Young Adult
My cruel love
My Cruel Love I'm buying you—for an entire month. Starting today, for the next thirty days, you'll be mine. Only mine. Your only job will be to please me. You won't even look at another man. Arman Shahriar's voice was low, smooth, and laced with danger—his breath brushing against Maya's ear. A chill ran down her spine. Earlier that evening. In a luxurious private lounge, a group of women stood in a line—each one stunning, dressed to seduce. Laughter echoed faintly in the background, but the tension in the room was palpable. In front of them sat a sharply dressed man, casually lounging on a single sofa. Arman Shahriar. Twenty-eight years old. Cold, charismatic, and devastatingly handsome. With a sculpted physique and dark, unreadable eyes, he was the kind of man women wanted and men feared. But Arman didn't care for emotions. He believed love was a myth—an unnecessary weakness. Power, wealth, fame, control. That's all that mattered. His business partner leaned in with a grin. "These are our club's best performers. For tonight's celebration, take your pick. Consider it a gift to mark the start of our partnership. Arman swirled the wine in his glass, unimpressed. He scanned the line of women, each one hoping—begging—to be chosen. Not one stirred even the faintest spark of interest. He scoffed. "They're all the same. Dull. Recycled. Got anything new? The rejection stung, though none dared protest. The partner chuckled awkwardly. "No worries. I've saved the best for last. The newest recruits—untouched and eager to impress. He snapped his fingers at a guard. "Bring the fresh ones. Five minutes. In another room, a small group of women were being prepped to meet the club's most powerful guest. The air was thick with hairspray and nervous excitement. One name changed the room's energy instantly: Arman Shahriar. Everyone looked thrilled—except for one woman in the corner. Maya froze. Her pulse quickened. She never thought she'd hear that name again—not here. A few minutes later, the new group entered the lounge. Arman sat up straighter as his eyes swept across them—then stopped. There she was. In a deep red gown, standing still and silent, her face unreadable. Maya Akhter. His ex-wife. No one in the room knew. Theirs had been a secret marriage—forced by family, short-lived, and left in silence. The partner beamed. "These girls just joined today. It's their lucky night, starting their career in the company of a man like you. Arman didn't respond. He couldn't take his eyes off her. Maya kept her gaze down, expression blank. But Arman rose, set down his glass, and walked toward her—ignoring every other woman. The room watched, stunned, as he stopped in front of her, took her wrist, and pulled her toward him. With his other hand, he gripped her waist. Maya stumbled slightly, clutching his shirt to steady herself, still refusing to meet his eyes. "I want this one," he said coldly. Gasps echoed behind him. His partner stammered, "Of course, of course! She's brand new. A rare find. Arman didn't respond. His stare remained locked on Maya—intense, unreadable. The girls were dismissed. The room cleared. Alone now, Arman's expression hardened. He tightened his grip. "So, when did you start selling yourself? His words were sharp, meant to cut. And they did. Maya flinched inwardly, but kept her voice steady. She had once loved this man—with everything she had. She'd married him with hope, only to be discarded like nothing. He'd never let her in, never gave her a chance. Just divorce papers and a wad of money she returned without a word. But now, she wouldn't let him see her broken. Her eyes finally met his. Calm. Cold. "I got tired of being poor. Dreams cost money. My husband left me, so I found a way to survive. Arman's jaw tightened. "You? Dreams?" he sneered. "So this is how you chase them? Selling your body to strangers? He leaned in, voice laced with disgust. "You never deserved to be my wife. Maya didn't flinch. Instead, she offered a slow, provocative smile. Her hand trailed around his neck. "Then let's strike a deal," she whispered. "You pay. I perform. No emotions. Just business. I've been waiting for a rich client like you. His eyes flared. "Client? How many? Maya shrugged. "Do you count your conquests, Mr. Shahriar? This is work. I don't keep souvenirs. Fury burned in his eyes. He grabbed her chin roughly. She winced but didn't break. "I thought you had dignity," he growled. "When you returned the money, I felt guilt—like maybe I ruined a good woman's life. But now I see the truth. You're exactly what I always feared. Maya smiled, eyes hollow. "Then I guess we're finally honest with each other. To be continued..
