana uniform. Her expression barely shifted, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of something sharp and pained before she forced it still.
“Double assigned,” she murmured.
Zoya stepped inside on unsteady legs and took the seat opposite her. The train lurched forward, sealing them together. Elena read reports with rigid focus. Zoya pretended to read a book she never turned the pages of, her gaze drifting towards her. Elena nudged a blanket over when the compartment grew cold. Neither spoke of home. Night settled. Exhaustion pulled Zoya under. Her satchel slipped open as she slept, the letter half visible. For a moment, Elena didn’t see a courier or a rebel. She saw her little sister standing in their cold apartment, defiant and trembling.
The rhythm of the train shifted. Voices cut through the corridor, boots striking metal with sharp purpose. Zoya slept on. Elena touched her shoulder, urging her awake. The boots were louder now. A command barked. A door slid open nearby. Zoya’s breath caught as she understood. Elena pressed the satchel into her hands, pulled her own coat around her, and slipped her papers into the pocket. The footsteps were only moments away.
“Go.” Elena wasn’t asking.
Elena opened the door to the narrow platform between cars, the cold winter air rushing in. Zoya hesitated for a heartbeat, but Elena remained steady and unflinching. Zoya looked back at her sister, tears in her eyes, but she knew what to do. She jumped. Her breaths were heavy as she ran for the trees, heart pounding, Elena’s coat heavy around her. She had just reached the pines when it came.
A single gunshot.
Zoya stopped. Tears stung in the cold. Despite her sorrow, she knew she shouldn’t turn back. She stepped deeper into the snow, the burden on her shoulders hardening her stride toward the coming dawn. The dawn of a better place to call home.
We acknowledge the Burramattagal People of the Darug Nation, the traditional custodians of the land in Parramatta. We acknowledge the Elders, past and present and their ancestors who have had a deep relationship with country.