Love
The House at the Edge of Cedar Lane . AI-Generated.
I. The Sad House Everyone in the neighborhood called it the Sad House. It sat crookedly at the end of Cedar Lane, cloaked in ivy and shaded by two giant oaks that looked like they were mourning something ancient. Its shutters hung lopsided, one of them missing entirely, and no matter the weather, a veil of silence wrapped around it tighter than any storm.
By Money Talks, I Writeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Way You Forgot Her
The first time Elina saw Ray after the breakup, it felt like someone had ripped open a wound she had carefully stitched with silence. They were in the same bookstore where they used to spend entire weekends pretending they were characters in novels they never read. Ray didn’t notice her at first. Or maybe he did, and chose not to. But Elina stood frozen between the aisles, staring at the boy who used to read poetry to her like each line was written from his chest. Now, he was holding someone else's hand. The girl laughed—softly, genuinely—and it echoed like Elina’s old laughter in that same corner. It had only been eleven months. She still counted. That night, she walked home slowly, letting the cold wind punish her. The lights were too bright. The people too happy. The world too unaware that two people could love each other with everything and still lose. Elina sat by her window and pulled out the shoebox. The one labeled "Us." Inside were concert stubs, dried flowers, crumpled love notes, and a photo booth strip where Ray kissed her cheek like he had found the entire universe in her skin. She wondered if he still remembered that day. How they had skipped class. How it rained. How they danced anyway in the parking lot, soaked and smiling. But if he had remembered, he wouldn't have smiled like that at someone else. Would he? The hardest part wasn’t losing Ray. It was knowing he’d kept going. Without her. While she still slept in his hoodie. Still scrolled past his name and flinched. Still searched for pieces of him in strangers who never stood a chance. Still played their song on lonely nights—pretending it meant something again. Ray, on the other hand, had perfected the art of forgetting. He no longer texted her during thunderstorms. He didn’t visit the beach where they carved their initials into wet sand. He had unfollowed her on everything, like she was just a phase. A season. A page turned too soon. And he certainly didn’t cry while hearing their song—because Elina found out he had changed the playlist title from "Forever Us" to "Summer Vibes." She should’ve been angry. But anger requires energy. And Elina was tired. Tired of waiting for a text that would never come. Tired of rehearsing conversations that would never happen. Tired of loving someone who had stopped choosing her long before the end. One morning, she did something radical. She deleted his number. No backups. No screenshots. Just—gone. That same evening, she walked past the same bookstore, this time without flinching. She even bought a book. A romance novel, ironically. One that didn’t end with a broken girl waiting on a ghost. When the cashier smiled and said, “Good choice,” she didn’t think of Ray’s voice saying the same thing. She thought only of herself. And that felt like healing. That night, she lit a candle—not for memories, not for grief—but for herself. She went home and threw away the shoebox. Not in a dramatic, movie-like way. Just quietly. Like placing a memory to rest. She started to write again. Not poems about him. Not letters to him. But stories—about girls who healed. Who left. Who chose themselves over maybes and half-loves. Because Elina had realized something: You don’t need closure from someone who made a home in you and then moved out without a word. You just need to close the door yourself. And so she did. There were still hard days. Nights where she reached for her phone instinctively. Songs that made her pause. Dreams that ended with his name like a whisper. But each time, the pain lessened. Not disappeared—but lessened. She started journaling. Running. Laughing with friends she had pushed away when she was too consumed by him. And in the quietest moment—when the sun streamed through her window and the coffee tasted just right—Elina smiled again. It wasn’t the smile Ray once loved. It was stronger. Softer. Earned. Not for him. Not for anyone. Just for her.
By Muhammad Saleemabout a year ago in Fiction
The Wolf and the Boy: A Friendship Beyond Fear
Ayaan was an inquisitive and compassionate youngster who lived in a peaceful village encircled by thick forests. Even though he was only nine years old, he had the courage to take on the sky. On one occasion, Ayaan got lost while pursuing a vibrant butterfly close to the woods.
By Jobir Khanaabout a year ago in Fiction
Burn With Me
Burn With Me The golden dawn spilled over Vaeloria like melted honey, setting the city ablaze with light. The streets hummed with the clash of old magic and new greed, where the poor scraped for crumbs and the rich feasted on power. In the soot-stained lanes of **Cinderwick**, where the air smelled of crushed herbs and burning wood, **Saria Wren** stirred a pot of glowing elixirs. Her fingers, stained violet from twilight sage, moved with the quiet certainty of someone who knew the secrets of fire.
By Shakespeare Jrabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Forgotten Forest . AI-Generated.
The forest breathed a silent song — ancient and unspoken, its whispers threading through the trees like forgotten lullabies. Elara stood at the edge of the woods, her heart pounding with both fear and wonder. Somewhere deep inside, she felt a call she couldn’t ignore.