By Story writesabout a year ago in Chapters
Every Day Is Theirs: A Heart’s Tribute to Our Parents Beyond One Day
✍️ By: Umair Ali Shah Yousafzai --- 🌸 Introduction: The Problem with “One Day” In an age where love has been reduced to emojis and celebrations are confined to trending hashtags, it’s become common to see people dedicate just one day a year to their parents — usually in the form of a well-edited photo, a generic social media caption, or a short video clip. "Happy Parents’ Day!" they declare, and with that, consider their duty fulfilled. But can one day capture the essence of lifelong sacrifice? Can a Facebook status outweigh a mother’s sleepless nights? Can an Instagram reel compensate for a father’s decades of toil? The answer — spoken by the heart — is a resounding no. Parents are not a seasonal celebration. They are the soul of our lives. They do not deserve a day; they deserve our every day, our every breath, our every success, our every prayer. --- 🕊️ A Love Beyond Comprehension Parental love is not poetic — it is prophetic. The mother’s womb becomes a sanctuary before we even open our eyes. Her body breaks to give us life. Her nights shatter so our dreams can form. Her meals go cold so ours stay warm. She becomes our shadow, our comfort, our shield. And the father? He becomes the silent mountain who absorbs the storm before it reaches us. He ages behind the curtain so we can grow on stage. His shoes wear thin so ours stay new. His pockets empty so our dreams can fill. His hands become rough while ours remain soft. Such love cannot be compared. It cannot be counted, priced, or postponed. It is as eternal as the sky — silent but all-encompassing. --- 🏠 From Cradle to Grave: They Gave Us Everything The truth is simple and painful: the very people who gave us everything, we give them the least. They carried us when we were weak. They taught us to walk, to speak, to eat. They encouraged our smallest achievements and bore our greatest failures. They forgave our rebellion, our rudeness, our rejection. They kept loving even when we didn’t love back. And what did they ask for in return? Nothing — except a little time. A little respect. A little remembrance. And yet, many of us fail even in that. --- 📅 One Day is Not Enough — It’s Almost Insulting Designating one day for parents is, in many ways, an insult wrapped in sentimentality. It suggests that gratitude can be scheduled, that love can be timed, that sacrifice can be acknowledged only when it's convenient. Do parents love only once a year? Do they support us only on Sundays? Do they pray for us only during exam season? No. Their love is relentless, their loyalty unconditional, their prayers eternal. Then how dare we give them just a day? --- 🕯️ Real-Life Reflections: Forgotten Candles of Our Lives Visit an old age home and you will see forgotten candles flickering dimly, waiting for someone to relight their flames. Mothers who once carried their children now carry loneliness. Fathers who once stood tall now sit silently by windows, hoping someone might knock on the door. "I gave him everything," says one mother, staring into her fading memories. "And now he sends money, but not himself." What do we owe them? Not riches. Not luxury. We owe them presence. We owe them honor. We owe them time. And if we fail to pay that debt in life, we will spend the rest of our lives repaying it in guilt. --- 🌙 The Islamic Perspective: A Duty, Not a Favor In Islam, honoring one's parents is not optional. It is second only to worshipping Allah. The Qur’an places “being good to parents” immediately after “worship none but Allah” (Surah Al-Isra, 17:23). > “And lower to them the wing of humility out of mercy and say: ‘My Lord, have mercy upon them as they brought me up [when I was] small.’” — (Qur’an 17:24) The Prophet Muhammad ﷺ said: > “Paradise lies beneath the feet of your mother.” “The pleasure of Allah is in the pleasure of the father.” In a world that celebrates freedom, Islam reminds us: you are never free from the duty of loving and serving your parents. --- 💔 The Western Dilemma: Celebration Without Connection In many modern societies, holidays like "Mother's Day" and "Father's Day" are celebrated with great pomp. But beneath the flowers and fancy cards lies a bitter reality — many parents live alone, neglected. The market profits from emotional neglect. Capitalism sells love, but doesn't practice it. You buy a card, send flowers, click "like" on a photo — and you're done. But love is not a transaction. True love is in changing your schedule to be with your aging parents. True respect is