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123 Romantic Love Messages to Tell Them How You Feel
Words of affirmation are one of the five love languages for a good reason. There a few things that beat a heartfelt message when it comes to expressing your love for someone. Whether it’s in a flirty text or an eloquent love letter, a few romantic words can get anyone’s heart racing. However, not everyone is a natural-born wordsmith, and that’s okay!
By Lover Boyabout a year ago in Fiction
A love Story
I will be someone one day I will be someone one night No one will like it more My bad nature will never go away I will only sing songs all night today, aha, what else is there besides singing
By Ishrat Jahan about a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Meadow’s Secret Heart
Whispers of the Meadow Nestled between the ancient spines of high mountains, where the sky leaned down to kiss their snowy crowns, lay a hidden valley untouched by time. Lakes shimmered like mirrors, reflecting the towering peaks above, while streams danced playfully across soft carpets of emerald grass. Wildflowers—bright yellows, fiery reds, cool purples—sprinkled the meadows like confetti from the hands of an unseen celebration. Horses grazed peacefully, tails swishing, their coats glistening in the sun, and the air was alive with birdsong, bees, and a breeze that carried the scent of pine and bloom.
By Mukhtiar Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
Gumball and Darwin
Gumball and Darwin Return After Seven Years ‘The Wonderfully Weird World of Gumball’ After a seven-year hiatus, fans of the beloved animated duo Gumball and Darwin finally have reason to celebrate. In a surprise teaser that dropped on Cartoon Network Asia’s social media, the iconic characters are shown rising—literally—from the dust, heralding the much-anticipated return of one of animation’s most creatively offbeat series.
By Noorabout a year ago in Fiction
Where the Mountain Remembers the Song
Whispers of the Mountain Aeron had always heard the stories whispered by the old folk of Elderglen—a land nestled beneath the shadow of the Great Talmor Mountain, where the springs sang and trees told tales. He had never believed them, not truly. But when his village’s crops failed and the river ran dry, desperation pushed him toward the legend.
By Mukhtiar Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Gift. AI-Generated.
The Town That Forgot How to Dream The town of Willowsend had long forgotten how to dream. Its people moved like clockwork—quiet, punctual, and hollow. The only exception lived in a crooked little shop at the end of Wren Street, surrounded by gears, springs, and the faint scent of lavender oil.
By Imtiaz Mahmud (Ratul)about a year ago in Fiction
My Very Hectic Life Story
My name is Tara, and I live a very hectic life. From the moment I wake up to the second I close my eyes at night, something is always happening. Sometimes I wonder how I survive it all, but somehow, I do. This is my story.
By Lady Diamondabout a year ago in Fiction
Of Summer Songs
Crickets chirped in the distance, the sound of the river filling up any silence that might have been. Audrey stared out the window, captivated by the sunset. She let out a low hum, beginning to count the seconds in her head. Ten, then twenty, then-
By Anagha Kashyapabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of Wings in Blooming Fields
"The Whispering Wings" The valley was alive with color. Petals of every hue—red, pink, yellow, blue—swayed in a soft breeze, while tall trees lined the horizon like guardians of a sacred realm. The scent of wildflowers hung in the air, thick with summer’s warmth. Above the blooms, hummingbirds danced, their wings a blur of iridescent green and ruby.
By Mukhtiar Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The Witch of Hollow Lane
The House at the End of the Lane: Hollow Lane wasn’t like other streets. Tucked between two ordinary neighborhoods, it was a place where the air hummed with something unseen—where the trees whispered secrets when the wind blew just right. And at the very end of the lane, where the cobblestones cracked and the streetlamps flickered, stood an old, ivy-cloaked house with a black door.
By its_ishfaq_ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
Fail, Fight, Rise: The Power of the Human Spirit
Introduction Failure. A word we often associate with shame, regret, and loss. But what if failure isn’t the end? What if it's the beginning of something extraordinary? "Fail, Fight, Rise" is not just a phrase—it's a mindset, a way of life embraced by those who refuse to be defined by their lowest moments. In this article, we explore the incredible power of the human spirit through real-life stories of people who fell hard, fought fiercely, and rose even stronger. These are not just success stories—they are life lessons wrapped in pain, perseverance, and personal growth.
