Love
Our Old Story. Top Story - December 2025.
She reached for it… But she had one final thing to say first… “Darling, I know that this is probably the absolute worst moment to end things with a speech, but the doctors say that you will not remember this tomorrow, and I have so much that I still want to tell you before I leave. So…let’s start at the very beginning…
By Kendall Defoe 10 months ago in Fiction
His heart (was) charcoal
I've met a man the sun filled his heart. The kind of man a woman in her 20's fantasizes about, a man with golden locks of hair and a golden soul, with a mind clear like a transparent sea, with depths that can go beyond you've ever thought possible. He was always kind and friendly, his words could warm your heart. Small verbal gestures like, "I hope you've had a great day today", or "how's your grandma lately? I heard she was feeling ill." Or big words like, "the light of day is fleeting and eternal all at once, actually" – spoken with a soft, bashful smile. He was considerate, an aura behind his head like some kind of saint. But. He was not a saint, not ever, because his mind was hiding a secret. Carrying it inside of it like a fetus in a womb, just waiting to come out of its' hideout. He had cruelty inside his heart. A charcoal heart waiting to come out. Someone once said to him cruelty comes from pain, that a sickened heart is indeed a heart that cannot let go. And he couldn't let go. Yet. His soul was equally divided in two, the kind hearted guy and the cruel guy, and both sides were equal in their value. He was highly good and highly evil. People around him noticed his evil side, but he could cover it up so well people just said "eh, whatever" – and ignored it. Indeed a clever man was he. But with his darkness there was a strong sorrow. A deep rooted pain, sadness, despair. A huge regret. He WAS TRULY a good human being who's lost his way. A lonely soul, a blinded, confused, little boy, trapped inside of this broken man, screaming over and over for help – with nobody hearing. No one seemed to know, and for him, nobody seemed to care, though they deeply cared for him. Examples for his maliable behavior: uncontralable rage occuring in the borders of his own head, wars of devils and angels inside his mind, bad intentions like wanting for people to die because they hurt him, getting insulted by people and holding grudges for them for years, anger, anger, anger – fear. The thing is, there's not black and white in this world. There are greys. Silvers. Golds. Rainbow colors, hues, nuances. There is not a lot of completley dark-minded people and lighthearted souls. There is a spectrum. But the man's narrative won't end in tragedy. Tragedies already happened in his life, with caustic pain burned out to his soul. In a dream, they said "you've hurt us" and he said, "but I am good, really. Really…" - a result of a being tortured by guilt. Because there is one woman he hurt the most. His loved partner, Zoë, who tells her friends about his behavior. But she only has two friends, who do care about her, but also resent her for something she did In the past, so they don't help her. Though he was oh-so kind to Zoë some time, he had fights with her, with the "you don't understand me!" And the "fine. I'M the one who needs to grow. What about YOU?" he'd change for 4 days, than stop. Than again for a week, and then ceased. But change is inevitable, and constant is his desire to let go. To change. Hidden underneath, but constant. Steady. He was Sometimes quiet, introspective, brooding. Sometimes loud, social, happy go lucky. He was a spiritual guy. He could look into your eyes, you could feel him staring right at your soul, but not In a bad way. In a I-try-to-understand-you kind of way, a you’re-a-beautiful-being. He had Pinterest boards of black and white pictures, poetry quotes boards, a board named “light” and a second one named “light 2”, fatherhood board, humor board. Photography board. He’d go to the beach with his friends Thomas, they’d take photos in Tom-tom’s polaroid (Tom-tom is how our main character called him). On thursdays he had a course about motherhood and psychonalysis, he’d raise a hand one to three times a class. Sometimes, he won’t at all. The story really begins with Summer. The girl of his dreams, the second love of his life (after Zoë, but they both hold the same value in his heart). Zoë have had enough, and broke up with him. He was devastated. He’d cry for a whole 2 hours morrowing her leaving. There was a nightstand near his bed with 100 tissues in one week, gathering up like a tissue-castle. Yikes. But miracles like miracles tend to happen. The bright day of summer was yet to arrive (His words, not mine). It was a cold December afternoon, he was in a book festival (Oh, the irony. Summer bursting into your life in the cold season). He told me Summer looked like a gush of wind: sparkling, black eyes, a brunette. Average height, only approaching to his chin. A beautiful smile (gosh). “Practically”, he said - “she looked like a fairy.” She told him that when she met him, he looked gloomy. Eyes oh so serious, a sealed face. He said, “do I know you from somewhere?” She said, “would you like to?”, he said “yes” “ok, let’s go.” Just like that. Without a warning. “What do you mean?” ”let’s go on an adventure. We’ll drive all Oregon, from east to west, and then from south to north. I’ve been wanting to do this soooo bad for soooo long, but I’ve never found the right company. But this company is you. And we can talk. I can listen.” He was speechless. “… what makes you think I’ll say yes?” “Oh. Your smile, for instance,” she said, “and the zest of curiosity in your eyes.” “Ya crazy, you know that… what is your name, again?” “Haven’t I told you? It’s Summer.” “Ah, like that movie, “500 days of Summer?” Summer raised her brows. “Umm… yeah, I guess. I dunno this one. Is It a good one?” He chuckled, “yeah it is. A very cute movie. Not in a disrespectful manner,” he smiled, and so did she, “in a good way.” And so they went on an adventure. She wore, in the first day, a lavender skirt that went down to her knees, a galaxy t-shirt, he wore a