in asking about their health — not for politeness, but from the heart. True honor is in making them feel needed, not obsolete. --- 📖 Stories That Break the Heart A man once left his father at a senior facility, promising to return in two weeks. The weeks turned into months. The father finally said, “I don’t need your money. I need the child who once clung to my finger.” Another story tells of a woman whose son lives abroad. He sends money monthly, but hasn’t visited in five years. She keeps his childhood toys clean, thinking he may come home any day. The question isn’t whether these parents are physically alone. The question is: Why are their children emotionally absent? --- 💡 What Can We Do, Starting Today? Let’s stop thinking in hashtags and start living in actions. Here are real, practical ways to honor your parents — not just once a year, but daily: 1. Call them. Not just when you're free — call them often. 2. Visit them. Your presence matters more than gifts. 3. Sit in silence. Let them feel your calm. 4. Ask their opinions. Make them feel heard, respected, and needed. 5. Pray for them. Every prayer, every day. 6. Serve them. Bring water, massage their feet, feed them with your hands. 7. Share your life. Tell them about your joys and struggles. Let them be part of your world. --- 🌹 To the Fortunate Ones: Don’t Wait Until It’s Too Late If your parents are still alive, know this: you are living in a blessed time. You still have the opportunity to make them smile, to ease their aches, to sit beside them and just… be. Don’t wait for their graves to remember their value. Don’t take their presence for granted. If you must celebrate something, celebrate their hands that held you. Celebrate their words that guided you. Celebrate their love that never expired. 🌿 Closing Prayers: Words from the Heart to the Heavens As we close this column, we do not end with logic or poetry — we end with prayer, because only prayer carries the weight of what parents deserve. > Allah! Bless my mother with health, happiness, and peace. Forgive her mistakes and elevate her status. Place light in her grave, if she is gone, and joy in her heart, if she is alive. > Allah! Grant my father strength and serenity. Forgive him, reward him, and make his sacrifices a means of his success in both worlds. > Allah of the worlds! If I have ever disobeyed or hurt them, forgive me. And if I have ever pleased them, accept it as a seed of paradise. > The Most Merciful Allah! Keep my parents close to me in this life — and reunite me with them under Your shade in the next. Ameen. 🖋️ Final Word: Love is Measured in Time, Not Days Remember: You don’t need a “Parents’ Day” to honor your parents. You need a sincere heart, an open schedule, a little humility — and consistent action. Let us reclaim the lost beauty of honoring parents not with once-a-year posts, but with daily devotion. Let us teach the world that love is not in celebrating one day, but in cherishing every moment. Because in truth — Every day is their day. Every moment is a chance to love. And every breath we take… is because of them.
By Umair Ali Shah about a year ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 13
“What would you like to talk about, Commander Shepherd?” Max chuckled at the girl in front of him. They were hardly on formal terms, considering she was the victim of something horrible and he’d treated her like she was in protective custody rather than a suspect. Now, as he challenged her to a one-on-one, she was formalizing how she addressed him with some umph behind her tone.
By Jason Mortonabout a year ago in Chapters
The Santa Fe Tape.
Tanner Moss wasn’t just another content creator. At 24, he was already a digital phenomenon—known for his charisma, offbeat humor, and magnetic presence that kept fans refreshing their feeds for his next viral hit. With over five million followers across platforms and brand deals stacked in his inbox, Tanner had mastered the influencer algorithm.
By Travis Johnsonabout a year ago in Chapters
Make Yourself Stronger Mentally and Emotionally — Here’s How
In today’s fast-paced world, we all face stress, setbacks, and emotional ups and downs. Whether it's dealing with work pressure, relationships, or personal insecurities, being mentally and emotionally strong helps us stay calm, focused, and confident. The good news is — you can build this strength just like you build physical muscles. All it takes is consistency and some practical steps. Let’s explore some simple but effective ways to make yourself stronger mentally and emotionally.
By aadam khanabout a year ago in Chapters
