Love
A Himalayan Adventure That Changed Us
Last year, my best friend and I did something reckless—we booked tickets to Nepal on a whim. Neither of us had ever trekked seriously before. I’d get winded climbing stairs to my apartment; she thought "hydration" meant drinking coffee. Yet there we were, standing in Kathmandu’s chaotic streets, staring at our oversized backpacks and realizing: We’re actually doing this.
By michal lendenabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lover Who Lived in My Dreams
She wasn’t a supermodel. She didn’t have the kind of face that stopped time or made men trip over their own tongues. But to me, she was unforgettable. Skin like warm earth after rain, eyes deep and dark like unanswered prayers, and a laugh that made the silence afterward feel too loud. She first appeared in a dream when I was seventeen, and somehow, she kept coming back. At first, I thought it was random. A trick of the mind. One of those subconscious mash-ups of faces you’ve seen in passing—a stranger at a bus stop, someone’s cousin at a wedding, an image from a music video. But then she came again. And again. Same full lips, same quiet confidence, same calm presence that made my chest settle. She was never loud, never flashy. But she always felt… necessary. I used to tell my friends about her. They laughed, joked about me watching too many romantic movies, said I needed to get out more. I stopped talking about her after a while. Not because I stopped dreaming about her, but because it felt too personal—like sharing her would somehow make her less mine. In the real world, I dated other women. There were connections, sure. Some good moments, even real feelings. But none of them felt like her. I’d lie in bed after dates, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I missed someone I’d never really met. Some nights, I’d close my eyes just to see if she’d come back. She always did. Not every night, but often enough to feel real. In my dreams, we talked about life. She asked me why I was always running—from love, from failure, from myself. We sat in kitchens with flickering bulbs, walked dusty roads holding hands, shared music and memories that weren’t mine but felt like they could be. She told me she was proud of me once, and I woke up with tears on my pillow. I never even got her name. One night, she didn’t show. Then a week passed. A month. My dreams were filled with randomness—noisy, forgettable scraps. Her absence was a dull ache I couldn’t explain. I missed her in a way I couldn’t talk about without sounding crazy. I felt like someone who’d lost a country he’d never visited, but knew was home. I was 26 when I saw her in real life. Not in a dream. Not in passing. Real, breathing, alive. She walked into the small bookstore downtown where I’d been helping out on weekends. Wore a simple burgundy dress, hair tied in a loose bun. No makeup. Just her. She wasn’t exactly the same—her nose was a bit narrower, her smile a little crooked—but everything else… the feel of her? That was unchanged. She looked at me. Paused. “Do I know you?” she asked. I wanted to say, I’ve known you my whole life. But I just smiled and said, “Not yet.” Her name was Ujunwa. She was studying social work, loved old books and hated sweet coffee. We sat and talked for an hour that first day. I didn’t tell her about the dreams. Not then. But I knew it in my bones—this wasn’t coincidence. This was convergence. Falling for her in real life was different. Messier. No dream sequences. No perfect timing. She had doubts, moods, and a stubborn streak that could stretch for miles. But God, she was real. And with her, so was I. Maybe the woman in my dreams was never meant to be a fantasy. Maybe she was a guide—an echo of what was waiting if I stayed open long enough, patient enough, alive enough to notice. The lover who lived in my dreams taught me how to hope. The woman who walked into that bookstore? She’s teaching me how to stay.
By Chinonso Kingsleyabout a year ago in Fiction
Petals of the Storm. AI-Generated.
Petals of the Storm Rain lashed against the windowpane of the tiny apartment as Mira sat curled up on the edge of her couch, the mug of untouched tea cooling in her hands. Outside, the world blurred with grey; inside, her mind echoed with silence—dense, aching, and raw.
