Friendship
I Found Out My Best Friend Was an Escort—And She Was Dating My Boyfriend
I Found Out My Best Friend Was an Escort—And She Was Dating My Boyfriend She was my ride-or-die for seven years. Until I discovered the truth hidden behind two locked phones and a fake name.
By Muhammad Maazabout a year ago in Confessions
Litters I Never Sent
I’ve always believed words have weight. That’s why I wrote them down, and that’s why I never sent them. The first letter I ever wrote to you was the night after you left. Not a goodbye—because you never gave me one—but a memory I couldn’t let go of. It was a Tuesday. You had that stupid green scarf wrapped three times around your neck even though it wasn’t cold. I hated that scarf. You said it smelled like your mother. I said that didn’t make it a good thing. In the letter, I wrote about the way you looked at the sky that morning. Not up, but through it. Like you could see something I couldn’t. That always scared me about you—you looked too far ahead. You never stayed in a moment longer than necessary. I folded that letter and tucked it into the bottom drawer of my nightstand. I didn't think I’d write another. But I did. Letter two came after the wedding. Not ours, obviously—someone else’s. You wouldn’t have come even if I’d invited you, but I imagined what you’d say if you had. The letter was full of things I wished I could’ve shouted across the hall during the first dance. Like how I still hear your laugh in crowded rooms and how I scan faces hoping yours will be there, even though I know it won’t be. I wrote it all down on a napkin I’d stuffed into my purse, then copied it neatly when I got home. I burned that napkin, but I kept the copy. Letter five—yes, five—was written the day I got the job. You always told me I was “meant for bigger things.” I remember the way your eyes lit up when I read you my short stories. You said they made you feel like you were falling through the page. No one ever said that to me again. I wanted you to know I made it. That your belief wasn’t wasted, even if the relationship was. I signed it, “Still chasing stars. –E.” And yet, I never mailed it. There were more. Dozens, maybe. A few were angry. Some were just blank pages I folded anyway, needing the ritual more than the words. I used to think writing them was a way to move on. But now I know it was the opposite. I was holding on—in ink and paper—because it was safer than calling. Somewhere along the way, I stopped dating. Not consciously. I’d say “I’m too busy” or “I haven’t met the right one,” but the truth was simpler: I kept measuring everyone against a ghost. Against someone who never truly belonged to me in the first place. You were always half in, half gone. And I let you stay that way because I was terrified of what it would mean if you ever fully left. And then, three weeks ago, I saw your name in an obituary. No photo. Just a line about a “quiet man who loved literature and solitude.” It didn’t even mention your music. You used to hum while you cooked—off-key but full of joy. Did no one know that part of you? Or had you buried it, too? I sat on my kitchen floor and cried until my chest burned. Then I did what I always do: I wrote. One more letter. This time, I addressed it to the sky. No drawer. No fire. Just me, your green scarf—yes, I kept it—and the sound of a city that didn’t care someone like you was gone. I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought the stars would blink in Morse code or a wind would carry your voice back. Nothing happened. Just silence. And yet, in that quiet, I found something close to peace. So this is the last letter. I won’t keep it. I won’t fold it. I won’t hide it. Because this one’s not for you. It’s for me. To finally let go. To say goodbye. To the man I loved in fragments. To the letters I never sent. —E.
By Azmat Roman ✨about a year ago in Confessions
What to Choose for Online Friendship: Livebeam or Meetup?
As someone who has spent the last few years researching and writing about digital communication and online dating, I often get asked about different platforms that aim to foster connections in today’s increasingly virtual world. Recently, I decided to spend time on Livebeam and Yubo, two platforms that market themselves as places to meet new people and enrich your social life. While both platforms fall into the category of online socializing rather than traditional dating apps, they offer very different user experiences.
By Tracy Larsonabout a year ago in Confessions
State Of Shock
Introduction Today I decided to rearrange the workroom so that I could play my keyboard and guitar and have access to my CD collection. The move around was successful, and then I rearranged my CD boxes, and the one that ended up on top, which will provide a lot of my music over the next few weeks, contained artists from "I" to "L", which I had not dipped into for a very long time.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred about a year ago in Confessions
My Fake Boyfriend
It all started with a wedding invitation and a big fat lie. When Emily Clarke received the ivory envelope in the mail, her heart sank. Her ex-boyfriend, Noah, was getting married—to her former college roommate. The wedding was in two weeks, set in California wine country, and everyone from their old college crew would be there. Including Aunt Linda, who treated Emily’s love life like a mystery novel—one she really wanted to solve.