By Muhammad Riazabout a year ago in Fiction
You Are My Always: A Love That Lives Beyond Words"
My love, If words could truly hold the weight of what I feel for you, I’d write you a library. Every heartbeat, every breath, every quiet glance I give you—it all says “I love you” louder than my voice ever could. But tonight, let me try. Let me give you a piece of my soul, stitched together with the words I’ve held in my heart for too long. I didn’t know what love really was until you walked into my life—not like the movies or the songs, but the kind of love that lives in the silent moments. The kind that grows in everyday things. Like when you laugh at something silly and your eyes light up, or when your hand finds mine without thinking, as if it belongs there. You’ve changed me—not because you asked me to, but because your love made me want to be better. I remember the first time I saw you. It wasn't some grand moment. You weren't wearing anything fancy. You weren't trying to be noticed. But you were real. And something in me just... paused. The world kept moving, but I didn’t. I was caught in the orbit of you. And that day, unknowingly, you became home to me. You are the quiet comfort after a long day, the sunlight that filters through the chaos of life. You are my peace and my fire. With you, I am not afraid of the storms. Because I know no matter how hard life gets, your hand will still find mine. There are nights I lie awake thinking about how lucky I am. Not because you’re perfect—but because you're real, raw, and honest. You feel deeply. You care passionately. And you never fake your love. That’s rare. You are rare. A kind of once-in-a-lifetime soul that the universe only gives to those who wait, who believe, who dare to love deeply. And I must have done something right to have found you. Sometimes I wonder—have I told you enough? Have I told you how I love the way you wrinkle your nose when you're thinking too hard? How I adore the sound of your voice when you're excited about something, even if I don’t understand it fully? How I could spend forever getting lost in the way you look at the sky and dream bigger than anyone I know? And have I told you how much I admire your strength? The way you carry so much on your shoulders and still find reasons to smile. You’re a warrior, wrapped in softness, and I’m in awe of you every single day. You don’t just survive—you thrive, and in doing so, you lift others with you. You’ve lifted me, time and time again, even when I didn’t realize I needed saving. You’ve taught me what real love looks like—not perfect love, but honest love. The kind where we fight and forgive, where we mess up and start again. Where we grow, sometimes at different paces, but never away from each other. The kind where your flaws don’t scare me, and mine don’t push you away. That kind of love? It’s not made of fairy tales. It’s made of choice. And I choose you—over and over, always. I’ve seen you on your best days and your worst, and I’ve loved you in both. I’ve watched you laugh until you cry, and I’ve held you when the tears wouldn’t stop. I’ve walked beside you when the road was smooth and when it was covered in thorns. And through it all, one thing never changed—my heart always knew where it belonged. With you. There’s a forever in your smile that I can’t unsee. A safety in your arms that no place else offers. A future in your eyes that makes the past worth every struggle. You are my once-in-a-lifetime. My muse. My best friend. My great love. If ever the world forgets us, if our names fade from time and no one remembers who we were—know that in this moment, in this life, I loved you with every breath I had. I loved you the way the ocean loves the shore—coming back, again and again, no matter how many times the tide pulls away. And if someday we’re old and grey, sitting side by side, talking about the life we built—I’ll still look at you the same way I do now: like I’m seeing the greatest masterpiece ever painted. Because you are. You are art. You are poetry in motion. You are every beautiful thing the world tried to hide from me until it was time. Thank you for loving me when I wasn’t easy to love. For staying when you could’ve walked away. For believing in me, even when I doubted myself. For making “home” not a place, but a person. You. So if this letter is the last thing I ever get to say—let it be this: I love you. I always have. And I always, always will. Forever yours, Me
By Nimatullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Transcendence
Sarah had been a chorister for nearly twenty years, the Tuesday night ritual as ingrained as her own heartbeat. She knew the repertoire like the whisper of a dear friend’s name, every rise and fall familiar. But tonight, as the conductor’s baton sliced the air for Lux Aeterna, a piece woven into the very fabric of her soul through countless repetitions, an unbidden jolt of fresh wonder coursed through her. It wasn't merely a song; it felt like the very first breath of creation, trembling on the edge of sound. It felt like the very first time.
By Sam Hudginsabout a year ago in Fiction
“The Day I Decided to Be Brave”
It was a cloudy Thursday afternoon when everything changed for Mira. Sitting in her cramped, quiet apartment overlooking a rain-drenched street, she felt the weight of an unspoken challenge. As she scrolled through her messages, one notification stood out—a mysterious invitation with no return address, hinting at a challenge that promised to unravel secrets and change her fate. Mira’s heart pounded, and despite the creeping fear, an inner voice whispered that this was the moment to let go of her doubts.
By Cecilia Bawk Sengabout a year ago in Fiction
O Soave Fanciulla
Allen sat in a quiet and quaint Italian bistro, enjoying the gentle classical music in the background, lifting the atmosphere. He thought about how he’d waited a month for this night—since that unexpected coffee shop encounter. Though Samantha didn’t know at the time, it was a re-encounter.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
