Love
The Seed. Content Warning.
Dig a hole. Plant the seed. Bury with soil. Dig a hole. Plant the seed. Bury with soil. I'm hunched over the flowerbed with dirt caked up to my elbows. The sun is harsh upon my back, and the ground is hard under my knees. It's been 179 days since I realized that the safest thing to do was to act exactly how you wanted me to. Even if it was the exact opposite of how I really felt.
By New England Poet about a year ago in Fiction
The Shape of Almost
Elena had always believed love would feel like sunlight—warm, sure, and constant. And for a while, it did. Or maybe she’d just convinced herself it did. It was easy to believe when James held her hand in public, when he kissed her forehead before bed, when he told her he loved her every morning like it was a reflex.
By Elendionneabout a year ago in Fiction
The Love That Was Never Chosen: Solua’s Silent Struggle and Nency’s Broken Heart
Solua was never heartless. He loved Nency, quietly, deeply—but never loudly. His eyes often searched for her, and his heart beat a little faster when she laughed. But he never said a word.
By Silent Tearsabout a year ago in Fiction
The Fire Prince & the Girl Who Spoke Storms
The Fire Prince & the Girl Who Spoke Storms When love threatens the balance between fire and thunder. In the beginning, the world was forged in the clash of two ancient forces—Fire and Storm. From that war, two kingdoms rose: Pyronis, where flames danced across molten plains, and Caelithar, where thunder ruled the skies and rain whispered secrets to the earth. For centuries, the two realms kept their fragile balance, separated by the Veil—a shimmering wall of ancient magic. Prince Kaelen of Pyronis was born of living fire. His breath could melt steel, and his anger set the air ablaze. Raised as a weapon, he was taught one truth: never trust the sky-born. Thunder, they said, was chaos—a threat to the order of flame. But Kaelen had questions. Why did fire always destroy, while storms could bring both death and life? Far across the Veil, in the quiet cliffs of Caelithar, lived a girl who was never meant to be found. Elira was the stormchild—a rare soul whose voice could bend clouds, call lightning, and stir the sea to fury. She kept to the shadows, hiding her power. The skies whispered her name, and thunder pulsed to her heartbeat. One night, Kaelen crossed the Veil under a blood moon, flames crackling along his blade. His mission: to kill the girl prophesied to tear the balance apart. He found her on the cliffs, singing to the sky. Her voice stopped him cold. Elira turned, eyes glowing silver, hair tossing with the wind. “You’re far from home, fire prince,” she said, her voice soft but laced with storm. Kaelen raised his sword. “You’re the stormspeaker.” “I am.” “You threaten the balance.” “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I’m meant to restore it.” Lightning cracked overhead, but Kaelen didn’t flinch. Something in her gaze melted the fury in him. He hesitated. That hesitation changed everything. Instead of striking, he spoke. For hours they argued—fire against storm, prince against outcast. But words turned to understanding, and understanding turned to something more dangerous. Curiosity. Connection. Desire. Night after night, Kaelen returned. They met in secret, each encounter more intense than the last. She taught him to listen to thunder without fear. He showed her that fire could warm, not just destroy. Their powers danced together, strange but beautiful. Where they touched, lightning sparked and embers rose into glowing clouds. But magic has memory, and the world does not forget. The storms grew wild. Forests burned. Skies raged. The elders of Pyronis and Caelithar met in dread—they knew what was happening. Fire and storm were never meant to love. “End her,” Kaelen’s father commanded, fury in his molten eyes. “Or your flame will be extinguished forever.” But Kaelen could not kill her. So they ran. Through ancient ruins and forgotten skies, hunted by both kingdoms, they searched for the truth. In the heart of the shattered world, they found it: a relic older than time, etched with prophecy. "When flame and thunder fall in love, the world will break... and begin again." Their love wasn’t a curse. It was the key. But only if they dared to fall completely—burning and broken, storm-swept and wild. On the edge of the world, they stood together as armies closed in. Kaelen’s hands burned bright, Elira’s song curled with thunder. “If we die,” he whispered, “I want to die knowing we tried.” She reached for him. “No,” she said. “We don’t die. We become.” And then—fire kissed storm. A blast of light swallowed the battlefield. When the glow faded, the armies were gone. The Veil had shattered. And from its remains rose a new dawn—where clouds glowed like embers and flame danced with rain. No one saw the Fire Prince and the Girl Who Spoke Storms again. But legends say they became the heart of the world itself. Whenever fire warms gently… or thunder rolls without rage… they say it’s them, still dancing. Still in love.