By USAMA KHANabout a year ago in Confessions
"Spinach, Song & A Stranger: How COVID-19 Brought Me Love"
In 2020, like many others, I was hit hard when our country went into lockdown on March 26th. I had just started a new job-something I was truly grateful for, even though it came with its own set of challenges. I had previously worked in a travel agency, which naturally came to a standstill. My former boss couldn't understand why I left, but the truth was-I needed to keep moving, just like life always does.
By MelCreatesabout a year ago in Confessions
Digital Dating Burnout: Signs, Causes, and How to Recharge Your Love Life
A few months ago, I realized something was off. I had just wrapped up my third video call of the week with someone I’d matched with on a dating app. It wasn’t that the conversation went badly. In fact, it was fine—perfectly polite, mildly engaging, predictably uneventful. But once I hung up, I felt… empty. Not disappointed, not frustrated, just emotionally flat. And it wasn’t the first time. That night, I finally admitted to myself: I was burned out from digital dating.
By Tracy Larsonabout a year ago in Confessions
How to Use Voice Messages Effectively to Build Closer Connections Online
In today’s digital world, communication has evolved rapidly. From texting to video calls, we have more ways than ever to stay connected. Yet, over the past few years, one form of communication has quietly transformed my online relationships more than any other: voice messages.
By Tracy Larsonabout a year ago in Confessions
"The 5 Seconds That Broke Me — and Then Built Me Again”
It was just five seconds. Five seconds of silence after the call ended. Five seconds that shattered my world. I still remember the vibration in my pocket. I was walking home after a tiring shift, lost in thought, wondering if life would ever become more than just survival. The call came from my brother. I picked it up with a tired, “Hello?” There was silence. Then a breath. Then: “Bhai… Ammi… gone.” Click. No explanations. No chance to ask how. No time to even scream. Just silence. The kind that doesn’t echo. The kind that deafens. I dropped to my knees in the middle of the sidewalk. The world around me kept moving, but I was frozen. People passed. Cars honked. A child laughed in the distance. But inside me, everything had stopped. She was my world. My reason. My late-night dua. The voice that would still whisper, “Beta, did you eat?” no matter how far away I was. And now she was gone. That night, I didn't cry. I couldn't. I sat in my room, staring at the wall. My phone buzzed — condolences, texts, calls — I didn't reply. I couldn’t. Something inside me had shut down. My heart felt like it had been unplugged from life. Around 3 a.m., I heard the Adhan for Fajr from the mosque nearby. I hadn’t prayed in months. Life had pulled me so far from Allah that I didn’t even recognize myself anymore. But that Adhan—it didn’t feel like a call. It felt like a whisper to a soul that had been buried. With slow, robotic movements, I made wudhu. Water hit my face like lightning—cold, painful, but awakening. I laid out the dusty prayer mat from under my bed. It still smelled like home. I stood for salah. And as I said, "Allahu Akbar", the dam broke. I cried through the entire prayer. Not tears of ritual or guilt. But the kind of crying that empties you. The kind where your chest convulses, and you can’t breathe, and you whisper, "Ya Allah, I’m broken. I don’t know what to do." For the first time in years, I spoke to Allah like He was right there. Because He was. That moment didn’t bring my mother back. It didn’t erase the pain. But it gave me something I hadn’t felt in years: clarity. The next few weeks weren’t easy. I’d break down without warning. I’d wake up hoping it was all a dream. But one thing stayed constant: I started talking to Allah every day. Not always in formal dua, but in whispered thoughts, in journal entries, in the silent moments of prayer. I started listening to the Qur’an again—Surah Duha became my lifeline. > “And surely your Lord is going to give you, and you will be satisfied…” (Surah Duha, 93:5) That one verse made me believe again. That maybe this loss was not the end, but a turning point. I began praying all five times. Not because I was perfect, but because I needed Him like oxygen. I volunteered at a nearby shelter. I found comfort in serving others the way my mother used to. Slowly, pain turned into purpose. And I realized something: I had built a life that looked successful but was hollow inside. My mother’s passing forced me to confront the void. And it was only in that brokenness that I found the space for Allah to rebuild me. People say time heals. I disagree. It wasn’t time. It was sujood. It was that moment in the night when I cried like a child and whispered, “Ya Allah, I have nothing left but You.” And that was enough. Today, I still miss her. I still have days where I fall apart. But I also have days where I smile for no reason—because I know she’s with her Rabb, and I’m on a path back to mine. All of it began in those five seconds. The five seconds that broke me… and then built me again.
By TrueVocalabout a year ago in Confessions
The Man I Yelled at in Traffic Sent Me Flowers the Next Day
It started like any other Tuesday: rushed, scattered, and two sips behind on my morning coffee. I had spilled something on my shirt, forgotten my lunch, and barely made it out of the driveway without snapping at my dog for being too slow to say goodbye. You know — one of those days.
By shoaib khanabout a year ago in Confessions
