Humanity
The Millionaire's Dilemma: A College Tale of Struggles and Surprises
l consider me an elder brother. There’s a reason why they think of me as an elder brother. I’ve been at this university for 5 years, and I’ve been here intentionally. I attend classes and study, but I don’t give exams. There’s no one at home to talk to about this, not that there’s no one, I have an elder sister. My mother died while giving birth to me, and my father was murdered last year. I didn’t introduce myself earlier, but I am SA ARMAN HOSSAIN Rohan, and I have another identity: a millionaire, and it’s because of that wealth that I am now a troublemaker. Now, I am heading to the university because there is an event today. Me: What are you guys doing? Why did you come here without me? Hero: Sorry, bro, you were asleep, so we didn’t disturb you by calling. Me: You know I turn off my phone at night and turn it on after waking up. Hero: Yeah, we know, bro. Me: Have you guys had breakfast yet? Amit: No, bro. Then we all went to the university’s canteen to have breakfast. On the way, I introduced myself. I don’t have any particular friends, but I’m close to three friends: Hero, Amit, and Shahin. But everyone calls me brother, and no matter how much I try to stop them, they don’t listen. After breakfast, we were standing in the university field, when suddenly a few girls came and stood in front of us. One girl: Brother, we need help. Me: Yeah, what’s up? Girl: This is our friend, she’s been looking for a hostel for a few days but hasn’t found one. There are two beds empty in the university hostel, but the professors won’t give them to us. Me: Why not? Girl: They’re asking for a lot of money, and if we can’t pay... Me: What will happen if we can’t pay? Girl: I can’t tell you, brother. Me: Are they saying something bad? Girl: Yes. Me: Okay, I’ll see what I can do. Then, I spent the whole day having fun at the university and went home in the evening. As soon as I got home, the scolding started. Me: What should I do? I just don’t feel like it. Sister: You should go to the office from tomorrow. Me: I can’t. Sister: Look, brother, I can’t handle everything alone. Me: Then get married, and you and your husband can handle it together. Sister: I’ll marry you first, then I’ll think about mine. Me: We’ll see. I’m really hungry. Can you give me something to eat? Then I went to freshen up. Suddenly, my sister called. Someone was on the phone, so I hurried outside. Me: Hello, who is this? Other side: Brother, this is Humaira Imroz, we talked this morning at the university. Me: Oh, yeah, go ahead, sister. Humaira: Brother, are you doing anything right now? Me: Sorry, sorry, I didn’t remember. Humaira: Actually, brother, the girl’s house is far, and there’s no one here that she knows, so I told you. Me: Sorry, sister, I’ll fix it tomorrow. Humaira: We’re really struggling with the girl. Me: Why? Humaira: Maybe you don’t know, I live in a match, and no one cooks for outsiders here. We’re eating three people’s food for four people, and the girl sleeps on the floor at night. She’s really struggling. Me: What?! Why are you telling me this now? Humaira: I didn’t have the courage to tell you before. Me: Send me the address of your match now. Humaira: Why, brother? Me: Don’t ask, just do it quickly. Then I took some food with me, thinking about how the girl was struggling to come all this way. I went to the given address, but the match owner didn’t let me inside. After a lot of persuasion, he agreed to let me in, but only if he came with me. Humaira: Brother, you’re here! Me: Why can’t I come? Humaira: But how? We don’t even let an unfamiliar girl enter here. Me: Only Allah can stop me. As I was talking, I saw a girl with her head covered coming out of the room towards us. As soon as she saw me, she ran away. Me: Who is that girl? Humaira: The one I told you about, brother. Me: Oh... but why did she run? Humaira: She’s very modest and doesn’t behave like that in front of boys. Me: Alright. Here, give her this food, and yes, meet me tomorrow at 9 am at the university. Humaira: Okay, brother. I came back home, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that girl. It felt like she was calling me. The next morning, I went to the university, but no one had arrived. Well, some people were coming, but I didn’t know them. I was standing there, smoking a cigarette, when suddenly someone greeted me. I turned around and saw a girl in a burqa standing there... Wait, please...
By Sobuz2 years ago in Confessions
Shab e brat
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By Asma2 years ago in Confessions
Rituals, rites and rumours: how women claim power in Zimbabwe’s informal gold mines.
Many men on artisanal or small-scale gold mining sites are uncomfortable working with women in their syndicates because of this commonly held cultural belief, that women “pollute” the sacredness of the mining space.
By Viona Aminda2 years ago in Confessions
George, Again.
