Love
Everybody Deserves a 2nd Chance
July 18th, 2025 – 6:00 AM Traveling the historic Route 66, you will find that it intersects an old desert road. Turn down that road and travel about 10 miles and you will find a broken-down Jeep. The engine is still hot, and smoke is still pouring out. It’s not hard to tell that it was recently abandoned.
By David E. Perryabout a year ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Offered Her Heart
Kampala. Even the name whispers of gentle hills and the warmth of the South Asian sun. Kampala wasn't merely a collection of dwellings, it breathed in the cradle of emerald hills, a secret held close by the ancient land. Sunlight, thick as honey, dripped through the canopy of the surrounding forests, painting dappled patterns on the winding paths that led to its heart.
By Tales by J.J.about a year ago in Fiction
Harvest of Feelings
Emotion Farming They used to harvest wheat. Now, they harvest us. The fields stretched like golden veins under a bruised, twilight sky, humming with the soft pulse of buried sorrow. Each crystalline stalk shimmered faintly—tall and ethereal, trembling not from wind, but from a deeper current: the residue of human emotion, cultivated and contained.
By Muhammad Zohaib Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
When Hearts Collide: A Story of Love and Healing
The coffee shop on 5th Avenue had always been her sanctuary. Amelia loved the hum of quiet conversation, the scent of roasted beans, and the cozy corner table by the window where she sketched designs for her fashion line. It was her little bubble—predictable, peaceful, and safe. Until he walked in. Ethan Cole was a storm in a suit. He stepped through the door like he belonged to every room he entered—confident, unreadable, and distractingly handsome. Amelia looked up for just a moment when the bell chimed, but that single second was enough. Their eyes met. She quickly looked away, but her heart skipped like it hadn’t in years. He ordered black coffee, no sugar. Sat at the table next to hers. Flipped open a laptop, pretending to work, though his gaze kept drifting toward her. And hers toward him. It went on like that for days. Shared silences. Lingering glances. A quiet awareness. Then, one morning, it happened. “You’re an artist?” he asked, nodding to her open sketchbook. She blinked, surprised. “Designer. Clothes.” He smiled. And it was devastating. “They’re good.” She gave a cautious laugh. “You can’t even tell what they are.” “I know talent when I see it.” That was the beginning. They started talking—brief exchanges between sips of coffee. She learned he was a tech consultant, building a startup that consumed most of his time and energy. He learned she had recently walked away from a long, toxic relationship and was in the process of rebuilding—her career, her confidence, her sense of self. He admired her resilience. She admired his quiet intensity. Over the weeks, casual conversations turned into long walks after coffee, shared playlists, and late-night messages that made her heart race again. It terrified her. Ethan was everything she wasn’t looking for—unpredictable, driven, emotionally present in a way that felt overwhelming. But he saw her. Really saw her. And that scared her more than anything. One evening, after a gallery show downtown, he offered her a ride home. The air was crisp, and city lights shimmered across the windshield. He glanced at her. “Why do you always pull away when we get close?” She looked down at her hands, then out the window. “Because I’ve been broken before. And I don’t know if I can survive it again.” Ethan slowed the car and pulled over. The engine hummed in the background as he turned to face her fully. “Amelia,” he said gently, “I’m not here to break you. I’m here to meet you halfway. But I can’t do that if you keep running.” Her chest tightened. His words were calm but unwavering, like a tide she couldn’t hold back. “I’m scared,” she whispered. “So am I,” he said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “But sometimes... the best things happen when hearts collide.” Something shifted. She leaned in. So did he. Their kiss was slow, hesitant, electric. That night, the pieces of her heart—once scattered and guarded—began to find their way back together. It wasn’t perfect. There were moments of doubt, retreat, and the haunting whispers of old wounds. But they kept choosing each other. Again and again. Ethan showed up on her worst days with coffee and silence. She encouraged him when the weight of his startup became too heavy. They learned how to fight without fear, how to hold space for each other’s pain, and how to grow—together. Seasons changed. So did they. Amelia’s fashion line started gaining traction. Ethan’s startup landed its first round of investment. Their mornings shifted from stolen glances in a coffee shop to shared breakfasts at her kitchen table, laughing over burnt toast and sleepy kisses. One snowy afternoon, as they passed the very coffee shop where it all began, he stopped. “Remember this place?” he asked with a smirk. She smiled. “Kind of hard to forget.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Her breath caught. “I don’t want predictable,” he said. “I want the chaos, the fear, the courage. I want us. All of it.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, before he even asked the question. Because when hearts collide, they don’t always break. Sometimes, they create something unshakable.
By Noor Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Message in a Bottle
The tide was low when Anna spotted the bottle. She almost missed it—half-submerged, caught between the rocks, glinting faintly in the last light of day. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the horizon in hues of burnt orange and violet. She was walking along the shore as she did every evening, chasing the silence that only the sea could offer.
By Alpha Cortexabout a year ago in Fiction
Starlight in Her Veins
The Whisper of War The galaxy had been quiet for too long. Whispers of rebellion and conquest moved through the stars like static in the void. Empires crumbled, coalitions formed, and the outer systems—long left to their own fate—began to rise. Humanity, fractured and scattered across dozens of planets, teetered on the edge of collapse. War was no longer a question. It was a countdown.
By Shah Jehanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Story of The Little Good Boy
The Unconventional goodness of the Jacob Blivens Once there was a good little boy by the name of Jacob Blivens. He always obeyed his parents, no matter how absurd and unreasonable their demands were; and he always learned his book, and never was late at Sabbath-school. He would not play hookey, even when his sober judgment told him it was the most profitable thing he could do. None of the other boys could ever make that boy out, he acted so strangely. He wouldn't lie, no matter how convenient it was. He just said it was wrong to lie, and that was sufficient for him. And he was so honest that he was simply ridiculous. The curious ways that Jacob had surpassed everything. He wouldn't play marble son Sunday, he wouldn't rob birds' nests, he wouldn't give hot pennies to organ-grinders ‘monkeys; he didn't seem to take any interest in any kind of rational amusement. So the other boys used to try to reason it out and come to an understanding of him, but they couldn't arrive at any satisfactory conclusion. As I said be-fore, they, could only figure out a sort of vague idea that he was“afflicted,”and so they took him under their protection, and never allowed any harm to come to him.
By Sarwar Zebabout a year ago in Fiction
The Loyal Dog and the Clever Goat!
Once upon a time, in a peaceful village nestled between green hills and flowing rivers, lived a loyal dog named Bruno and a clever goat named Momo. They belonged to the same kind-hearted farmer, Mr. Sharma, who owned a small farm on the edge of the village.
By Safiullah Yousufzaiabout a year ago in Fiction
Guardians and Angels | Chapter Three (Part 12). Top Story - April 2025.
I knew everything about permanent marks on my life, or so I thought. My freckles, they’ve always stained my skin; wine splashes upon my image, spattered and sprayed across me since the day I saw my own arms and legs. I was a spotted animal of some sort, in my mind, a leopard. A marked creature who would be feared for its tattooed patterns. In reality, they were a scourge, or so I thought.
By Christopher Dubbsabout a year ago in Fiction