plain t-shirt with khaki pants. They listened to music, rock music and pop music on his end, indie on their both ends (but very specific kind of indies) and spanish (but a very exhilarating kind of songs) and irish on her end. They were happy. Like jet sky high happy. Blissful. They’ve seen the beauty of nature, had a funny experience of a squirl trying to snatch Summer’s camera, they laughed, laughed, laughed. Some day he said to her, “you’ve changed me, you know that? I’m a healed man now. That’s the power of summer, I guess." Summer answered shyly, “You changed me too.” They took a photo together, in love, in the Evergreen Aviation & Space Museum. They kissed firstly at night, at Summer’s friend’s house which they spend some of their days (or nights) in. It was electrifying. This kiss was very special to summer, because he was the first boy who hasn’t broke her heart to million pieces. They understood each other. His darkness, she understood it. She understood the pain in his eyes. His dissapointment. He did talk. And she listened. And she talked too. Things she never told nobody, secrets lain down in a basement in her heart, locked tightly in the shadows of her soul. And one day, they looked into each other’s eyes, and they made love. With a gentle hunger, with a desire for each other. They made love, and she cried. “What’s wrong?” He asked softly. And she said, “nothing’s wrong. Everything’s right. That’s why I cry.” And he smiled and kissed her head. “I love you,” he said. She was silent for a moment. A big, big moment for him. “I love you too.” She said quietly. They traveled for a month, and a month afterwards he proposed. In eiffel tower. They went there for a weekend because that’s what he could with his university then beginning its’ second semester. She was filled to the brim with joy. Of course she said yes! They went to cafés and restaurants, they were laughing in the rain. They lived, fully, with all their hearts and mind concentrating in the moment, trying to sanctify each moment. They were ecstatic, sometimes sad, but satisfied. They were lovers. She changed his charcoal heart, he told her, she solved his issues, in a way. Though sometimes those would swim up to the surface and she healed them, meditated with him, analyzing his deepest wishes. He’d do the same with her. He’d bring her flowers, dark choclste, make her black coffee with rosemary. he’d watch TV with her, analyze books with her, cuddle under the blanket with her and make her laugh. They healed each other.I know all of this because I’ve experienced this, and those other details of the beginning, he told me. He told me everything. Well, everything important. I’m Summer. And his name is Forest. And now he is full of life, unstoppable. My husband to be. And now it’s our time to (continue to) shine.
By Maya Or Tzur10 months ago in Fiction
The House at the End of the World
The sound the ocean makes as it cascades over the edge of the actual world into nothingness is impossible to fathom — simultaneously too loud because of the ocean’s immeasurable volume and not loud enough, as there’s nowhere for the water to land below. If you’ve been to the house at the end of the world, then you know what that sounds like. You also know that it’s impossible to describe to another living soul with any accuracy.
By Shannon Hilson10 months ago in Fiction
Satellites and Violets
Gina was old now by nearly anyone’s standards. Her face was wrinkled and her joints creaked when she moved, especially first thing in the morning or when rain was on the way. The young people she passed in the streets on the way to buy bread and vegetables from the market saw someone else’s grandmother in a tattered grey cardigan and a faded, flowered skirt — a stranger they didn’t know and couldn’t relate to.
By Shannon Hilson10 months ago in Fiction
THE LAST LIGHT IN WILLOW CREEK
When I returned to Willow Creek after twelve years away, the town looked almost exactly as I’d left it—small, neat, peaceful—like someone had pressed “pause” on time. The wooden houses stood in rows like storybook cottages, the old bakery still filled the street with the smell of cinnamon buns, and the creek ran lazily beside the main road, singing its familiar whispering song.
By Alisher Jumayev10 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern of Quiet Choices. AI-Generated.
In the bustling town of Auravale, where neon lights gleamed against glass towers and drones painted the sky with streaks of silver, lived a 14-year-old boy named Rian Solis. Auravale was a place that believed louder was better—louder advertisements, louder opinions, louder celebrations. Yet, amid the constant clamor, Rian preferred quiet places, quiet thoughts, and quiet choices.
By shakir hamid10 months ago in Fiction
THE ART OF BEING SEEN
Aisha Rahim always believed that blending in was the safest way to survive senior year. Walk quickly. Nod politely. Keep your grades high and your expectations low. At Crownbridge High, where reputations formed faster than rumors and spread twice as far, being invisible felt like a shield.
By Alisher Jumayev10 months ago in Fiction
The Threshold of Then
Elara found the door on a day when her present felt particularly thin. The maple tree at the edge of her property was ancient, its bark a geography of ridges and valleys. Today, in the low, slanting light of October, she saw the lines she’d always taken for natural cracks had formed a perfect rectangle. And within that rectangle, someone had long ago painted a simple, weathered green door, complete with a tiny brass knob that was just flecks of ochre paint.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
Beneath the Willow Sky
The summer I turned sixteen was the year everything changed—though change rarely announces itself with fanfare. Mine arrived quietly, as the warm breeze that brushed through the willow leaves behind our old neighborhood library. That willow tree was where I spent nearly every afternoon: reading, pretending to study, avoiding my mother’s sharp questions about my future, and thinking about everything and nothing at once.
By Alisher Jumayev10 months ago in Fiction