“Oh, George! You mustn’t be so jealous—it’s only a date! And a first one at that!” Pearl cajoled the four-year-old tabby, named after her late husband. George (the cat) replied with a low, disapproving mew, his amber eyes narrowing as his tail flicked back and forth like a metronome of judgment. Pearl often joked that the human George and the feline George shared similar traits: bottomless appetites, an irritable intolerance for anyone monopolizing Pearl’s time, and for knowing when something was wrong—even when she didn’t. Her apartment, the brownstone she shared with George the human when he passed, was a living scrapbook of a life unapologetically lived. Macramé plant hangers dangled from the ceiling, their trailing vines brushing against shelves cluttered with treasures from flea markets and distant travels. A ceramic bust of David wore a pair of oversized, rhinestone-studded sunglasses, and a lava lamp—faded but still valiantly bubbling—stood sentinel beside a stack of well-thumbed paperbacks. The walls were a collage of eras: framed black-and-white photos of Pearl in her youth—laughing with friends on sun-drenched beaches, standing beside a cherry-red Camaro that had long since been traded for sensible sedans. Mixed among them were vibrant abstract paintings from local artists, a dusty cassette rack filled with everything from Fleetwood Mac to Devo, and an embroidered sampler that read, “Well-Behaved Women Rarely Make History.” She adjusted her stockings in the mirror, tugging the black lace thigh-high into place with practiced grace. Her legs were still shapely, she thought with a small smile—sixty-seven years, and they’d held up. She slipped on her favorite navy dress with red polka dots, the fabric a little tighter than she remembered but still flattering. George leapt onto the vanity, his tail swiping across Pearl’s phone. The screen lit up with a new message. "Counting the moments until I see you, my dearest pearl of the sea." George stared at the glowing screen, then slowly, dramatically, rolled his eyes. “Oh, stop it,” Pearl laughed, dabbing a touch of rose-scented perfume behind her ears. “You never wrote me poetry.” George blinked, unimpressed. Her phone buzzed again. “Running a bit late, darling. Just finishing up a call. Can’t wait to see you.” Pearl’s heart fluttered. She slipped on her shoes—vintage pumps with scuffed soles from a lifetime of dancing—and blew a kiss toward George, leaving him perched like a brass-colored gargoyle, watching her go.
By L.K. Rolan2 years ago in Confessions
A Milestone: My First Bad Review
Some might think one is meshuggah, (crazy in Jewish Swedish slang), for saying they hit a big milestone as a writer for sharing their first bad review. Sometimes the craziest thing is the realest thing we can do for ourselves. It’s scary, I won’t lie, to put this out in the open to the public. Even if only one person reads this, it puts me in the position to be judged. I made peace with it.
By Melissa Ingoldsby2 years ago in Confessions
Pixels and Coastlines
Chapter 1: Opposite Worlds Dylan adjusted the headphones on their head, fingers tapping methodically against the WASD keys. The glow of their dual monitors illuminated their bedroom in a soft hue, a stark contrast to the gray January skies visible through their Brooklyn window. Introverted by nature, Dylan had always found comfort in the quiet hum of their gaming rig and the sprawling open-world adventures of their favorite RPGs. In the digital realm, there were no awkward silences or fumbling small talk, just quests, battles, and the satisfaction of leveling up.
By The Kind Quill2 years ago in Confessions
10 ways to practice self-love on Valentine's Day
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By Ramesh Mahato 2 years ago in Confessions
Strong
People are always telling me how strong I am, how resilient, how I always bounce back no matter the storm. I'm always told how brave I am and that I am looked at as people's hero for the way I just keep going through the hard no matter what as if I'm some unstoppable force. I'm always told I'll get through it because well, I always do and while yes, all these things are true and wonderful to be told; it's not easy. Yes, I do always rise from the dead, I do always keep going through the fire with gritted teeth but here is what you don't see...
By Lindsey Altom2 years ago in Confessions
An ode to being lost in life
Because when you just dream about it in your heart, work hard for it and believe in the universe to perform its magic, it conspires in the best-designated ways to make your dreams come true. I have always believed in the higher power, something beyond the fathomable vision of the human eye that beholds us, ties us to our purpose and protects us in times of uncertainty and dejection. It is comforting to know that some mighty and divine force beckons us in moments of need and sometimes all we need to do is let go and have faith. Life in its truest mirth often transcends through the truces of rationalisation and delusion, through the light of knowing exactly what to do and under the traces of pretence which hides the scariest part, not having a single clue as to where your life is going.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Confessions
A Writer's Confession
Four years ago I realized I was living my life in bad faith. Shackles to my wrists. Chain and ball to my foot, a rusty sword above my head, the nagging voices of the many, held so close for no reason, rendering me voiceless for too long. One morning, an epiphany. Freed at last of them all I embraced my decision, hardened my resolve, for better or worse.
By YonathanJ - Writer2 years ago in Confessions
He Knows Brother Enigma:
As I watched the video of Brother Enigma's interview with Chris, I was struck by the weight of his words. "This message that I'm bringing to you is not coming from a man, it comes from the Lord," he said, citing Galatians 1:11-12. But what struck me most about his message was the emphasis on secrecy and the warning that only those who are wise will understand.
By Praise2 years ago in Confessions
