Love

How I Met My Soulmate 🌸🌸
How I Met My Soulmate Harsh Chaudhari © Harsh Chaudhari Copyright © 2025 by Harsh Chaudhari. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without prior written permission from the author, except for brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.
By Harsh Chaudhari 🌸8 months ago in Fiction
Still in High School and Afraid
“I don’t know what to do.” “You will know; you will know. It’s early, stay calm.” “How will I know? This is so frightening. We are the class of ’63, with 4 months to graduation. I’m scared to death.”
By Andrea Corwin 8 months ago in Fiction
A Journey of Pickles
Stuart looked at his hamburger. “Perfect, except for one detail.” He walked to the pantry, looked at the shelves for a few long moments. He sighed. “We’re out of pickles.” He sighed again. Deeper. “I hate the basement.” He looked at the door leading down to the deep, dark basement. “Fine.”
By Jamais Jochim8 months ago in Fiction
What Followed
“You’re still using that cup?” “Well, it hasn’t cracked yet.” “It always did that, though. Right there, along the rim. That little bit of flaking paint. See?”
By Shannon Hilson8 months ago in Fiction
Unlearning
Step 1. Admit the truth. If you are reading this, you likely have already completed step 1. If you stumbled upon this text and have no idea why you picked it up, then the first thing you must do is look at yourself. To live as a human is to know pain and to cause pain. Of course, these are not the only aspects of life that exist, nor are they the only ones that matter. However, as a believer in the power and importance of collective memory, I know we must acknowledge these truths to move forward societally. To help save ourselves and our planet.
By kp8 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter on the Shelf
I never meant to leave it there. The old wooden shelf in the corner of the living room, stacked with books that smelled faintly of dust and sunlight, had always been my mother’s domain. She used it like a shrine—little trinkets, half-finished novels, pressed flowers, and, most importantly, letters. So many letters. Some she’d kept from decades ago, tied with ribbon, their paper edges soft and worn. Others were more recent, hastily scribbled notes of gratitude, apology, or love.
By Salman Writes8 months ago in Fiction
Love's Circumstances
Gargoyles were always her favorite and she brought three of hers from home to college. They sat prominently on her desk in her off-campus apartment. This bright March morning, Susan walked across the quad and headed for the student union. Wilmont College was a beautiful place with a beautiful campus. Student union, library, class buildings and administration buildings all built with Gothic architectural influence. She had loved it when she first arrived here for her freshman year and after she had met Dennis, it was paradise. She joked about love at first sight with him, but truly believed that was what happened. “Hey Susan,” Jason yelled at her as he ran to catch up. “Hold your horses. Going to breakfast?” he asked. Susan tried not to let Jason see the tears in her eyes. “I’ll go with you if that’s ok.” Jason was hoping Susan was nearing the capacity to move on with her life and could he continue to be a friend?
By Barbara Gode Wiles8 months ago in Fiction
Overthink no more
"I think not." "I think." "Does it help?" "Sometimes." "I've given up on thought, you know." "You can't do that entirely. We all think."
By Paul Fingl8 months ago in Fiction
Shhhh, Listen
“Don’t shoot me the bird!” “You deserve it; you are being an asshole. For your information, I do it all the time behind your back. Can’t you feel the poke between your shoulder blades?”
By Andrea Corwin 8 months ago in Fiction
The Last Chair by the Window
I always chose the chair by the window, even when there were better seats. It wasn’t about comfort. It was about watching people leave.
By Salman Writes8 months ago in Fiction
The House That Loved Us Back
A soft knock inside the walls, just once, like someone testing if the sound would travel. Old houses make noises. That’s what people say when they don’t want to be afraid.
By abualyaanart8 months ago in Fiction
Friend of a fish
"That looks better!" "Since when can you speak?" "I always could." "Didn't seem like it when you were swimming around in my aquarium."
By Paul Fingl8 months ago in Fiction