By The Last Loveabout a year ago in Fiction
When We Were Almost Forever
Chapter One: Locker 214 Jace never believed in fate, until the day he dropped his physics textbook and it landed right on Erin's foot. "I'm so sorry!" he stammered, crouching to pick it up. Erin, the girl who sat two rows in front of him in English class, the girl with honey-blonde hair and constellation freckles, smiled like it was no big deal. “At least it wasn’t *War and Peace*. You’re forgiven.” That was the start. They talked between classes. Then after school. Then late into the night on FaceTime. Suddenly, Erin’s blue hoodie was always draped around Jace’s shoulders, and his sketchbook had a dozen drawings of her smile. They weren’t officially “together”—not yet. But in their own world, they were everything. --- Chapter Two: The Lie That Grew Their bubble burst during spring break. Erin didn’t text back for a whole day. Then two. When she finally called, her voice was small. "My cousin Mia said she saw you with Lila. At the arcade." Jace blinked. “Lila? She was there, yeah—but we were in a group. You know that.” But Erin didn’t sound convinced. And Jace didn’t know it at the time, but Mia had always envied Erin. Especially when it came to things Mia couldn’t have—like attention. Or Jace. Slowly, Mia planted seeds. Little lies. Twisted truths. “She said you were laughing *with* Lila. Really close.” “She said you were holding her bag. Why would you do that unless...?” Erin wanted to believe Jace. But doubt crept in. Jealousy blurred the lines. Jace tried to hold on. To prove he was loyal. But every week, it felt like she was pulling further away. Until one night, she sent a message that read like a punch: **“I think we should stop pretending this is forever.”** --- Chapter Three: A Different Kind of Silence The hallways weren’t the same after that. They passed each other like strangers. Her friends whispered when he walked by. He stopped sitting in the courtyard. Stopped drawing. Everyone thought Jace had cheated. No one knew the truth. And Erin didn’t correct them. But it wasn’t spite. Not really. It was confusion. Hurt. Mia’s manipulation had woven itself so deep that even Erin wasn’t sure what had been real anymore. And sometimes, it’s easier to let something fall apart than face the fear of being wrong. --- Chapter Four: Graduation Confession Two years passed. They barely spoke. They dated other people. Moved on—or pretended to. Then, on graduation day, just before caps flew and people scattered to their futures, Jace saw her by Locker 214. The same place it all began. “Erin.” She turned, eyes widening. “I just need to ask,” he said. “Was it really because of Mia? The Lila thing? Or was it something else?” She looked down. Bit her lip. “I believed her,” she admitted. “And I hated myself for it later. But by then… it felt too late.” “It wasn’t,” Jace said softly. “You just never asked me.” She looked at him, years of unspoken words rushing into her throat. But instead of spilling, she gave a sad smile. “Maybe we were just a 'what if' story.” Jace nodded. “Yeah. The kind that still hurts.” They hugged—briefly, painfully. Then let go. --- Epilogue: Years Later Jace published his first graphic novel at 22. It was about two high school kids who almost got it right. In the final panel, the girl walks away with the caption: "Some people aren't meant to stay. They're meant to teach you how deeply you can feel." And on the dedication page, in fine print: “For E. You were my favorite almost.”
By Muhammad Ahmar about a year ago in Fiction
The Dragon’s Oath: A Tale of Ashes and Roses
Chapter 1: The Bargain The village of Blackthorn was dying. For months, the great black dragon Ignarion had circled their skies, his shadow darkening the fields, his fiery breath withering their crops. The elders had tried offerings—gold, livestock, even their finest wines—but nothing satisfied the beast. Then, one fateful evening, the dragon spoke.
By The Lost Books - "Libri Perditi"about a year ago in Fiction
Veil of Vengeance
Chapter 1: Shadows of the Past The thunder rumbled ominously over the sprawling city of Argentum, a metropolis where shadows hid secrets darker than the night itself. Amidst the rain-soaked streets, Elena Mercer moved swiftly, her trench coat pulled tightly around her, eyes alert and calculating. She was a woman with a haunted past, her heart scarred by betrayals and loss.
By MOHAMMED NAZIM HOSSAINabout a year ago in Fiction
The Man Who Stood in Silence
The Man Who Stood in Silence By the old pond behind our house, a man stood like a statue, day after day. His name was Kishor, but no one ever heard him say it. He wore a frayed brown hat, its edges curled by years of sun and rain, and a sweater that had long lost its color to dust. His glasses, smudged and scratched, hid eyes that seemed to stare at something far beyond the murky water.
By MD Hamim Islamabout a year ago in Fiction