By Samson E. Giftedabout a year ago in Fiction
Meet You in the Heaven
The old oak tree still stood where it always had, at the crest of the hill, overlooking the quiet town of Elmridge. Time had weathered its bark and thinned its branches, but it stood strong, just as they had once vowed to do. Every fall, the wind scattered golden leaves across the graveled path where Evelyn and Thomas used to walk hand in hand. Now, only Evelyn walked it, a cane in her right hand and a folded letter in her left.
By Sarwar Zebabout a year ago in Fiction
A Story of Love
I used to believe love and hate were opposite ends of a spectrum. But that was before I met her.Rhea. She entered my life like a storm in the dead of summer—unexpected, loud, and with the power to rearrange everything. I hated her the moment I met her, and maybe that was why I couldn't stop looking. We first crossed paths in our literature class during our final year at university. She was loud, opinionated, and constantly challenged everything I said. I was precise, methodical, and believed that words were tools—not weapons. She, on the other hand, wielded them like knives dipped in honey. “Love is a battlefield,” she said one day in class. “It’s not sweet, it’s not safe. It’s war.” I scoffed. “Sounds like you’ve never been in love.” She didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “Sounds like you’ve never been in war.” Everyone laughed. I didn’t. That was the beginning. We were assigned as partners for a final project—an in-depth analysis of tragic love stories across literature. Irony, the professor said. I cursed him internally. We met after class, surrounded by the scent of old books and bitter coffee in the university café. I suggested Wuthering Heights, thinking the classic tale would impress her. She rolled her eyes. “Too predictable. Let's do The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Love, sex, politics—messy and real.” Of course, she would pick something like that. We argued for days. Over the theme. Over the characters. Over the damn font on the presentation slides. But somewhere between heated debates and silent, stormy glances, something shifted. I started looking forward to our meetings. The day she showed up soaked from the rain, cursing the weather and still holding a crumpled printout of her notes, I offered her my hoodie without thinking. She looked surprised. “Wow. You have a heart.” “You sound disappointed,” I replied, smirking. We laughed. For the first time, without tension. It was strange, how quickly the lines blurred.
By Muhammad Numan Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
I Met My Future Self in a Dream—And I Listened
It started like any other dream—vague, ungrounded, fleeting. I was standing in my childhood bedroom, the walls still that same pale blue, the posters from my teenage years impossibly back on the walls. It was home but.not quite. Like something recalled that had been changed.
By Amzad Rahidabout a year ago in Fiction
The king, the handmaiden and the doctor
There was once a king who held both political and spiritual power. One day, he went hunting with his courtiers. On the way, he saw a handmaiden and fell in love with her. He paid money to buy her and was able to fulfill his desire. However, she became ill as a result of destiny. In order to save her, the king gathered doctors from everywhere and told them, “Our lives depend on you. My life doesn’t matter, but hers does. I am in pain and she is my cure. Whoever can heal her will receive my treasure and pearls, big and small.” The doctors all promised to use their intelligence and risk their lives to help. They believed that each of them was the savior of a world and had a medicine for every illness. However, they were arrogant and didn’t say “if God wills it.” As a result, God showed them their own weakness. Omitting the phrase “if God wills it” shows a lack of humility. Saying the phrase doesn’t guarantee humility. Many people don’t say the phrase but still have humility in their hearts. Despite their efforts, the more treatments they tried, the worse the illness became and they couldn’t fix it.
By SAQIB AKRAMabout a year ago in Fiction
