Humanity

The City of Lost Dreams
In the mystical realm of Somnium, where the fabric of reality was woven from the threads of human dreams, the City of Lost Dreams stood as a testament to the ephemeral nature of hope. This was a place where the forgotten aspirations, shattered desires, and lost passions of humanity converged, taking on lives of their own.
By zahid hussainabout a year ago in Confessions
To Whom Do We Give Respect?
There once lived a wealthy man who was admired and respected by nearly everyone in the city. People greeted him with smiles, offered him seats in public places, and treated him with the highest courtesy. Wherever he went, doors opened for him, and conversations paused out of respect.
By Zaid Khanabout a year ago in Confessions
Was I Just A Phrase To You ?
One day you were my home; the next, you packed up and left. A few days ago, his mother called me faking her emotions that how she misses me. I realised that it was fake because she did not miss me for 2 months and all of a sudden she contacted me. There was this trap she prepared unknowingly for herself and her family, she told every single of her relatives about me being the future wife of her son. Recently, one of her relatives were staying at her house, they asked her about me and so, she called me to ask if I want to do a video call to show my face.
By Phoenixabout a year ago in Confessions
Eco-Terrorism or Eco-Justice? Radical Environmentalism in 2025
In 2025, with the planet warming faster than ever and governments still dragging their feet, a new wave of environmental activism is grabbing global attention. It’s louder, bolder, and far more disruptive. To some, it’s a dangerous form of eco-terrorism. To others, it’s eco-justice—a desperate cry to protect the planet before it’s too late.
By Ashikur Rahmanabout a year ago in Confessions
The Secret My Family Hid for 20 Years
I was 8 years old when I first saw her. A girl in an old photograph, maybe seventeen, with my grandmother’s eyes and a crooked smile that looked eerily like mine. But I didn’t know her. She wasn’t in any family albums, and no one ever talked about her. So I asked. “Who’s this?” I held up the photo, expecting a name. A story. My mom went still. Not the kind of still you notice when someone’s thinking—but the frozen, haunted kind. She took the photo gently, stared at it for a beat too long, then said, “Nobody important.” And just like that, the picture disappeared. That’s when I learned: in my family, silence was sacred. But silence doesn’t bury secrets. It preserves them—like glass over a flame. I didn’t forget the girl in the photo. Over the years, I saw flashes of her again. A letter hidden in a book. A silver locket with a faded initial: E. Whispers in the hallway that stopped when I entered the room. The mystery festered. It wasn’t loud—it was worse. It lingered. When my grandmother died, I thought the answers died with her. Until we found the trunk. It was locked, shoved deep into the attic, covered in dust and time. My mother stared at it like it might explode. “Leave it,” she said sharply. “It’s just old junk.” But I’d seen that look before—twenty years ago, when I held up that photo. “I need to know,” I said. She didn’t stop me this time. Inside, I found heartbreak. Dozens of letters, bound by twine. Yellowed photographs. A diary with pages soft from tears. And there she was again—the girl from the picture. But now, she had a name. Elena. And a story. Elena was my grandmother’s first child. Born in secret when she was just 17, sent away to avoid “ruining the family’s name.” My grandmother was told to forget her. But she never did. Every year on Elena’s birthday, she wrote her a letter she never sent. She poured her guilt, her hope, her love onto those pages. One letter read: “If I could turn back time, I would have run with you. But I was too scared, and they were too powerful. I pray you know that I never stopped loving you.” I sat in that attic until sunrise, reading every word. My mother finally spoke. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I found the first letter when I was your age. I wanted to know more, but every time I tried, she shut down. It broke her to talk about Elena. So we all learned to live around the silence.” I shook my head. “But why didn’t anyone try to find her?” “We didn’t think we could. And maybe… part of us didn’t think we deserved to.” That answer wasn’t good enough. Not anymore. I made it my mission to find Elena. It took months. I hit dead ends, sealed records, wrong leads. But I kept digging. I couldn’t shake the image of that teenage girl with my eyes, waiting at a train station, a suitcase in hand, and no one coming for her. Until, one day, a breakthrough. She was living in Vermont. A retired librarian. Never married. No children. I wrote her