Love

Mena-Raju and the Case of the Missing Ilish
Setting: In the quiet riverside village of Shonargram, life is simple. The morning breeze carries the call of the muezzin, fishermen cast nets in the river Padma, and children run barefoot through jute fields. But peace is often short-lived when Mena and Raju, the village’s most curious duo, are around.
By sadhin khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Mena and the Cloud Cat Caper
Meet Mena: A bold, wide-eyed 10-year-old girl with an oversized yellow hoodie, sky-blue hair that changes shades with her mood, and sneakers that leave sparkles behind when she runs. Mena lives in Fluffridge, a floating village tucked among the clouds, where birds deliver the mail and bubble tea literally grows on trees.
By sadhin khanabout a year ago in Fiction
When Our Eyes First Met
The train station was busier than usual that morning. People were rushing past each other, both with the rush of deadlines and the usual burden. I stood by the ticket machine, fumbling with change, a little annoyed that the day had already begun in chaos. My bag strap had broken, I was late, and the coffee in my hand had already spilled a little on my white kurti.
By Ramyaabout a year ago in Fiction
Promise Beneath the Iron Sky
"" It all began in a quiet corner of Paris, in a school tucked between cobbled lanes and blooming lilacs. Madame Éloïse Moreau, a literature teacher, was known for her poise, her warmth, and the way she made even the dullest child fall in love with poetry. Her life was calm — a gentle routine of books, children’s laughter, and early evening walks along the Seine.
By Emmanuel Andrewabout a year ago in Fiction
Mr. Whiskers
Poor Mr. Whiskers… My mom said that every time I tell a story, start from “the big beginning”. I will try to do that now. Mom said that we were going to take a very big trip and I got excited and she said don’t be excited because you will have to go to the bathroom and I just put you in your favourite coat and hat with those boots (my feet hurt). I did not get that excited, but I was happy that we were taking the trip, but where was dad? Dad had to work that week and we could not take a trip with him so we should just enjoy it and maybe not tell daddy everything about what we do.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Was Allergic to Love
By [Hubrexx] In a small, rain-drenched town where time moved slowly and hearts beat in silence, there lived a girl named Elara with a peculiar condition—she was allergic to love.
By HUBREXXabout a year ago in Fiction
"I Randomly Have a New Career Every Week": A Dynamic Blend of Comedy, Growth, and Social Commentary
• Introduction: One Man, Endless Professions In a world where people spend decades mastering one career, imagine waking up every Monday with a completely new job—and the skills to do it flawlessly. That’s the wild, exhilarating, and often hilarious reality for Lin Yi, the protagonist of the Chinese manhua I Randomly Have a New Career Every Week (我每周随机一个新职业).
By Akib Akhterabout a year ago in Fiction
Bound by Mistake
She was an ordinary girl—simple, soft-spoken, and hardworking. When she got a job at a big company, she thought her dreams were coming true. She didn’t know her life was about to change forever.
By Hooreyaabout a year ago in Fiction
Fierce Hearts
The rain fell in sheets, drumming against the roof of the small cabin in the woods. Inside, the fire crackled softly, its warmth filling the air. But the warmth Margo felt wasn’t just from the flames. It was from the man sitting across from her, his dark eyes burning with a kind of intensity that made her heart race.
By Rohullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers Through Stone
Whispers Through Stone In the shadow of an ancient wall, two realms once stood: the Forest of Whispers and the Courtyard of Echoes. They were lands of opposite breath—one wild, untamed, and whispering secrets into the breeze, the other silent, symmetrical, and ruled by stillness. In the Forest lived Lyra, a silver-leafed vine that danced with the wind. Her tendrils curled freely around fallen trunks and mossy rocks, blooming lilac blossoms at random, unexpected turns. She knew no boundaries—only seasons, storms, and the sun. Beyond the stone wall, rooted in a bed of marble tiles, stood Caius, a sculpted topiary tree carved into the shape of a crown. Pruned with precision and watered with measured cups, Caius had never grown beyond his shape. He had been trimmed into obedience, the pride of the Courtyard—a symbol of permanence. One spring morning, a breeze broke through a crack in the wall. It carried with it the scent of lilac and freedom. Caius felt it before he saw her. A shiver through his branches. A stirring that no gardener could control. Then he noticed her—just a sliver of silver, a shimmer of color curling over the stones. Lyra, curious and bold, climbed the wall. She peeked through a crumbling crevice and met Caius’s gaze—not through eyes, but through stillness and sway. It was an exchange of essence. A language of longing without words. She tilted toward him. He tilted back. The breeze became their voice. --- The Rules and the Risk The Courtyard flowers hissed softly, “She’s a vine—wild. She tangles, she takes. She does not belong.” The forest whispered back, “He’s trimmed. Cold. Rooted in fear.” But Lyra and Caius had begun something deeper than permission. They met daily at the gap between stones, exchanging pollen-laced breezes and the warmth of leaning shadows. Lyra taught Caius how to grow beyond form. Caius showed Lyra the beauty in stillness. Seasons passed. The gardeners noticed Caius had grown oddly—one branch curling toward the wall. They cut it twice. It regrew both times. Eventually, they placed iron bars across the crack, a barrier to silence the reaching. But love, once seeded, does not stop with fences. --- The Blooming One night, under a thunder-heavy sky, Lyra did something never done before. She let go of the wall. She stretched her vine through the stonework, through iron bars, and down into the cold courtyard soil. It was a daring reach—a choice to grow where she was not wanted. Caius shuddered. He extended a branch down, offering shade and protection. For the first time, the Courtyard saw a wild bloom. It was beautiful. And then it was gone. The next morning, the gardeners tore the vine away. They called it an infestation. Lyra’s blossom was uprooted. Her tendril severed. The wall sealed with mortar and stone. On the other side, Lyra recoiled, wounded. A part of her had been buried in silence. She stopped growing. Her silver leaves dulled to gray. Caius, in turn, refused to bloom that year. --- Separation Years passed. The Courtyard began to crack—its perfection too costly to maintain. The Forest thrived, spilling new vines over the wall, but never again daring to cross it. Lyra remained, old now, her blossoms rare but vibrant. Caius stood still, now grown wild from neglect. No gardener came to shape him. No iron barred his limbs. In the silence of ruin, something stirred. A seed, dropped long ago from Lyra’s blossom, hidden in the cracked courtyard stone, began to root. It had waited through winters. Now it sprouted. It was neither vine nor tree. It curled and stood. Its leaves shimmered silver-green. Its shape—untamed. Its scent—familiar. Caius, older now, bent toward it. --- The Return The Forest wind carried Lyra’s scent again—stronger, sweeter. This time, there was no wall to block it. One day, beneath an open sky, a young traveler wandered into the ruins of the Courtyard. There, in the center, grew a strange and radiant plant—winding yet proud, soft yet resilient. It bent with grace and stood with strength. The traveler called it “Stonebloom.” Soon, it spread—growing through cracks in cities, pushing through pavement, climbing fences, standing beside roses and ivy. No gardener knew how to contain it. No wall could hold it back. Some said it was invasive. Others said it was hope. But in the silence of the old courtyard, where whispers once curled through stone, those who listened closely could hear it still— A vine and a tree. Two lives. One love.
By Abidullah about a year ago in Fiction
The Hidden Princess👰
A Czar lived in a village. He had three sons. He wanted his sons to marry very beautiful and well behaved girls. But it was not easy to get girls of his choice.
By Nikita Angelabout a year ago in Fiction
LAST LETTER
Last letter The love of Nisha and Aritra started like a movie. Seeing the first time in class twilight, then friendship, and after that, love slowly. A ten -year relationship - it was so long after the storm, no one could think that one day the relationship would break. But life is not the same forever. People change, feel change, and time changes everything.
By sagorbariabout a year ago in Fiction