Love
The Pain I Hid Behind My Smile
People always said I had a beautiful smile. I’d hear it from teachers, friends, strangers in the grocery store. “You have such a bright smile,” they’d say. And I did. It was wide, practiced, and flawless. I wore it like armor. It was the one thing I could control when everything else in my life was falling apart.
By kamran khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Mirror Has Teeth
I always thought people who covered mirrors at night were just superstitious. The kind who burned sage, whispered to crystals, and talked about “bad energy” like it was weather. Not me. I’m practical. I’ve got a bullet journal, a plant I haven’t killed, and a reasonable fear of overdrafting—not ghosts. Then the mirror moved. I live alone. Top-floor studio, no roommates, no pets. Just me and whatever gets dragged home from thrift stores and auction lots. This one? A tall, ornate mirror with a black wooden frame. Ten bucks. It looked expensive, regal even. I thought I scored. Until I came home one night and it had shifted. I always leaned it against the far wall—across from the window, never the bed. But that evening, there it was: directly facing my mattress. Perfectly centered. I frowned. Maybe I bumped it? But it was heavy, and the floor was carpeted. Something in me itched. Something old. I turned it back and forgot about it. The next morning, it faced the bed again. This time, something was written in the dust on the frame. Not carved, not scratched—just lightly traced by a fingertip: STAY I stood there, frozen, with a toothbrush dangling from my mouth. And still—I didn’t get rid of it. Instead, I cleaned the message off and left it. Like an idiot in every horror movie who deserves what’s coming. By Wednesday, I started talking to it. I don’t know why. Maybe to prove I wasn’t scared. Maybe because I was. “Why are you doing this?” I asked. The mirror didn’t move. My reflection blinked when I did. But then… fog bloomed across the glass. From inside. And a new word formed, slowly, letter by letter: LISTEN I didn’t sleep that night. Thursday, I dreamt of the mirror. I was trapped inside it. The room was mirrored too—gray and lifeless. My reflection stood outside, grinning. She waved. I didn’t. Friday, I called my friend Sam. They came over with coffee and too many questions. “You sure you’re okay?” “I think so,” I said, as the mirror creaked behind me—loud enough for Sam to hear it too. We stared at it for hours. Sam dared me to ask it a question. “Who are you?” This time the answer came fast. Fog swirled and settled into one word: ME We didn’t speak for a while. Then Sam whispered, “It’s not haunted. It’s you. Or some version of you.” I didn’t want to believe that. I wanted to believe I was still in control of my own reflection. That it was glass and silver, not something alive. But the next night, I brought it into my bedroom again. Not by accident. Not because it moved. I wanted to see what would happen. At 2:13 a.m., the room went cold. The kind of cold that sinks into your lungs and refuses to leave. And then—she moved. Not me. Her. My reflection blinked on her own. She leaned forward. Tilted her head the way I used to as a kid when I was pretending to be curious. She mouthed words I almost understood. I stepped closer. She said: “I’m you. From the other side.” I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Then she said: “We switched once. When you were small. You cried for three days. Then you forgot.” And in that moment, I did remember. How I was terrified of mirrors as a child. How I used to cover them with blankets. How I insisted on sleeping with the lights on for nearly a year. “What do you want?” I asked, voice trembling. She smiled. Big. Crooked. Wrong. “To come back.” Sometimes, the scariest things aren’t ghosts or monsters—they’re the parts of ourselves we buried and forgot. And when the mirror shows you a truth you can’t unsee, you realize: some reflections don’t follow—they lead. And they want in.
By Dr Gabriel about a year ago in Fiction
🌸 Title: The Letter That Changed Everything . AI-Generated.
The Story: Ali had always known that the storeroom in his house was full of old things nobody cared about anymore. It was dark, dusty, and smelled of memories long forgotten. One quiet Sunday afternoon, when the summer sun made the rest of the house too hot to sit in, Ali decided to finally clean that room. He thought it would be boring work, but he never imagined it would change the way he saw love, family, and his own future.
By Saeedullah Shanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Things We Bury in the Wind
I came back because the wind wouldn’t stop whispering his name. It happens like this sometimes. A certain kind of dusk, the way shadows crawl through wheat fields, or the scent of rust and lilacs in the same breath—and suddenly, it’s all there again.
By Javid khanabout a year ago in Fiction
A North American Black Girl Fiction Love Story with a White Boy in University. AI-Generated.
University campuses often serve as the backdrop for youthful dreams, academic pursuits, and the bittersweet taste of first love. In North America, where diversity is vast but social divisions often linger, a love story between a Black girl and a White boy unfolds—a fictional yet powerful reflection of unity, struggle, and hope. This is not just a romantic tale but a symbolic journey that touches on race, culture, identity, and the heart’s courage to love beyond barriers.
By Lana Roseeabout a year ago in Fiction
The Ghost Who Fell in Love with a Living Girl . AI-Generated.
The moon hung full over the decaying silhouette of Rosewood Manor. Inside, the halls groaned with wind and memory—but Silas, the ghost of the house, moved quietly through them like breath in winter air. He had died more than a century ago, and the loneliness had long since settled into him like dust on forgotten books.
By Adrian-Razvan Ispasabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Could Hear Your Regrets
The Girl Who Could Hear Your Regrets Listening to Unspoken Regrets and Finding Hope in Forgiveness In a small, quiet town nestled between rolling hills and dense forests, there lived a girl named Mira, who possessed a gift unlike any other. From a young age, she could hear the unspoken regrets of those around her — the quiet whispers of what might have been, the silent wishes to turn back time and make different choices. This ability was not something she had asked for, nor something she fully understood. It was a burden and a blessing, a constant murmur in her mind that painted the world in hues of sorrow, hope, and longing.
By Muhammad Asimabout a year ago in Fiction
Kevin’s Kite and the Big Sky Promise
Kevin stood at the edge of the hill, gripping the handle of his bright red kite. The wind tugged playfully at the string, eager to pull it into the sky. The hill was the highest place in town, and the sky above it seemed endless—like it could carry anything, even the heaviest thoughts.
By YOUNG MINDSETabout a year ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Traded His Smile
In the small town of Tumbledown, everyone was always rushing. Cars honked, bicycles zipped by, and people hurried through their days with serious faces. But in the middle of all this busy noise lived a boy named Nico who had a smile so bright it was like a little ray of sunshine on a cloudy day.
By YOUNG MINDSETabout a year ago in Fiction
The Magician
“Jesus, Verone, you’re bleeding again!” Her brother sighed in annoyance. Sitting in front of her brother in the grass area, far from the procession, the little girl’s chubby hands pressed flat on her nose, attempting to stop the red river, flowing rapidly down her nostrils. Her eyes looked sadly as her brother stomped away to get tissues, his coffin shoes getting dirty from the mud.
By Khedesia Knight about a year ago in Fiction