a letter, carefully choosing every word. Two weeks later, my phone rang. Her voice was quiet. Guarded. “I don’t usually answer unknown numbers,” she said. “But something told me to pick this one up.” I told her who I was. What I’d found. That my grandmother had never forgotten her. There was silence on the other end. Then a sob. “I always wondered,” she whispered. “If she ever thought of me. If I was just… erased.” “You were never erased,” I said. “You were hidden. But never forgotten.” We met three weeks later. She wore blue, just like in the photograph. She cried when I handed her the letters. Said my grandmother’s handwriting looked just like her own. “She loved me,” Elena said. “All this time, I thought I was a secret no one wanted. But she… she wrote me poems.” Elena met my mother next. They cried for a long time without saying a word. We visited my grandmother’s grave together. Elena left a letter. “Now,” she said, “we can stop pretending I didn’t exist.” The secret that once sat like a stone in our family finally cracked open. And from it grew something unexpected—connection. Healing. Now, Elena writes me once a month. Not because she has to. Because she can. Some stories are buried for a reason. But some? Some are just waiting for someone brave enough to dig them up. The End
By Wilfredabout a year ago in Confessions
India-Pakistan Conflict Escalates
May 2025 Military Tensions Erupt After Kashmir Massacre On May 6, 2025, the fragile peace between two nuclear-armed neighbors—India and Pakistan—was shattered as India launched a series of missile strikes into Pakistani territory. This unprecedented escalation comes just two weeks after a deadly attack in Indian-administered Kashmir, which killed 26 Indian tourists. India has blamed the massacre on Pakistan-based militants, and these strikes appear to be a direct retaliation.
By gul malookabout a year ago in Confessions
Where It Begins Again
The sun's been getting stronger lately, slipping through the windows earlier each morning. Yesterday, I woke up at 5:30 AM yesterday to finish framing everything and hung the last of my paintings in the gallery. Most of the big things are done. Today, I felt the need to text my ex to tell him how it all went. After all, he was there for me when this whole work for the art show began. I sent him a few pictures and a voice note. I think I just needed to hear myself think — or feel like someone else was hearing me.
By Lola Senseabout a year ago in Confessions
How to Be the Backbone Without Becoming a Doormat
Let me tell you a secret. You don’t notice the person holding it all together until they stop. That was almost me last winter. I was sitting on the floor of my 450 square foot rental with an old check in one hand and a space heater blowing warm guilt at my knees. I had just sent extra to the Virginia mortgage again. My daughter and autistic granddaughter live there. Meanwhile I was eating chicken for the fifth day in a row, pretending it was intentional meal planning and not survival math.
By Confessions of a Doormatabout a year ago in Confessions
Skin Deep
When Jordan Reyes opened her eyes in the hospital, she didn’t remember the fire—just the heat. An overwhelming pressure, a roar, and then nothing. She woke to the sharp scent of antiseptic, the rasp of bandages against skin, and a numb ache that stretched from her jaw to her shoulder.
By Gabriela Toneabout a year ago in Confessions
Youella, The Young Prophet
YOUELLA THE YOUNG PROPHET AND HIS SIX UNCLES Chapter 1: The Six Brothers' Evil Conspiracy In a quiet land touched by the breath of the divine, there lived a young prophet named Youella—a child unlike any other, anointed from birth and filled with light. But where light shines, shadows often gather.
By Joel Miftahulabout a year ago in Confessions
Laying the Foundation: The Art of Online Connection. AI-Generated.
Laying the Foundation: The Art of Online Connection Before even thinking about a meetup, the online interaction needs to be solid. It’s like building the foundation of a house – if it’s shaky, the whole structure is at risk.
By Tracy Larsonabout a year ago in Confessions
The Liberating Power of Forgiveness: A Journey to Healing
*The Liberating Power of Forgiveness: A Journey to Healing* Forgiveness is a complex and often misunderstood concept. Many of us struggle to forgive others, or even ourselves, for past hurts and mistakes. We may feel that forgiveness means forgetting, condoning, or excusing bad behavior. But the truth is, forgiveness is not about the other person; it's about us. Forgiveness is a process of releasing the negative emotions and energy associated with a painful experience. It's a journey to healing, freedom, and peace. Forgiveness means giving up hope for a different past.
By Zakir Ullahabout a year ago in Confessions