Love

The Violin Case
The bridge was old. Stone arches flanked by corroded railings, weeping rust into the river below. It had carried horses and carts once, then cars, and now only memories. Nothing more.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Some Letters Should Not Be Found
Part I of this story was published last week: ****** Peter made his usual morning coffee and sat down at his desk. It was still early and quiet in the office. He took the letter out of his coat pocket, opened it, and read it:
By Calvin Londonabout a year ago in Fiction
I Sold My Memory to Pay Rent
1. — “The Memory Exchange” I didn’t think twice the first time I walked into the Memory Exchange. They say your first time should mean something. Maybe I should have cried, or clutched the edges of the memory like the edges of an old photograph, refusing to let it go. But I didn’t. I just sat there, numb, holding my hands in my lap like I was at a dentist’s office.
By Izazkhanabout a year ago in Fiction
Pre-Wedding Jitters
"...and the ceremony would take place here," Jill breezed past the ballroom at a fast clip, almost faster than Rosie could keep pace with. That wide, plasticky grin stayed on her Botox-filled face the entire time, her decoupaged clipboard tucked tight under her flabby arm. "Oh, and out here is the garden. Just look at all those flower buds! They should all be popped out by the big day. Can you imagine what a gorgeous backdrop that would make for pictures?!"
By Natalie Grayabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lurker. Content Warning.
It's 7:50 am, this is usually the time where she stands by the window and completely unaware. I draw the curtain just a little bit, enough for me to see you. You are taking off your shirt and reveal your smooth body. I watch as you slowly strap on your bra lifting your breasts, not that it is needed. You slide on your underwear and slip into your little black dress. How much I desire you, I want all of you. Oh and there’s your husband, he’s so ungrateful to you- cheating on you with his assistant. How dare he lay his lips on you? How could he betray such a gorgeous woman? I need to protect you from him, all I want is to protect you. You deserve better, you should be with me. After you leave for work he will invite his assistant over and they’ll get at it. We’ve never spoken all I know is that your name is Rebecca but you go by Becca. Photos and I can send them to you anonymously... Yes, then you’ll see what a pig he is. I will just have to sit and wait.
By Adrianna M. Braunabout a year ago in Fiction
The Notebook Left in the Rain
The Find It was the kind of gray Sunday that makes the city feel older than it is — leaves stuck to sidewalks, dogs reluctant to walk, and the park half-deserted. That’s when Daniel saw it: a journal, slumped near the foot of a bench, pages warped and bleeding ink like it had cried all night in the rain.
By Niaz Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Three Teacups and a Lie
Every Friday, without fail, the bells above the old wooden door of Maple & Mint Café jingled at precisely 3:00 PM. Inside, the café smelled like warm bread, honey, and chamomile—mixed with the scent of polished wood and old books. It was the heart of Ashwood Village, a quiet English town tucked between green hills and winding stone paths. Most tourists passed it by, but for three old women—Margot, Edna, and Florence—it was the epicenter of their lives.
By Keramatullah Wardakabout a year ago in Fiction
A Love Unbound
PROLOGUE: A Girl in the Attic A long time ago, nestled among ancient trees and sleeping hills, there was a small village forgotten by time.
By Rosalie Nguyenabout a year ago in Fiction
I Texted My Ex Every Day for a Month — Here's What I Learned
It started as a joke. Not the heartbreak—no, that was very real. That part felt like someone handed my heart a sledgehammer and whispered, “Smash yourself.” But the texting thing? That was me being stupid on purpose. Or so I told myself.
By wilderabout a year ago in Fiction
The Rain Smells Different Here"
The Rain Smells Different Here By Maavia tahir Letter One: First Storm My sweet Lila, It rained today. Not the warm, thick rain of our mango season, but a hesitant drizzle—cold like the tiled floors back home at dawn. I stood at the kitchen window of this borrowed flat, and I tried to pretend it was the same. I even closed my eyes.
By Maavia tahirabout a year ago in Fiction
grandad
He was there , once upon a time, along time ago. He was in my life briefly but he's influence remains many years after he passed and left me. In fact this is the 50th without him being there. Strangely , I am told again of the things we did together, the places we went and the tobacco tin of sweets. the strange bit is I remember the sweets, remember the time but struggle with his face.
By ASHLEY SMITHabout a year ago in Fiction
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
As for Danae, she had her knight in shining armour. In the city, as she ran errands she would feel eyes stripping her bare and snarky comments low enough for her to hear them, but no one dared to touch her because they feared Perseus, and that's what she feared if Perseus died during the quest she would have to be her own knight but she wasn't as big and tough as her son and she hated violence. She’d have to marry the king to be protected from the predators waiting to pounce on her, The King, though a predator in Danae’s eyes, she felt he was a better predator, at least she would be queen.
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Fiction