Love

In the Quiet of Her Store
The chime above the door rarely rang these days. Evelyn sat behind the counter of her small corner store, "Maple & Dust," named not for any product it sold, but for the way light danced through the maple tree outside and settled like soft memory across the shelves. The store had once been a modest hub of the neighborhood—filled with jars of candy, handwritten notes pinned to a corkboard, and local stories traded over the purchase of sewing needles or loose-leaf tea.
By Taslim Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
A morning of misunderstanding
It was morning. A kind of orange sun came through the Thai glass of the balcony and made the room sparkle. Shan's room was already filled with orange bedsheets, curtains and carpets. As soon as he woke up, his mood was spoiled. He forgot to draw the curtains of the window last night—such a beautiful sleep was ruined
By Ishrat Jahan about a year ago in Fiction
Echoes of the Unsent
Echoes of the Unsent “Every message you delete still gets delivered—just not to the person you think.” Layla stared at the message on her screen.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction
💟 Silent Love~~Pert~01
Your shirt is getting wet. The rain is getting heavier. Please come inside, or you’ll catch a cold later. Mahad looked up at the faint, trembling voice. His gaze was calm and steady. He replied softly,
By Ramjan Hossanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day I Chose Myself – Part 2:
Ayaan stood in the doorway of her small coastal studio, soaked in rain, eyes carrying a storm much older than the one outside.
By Elowen Ray about a year ago in Fiction
A Test of Truth: A Short Story About Integrity
The Surprise That Changed Everything It was a misty Friday morning in Greenhill Town. The school bell had just rung, and class 7B at Oakridge School was buzzing with chatter and sleepy yawns. But something unusual was about to happen—something that would test more than just academic skills.
By Ahmad Malikabout a year ago in Fiction
The Echo of Your Name
I still walk the path we once wandered, the one that curves along the lake and disappears into the woods. It hasn’t changed much—same moss-covered stones, same rustle of leaves overhead—but without you, it feels like walking through a memory instead of a place.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Your Name Was My Favorite Word—Until It Wasn’t
I used to carve it into fogged shower glass with one careful finger. Whisper it to my pillow like a prayer. Let it roll around my mouth like the last sip of good wine—*your name*, a sacrament in three syllables. Now it sits in my throat like a rusted blade. I discovered the shift gradually: - **Phase 1:** Flinching when someone else said it (a barista, a telemarketer, *her* laughing at a party) - **Phase 2:** Practicing saying it aloud until the letters lost all meaning - **Phase 3:** Realizing I’d forgotten which syllable you stressed when angry The final betrayal came at the DMV. The clerk asked for my emergency contact. My pen hovered. For the first time in ten years, my hand wrote *someone else’s name* without trembling. I expected grief. What came was quieter—like when a song you’ve heard too often suddenly sounds hollow. Like when a childhood home, revisited, smells of strangers. I trace the shape of your name in the dust on my dashboard. The consonants don’t fit together right anymore. Funny how love letters turn into obituaries turn into just words. --- Devastating Details: - **The DMV scene** - Brutal bureaucracy of heartbreak - **Syllable stress memory** - Intimacy’s erosion measured in linguistics - **Dashboard dust tracing** - The ghost of old habits
By Wiki Rjmabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of Sunset: Horse and Sheep
“The Promise of the Valley” Nestled deep in the folds of a forgotten valley, where the golden light of the setting sun kissed the river’s winding curves, lived two unlikely companions—a sturdy chestnut horse named Bramble and a curious black sheep named Thistle.
By Mukhtiar Ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The Old Ones Lighthouse
To My Dearest Love, I still hear the sea speak with your voice, each night, taunting me. Every crash of a wave upon these algae covered rocks reminds me of the first night we spent here. Memories echo through this now lonely lighthouse. I hear your voice whisper in the wind and see your face in the main lantern.
By Daniel Millingtonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Art of Breaking Without a Sound
You learn the technique quickly—how to dissolve into nothingness without disturbing the air. **Step 1: The Disappearing Act** Start with the small things: - Stop humming in the shower - Let your coffee go cold - Bite your tongue instead of laughing Watch how no one notices. **Step 2: The Silent Shatter** Your bones will fracture first. Not the dramatic, splintering kind—just quiet stress fractures from holding everything too tightly. Ribs from suppressed sobs. Fingers from clutching the phone that never lights up. The doctor will call it "osteoporosis of the soul" (though he'll write "vitamin D deficiency" on your chart). **Step 3: The Vanishing** One morning you'll stare at your reflection and realize: You've become a museum of someone else's memories. Your skin—just parchment for their fingerprints. Your voice—an echo of conversations they've forgotten. The masterpiece? When they finally look up from their coffee and say, *"You've been so quiet lately,"* you'll smile (soft, practiced) and whisper, *"I've always been like this."* And they'll believe you.
By Wiki Rjmabout a year ago in Fiction
Masturbation and Infertility
Masturbation is a topic often shrouded in myths, misconceptions, and taboos. One persistent claim is that it causes infertility—a fear that has lingered in cultural narratives for generations. But what does science actually say? Spoiler alert: the idea that masturbation leads to infertility is a myth with no credible evidence. Let’s dive into the facts, bust some myths, and explore why this topic deserves a clear, shame-free discussion.
By Doctor Strangeabout a year ago in Fiction