By Mian Nazir Shahabout a year ago in Fiction
orbit of the forgotten
Somewhere, far beyond Earth’s sun, lies a planet untouched by time. It circles a soft lavender star in the quiet solitude of the sixth spiral arm of a forgotten galaxy. The planet has no name spoken aloud, though the winds that ripple its endless fields whisper a word older than memory: Elserin. On Elserin, there are no cities. No machines. No war. Only silence, flowers, and echoes. The planet is a garden—a celestial bloom drifting through space. From space, it looks like a blue and gold marble, but when you step onto its soil, you see it is covered from pole to pole in flowers: towering silver tulips with petals like glass, cobalt vines that hum faintly when touched, and blossoms that glow with warmth under moonlight. Their fragrances linger in the air like memories. But no people live among them now. No one, except for her. She was called Solenne. And she had no memory of Earth. Her arrival was the last act of a dying spacecraft that had carried her across galaxies while she slept for centuries in frozen solitude. A forgotten passenger on a forgotten mission. The ship had broken apart in orbit, scattering metal and fire into Elserin’s skies. She fell like a star and woke among the flowers. The planet welcomed her. The flowers leaned toward her when she walked. The wind carried melodies that echoed her thoughts. Even the sky seemed to pulse with something ancient and kind. Yet there were no humans. No answers. Solenne wandered the fields for weeks, then months. She built a small hut of woven vinewood near the Sea of Petals, a place where the breeze stirred the blossoms into waves. Every morning, she would walk among them, tracing spirals in the soil with her feet, breathing in their scents, waiting for the loneliness to lessen. One day, she found the first statue. It was half-buried in a field of scarlet bloomlights—massive, daisy-like plants that opened only in the presence of grief. The statue was of a child, eyes closed, arms raised toward the sky. Around its base were carvings—thousands of names in a language she couldn’t read. In the days that followed, Solenne found more statues. A mother cradling an invisible baby. Two lovers mid-embrace, faces soft with longing. An old man with a telescope, gazing skyward forever. Each surrounded by flowers that only bloomed when she cried. And cry she did. Not just for the statues or their unspoken stories—but for herself. For the life she never knew, the Earth she would never return to, the voices she would never hear. Her tears watered the soil, and wherever they fell, strange new flowers grew: star-shaped, violet, and trembling with light. She began to understand then. Elserin was not a garden for the living. It was a sanctuary for the forgotten—souls, names, hopes, and dreams cast into the abyss of time. Lost astronauts. Abandoned colonists. Memoryless AIs. Creatures who had once loved, laughed, feared. All gone now, but not erased. The planet remembered them. The flowers were not just flowers. They were echoes—emotions embedded into root and petal, pressed like letters into paper. Each bloom held a story. Solenne stopped walking then. She began listening. She would lie among the flowers for hours, her cheek against warm soil, hearing the stories the wind carried. Stories of a girl who sang to the stars, a boy who built wings from dreams, an old scientist who died with the taste of hope on his tongue. The more she listened, the less alone she felt. Years passed. She did not age—Elserin did not allow it. It was not a world that followed time’s rules. She began to sculpt. Not with stone, but with seeds. She planted gardens in shapes: spirals, galaxies, lullabies, handprints. Entire fields in the form of sleeping children or weeping lovers. And around each, she whispered stories back into the wind. And the wind whispered back. One night, under a sky rippling with five moons and drifting lights, she asked the wind: “Why me?” The answer came not in words, but in feeling—like the warmth of a mother’s hug, the breath of a lover’s sigh, the weight of a goodbye that was never said. Because she remembered. That was her purpose. To remember. To be the orbit of the forgotten. The next morning, something had changed. In the distance, across the River of Blossoms, a new flower had bloomed. It was the size of a house, pale and translucent, and as she approached, she realized it wasn’t a flower at all—but a door. A gate woven of light and petals. She stepped closer, heart aching. Inside the glowing frame, she saw visions: people walking on a distant world, laughing, living, loving. A city by the sea. Children with her eyes. mini versions of her own self. A name she had forgotten—spoken gently, like a prayer. Earth. But the flowers around her rustled. The statues watched with silent eyes. The wind held its breath. She had a choice. Go back. Be Solenne again. Or stay. The decision crushed her like gravity. She turned from the door. She fell to her knees and placed her palm on a new patch of earth. And she cried—not from sorrow, but from love. The door faded. In its place grew a single flower—gold, with petals shaped like stars. It whispered her story. Now she walks still, in that eternal field under the lavender sun, weaving memories into petals. Every once in a while, a new flower blooms where none had before—a life lost in the void, found again in her orbit. And in the silence, she is never alone. Because Elserin remembers. Because Solenne remembers. Because someone must. —
By E. hasanabout a year ago in Fiction