Short Story
Chapter 13 Demonstrating Medical Skills, Shiyue Invites
Huangfu Shiyue sneered, "Haha, I wouldn't dare trouble Boss Huangfu to greet you personally." Huangfu Yun's heart skipped a beat, realizing something was amiss. He forced a smile, "Miss, you're joking. Without the Huangfu family's help, I wouldn't be where I am today."
By HuaxunTechnologyabout a year ago in Fiction
Left on Read
It was just a text. No arguments. No drama. Just a small, simple message that hung in digital space like a thread waiting to be pulled. > “Hey… are you okay? I’ve been thinking about you.” Delivered. Seen. No reply. That little gray “read” receipt at the bottom of the screen hit harder than any goodbye ever could. I stared at it for hours, watching it like it might suddenly change — like maybe the universe would glitch, and a reply would appear saying: > “Sorry, I’ve just been busy. I miss you too.” But it didn’t. --- His Name Was Ayan We weren’t in love. Not officially. But we had something — something unspoken but real. A connection made of 2 a.m. calls, half-laughed stories, playlists sent back and forth, and that strange comfort that comes from knowing someone gets you without needing to explain everything. We met online. We met often. But we never put a label on it. Maybe we were scared. Maybe we were unsure. Or maybe… deep down, I always knew he wouldn’t stay. --- The Conversation That Changed Everything The night before it happened, we talked for hours — the way we always did. I told him about my day. He told me about a song that reminded him of me. We laughed. It felt light. Easy. But then I said something vulnerable — something raw. I told him: > “Sometimes I wonder if you’d miss me if I disappeared.” There was a pause. Not long, but long enough to feel like a storm. He replied: > “Don’t say stuff like that.” And then he changed the subject. I thought maybe I had ruined something. Maybe I got too close to the truth. Maybe I scared him off by needing more than late-night calls and unspoken feelings. --- The Message That Wasn’t Answered The next day, I sent a follow-up. > “Hey… are you okay? I’ve been thinking about you.” It was read within minutes. But the reply never came. And that’s how it ended — not with a fight, not with closure, but with being left on read. --- The Pain of Digital Rejection People say ghosting is cruel. But being left on read… that’s a whole different kind of sting. Because it confirms they saw your words. They just chose not to respond. You start questioning yourself: Did I say too much? Was I too emotional? Was it all one-sided? But then you remember the way he used to text first. The way he said “goodnight” every time, even when he was tired. The way he listened — really listened — when you talked about your fears. And you realize… it wasn’t nothing. It just wasn’t enough. --- Learning to Let Go Without Answers I didn’t text again. Not because I stopped caring — but because I started respecting myself. There’s something so heavy about chasing someone who’s already halfway out the door, especially when they won’t even tell you why. Instead, I turned the hurt into reflection. I wrote about it. I went for walks. I listened to the songs he sent me — once, then never again. I cried. Not for him, but for the part of me that still hoped he’d explain. --- It Wasn’t About the Text The pain of being left on read isn’t about the words that never came. It’s about the space they leave behind. The quiet. The not knowing. It’s about how quickly someone can go from “I’m here for you” to complete silence. From “I’ll call you in five” to never hearing from them again. But it also taught me this: > Some people enter your life to show you what you truly need — and what you can no longer accept. --- If You’ve Been Left on Read… I know it hurts. I know that silence feels like a scream. I know you keep rereading your message, wondering what you did wrong. But maybe it’s not about what you did. Maybe it’s about who they are — or what they’re not ready to be. And maybe their silence is a gift in disguise. A clear answer to a question you didn’t want to ask: > “Do I matter enough for you to stay?” Their silence says it all. --- Final Thought It’s okay to grieve people who never gave you closure. It’s okay to feel hurt over what “almost was.” But don’t let someone’s silence drown your worth. Because one day, someone will see your message and not only reply — They’ll show up, speak up, and stay. Until then, let “left on read” be your reminder: > You deserve more than maybe.
By Hazrat Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
Not him ,not now
I met him on a Wednesday. It wasn’t anything special — a rainy day, a crowded café, and two people reaching for the same book at the little bookshelf by the counter. I laughed awkwardly. He smiled like it was the start of something. Maybe it was. His name was Zayan. Soft voice. Deep eyes. The kind of presence that doesn’t demand attention — it earns it. We started talking that day… and we didn’t stop for weeks. --- Right Person, Wrong Time It felt too good to be real. He listened in a way most people don’t anymore — like my words had weight. He asked questions that made me think. He never interrupted. He remembered little things — my favorite song, my coffee order, the way I hated loud places but loved thunderstorms. I should’ve fallen for him. And maybe I did. Quietly. But here’s the truth no one tells you about love: > Sometimes, the timing ruins everything. --- I Was Still Healing A few months before Zayan, I had been through a heartbreak that cracked me open. It wasn’t loud or dramatic — it was the kind of break that leaves you questioning your worth in the silence. I had built walls after that. Quiet, invisible ones. Walls made of independence and sarcasm and “I’m fine.” When Zayan walked into my life, I was still trying to remember who I was without the pain. He deserved someone whole. I was still gathering my pieces. --- He Waited… For a While Zayan never pressured me. He was patient. Gentle. Always there, but never demanding. He’d say, > “You don’t have to rush anything. I’ll walk at your pace.” But even patience has limits. Even the kindest hearts get tired of waiting in the hallway of someone else’s healing. One night, we sat on the rooftop of my apartment building — a quiet place where the stars felt close enough to touch. He looked at me and asked softly: > “Do you see a future with me? Honestly?” I looked away. Not because I didn’t feel something — but because I did. And feeling it made it worse. --- The Answer I Couldn’t Say In my head, I was screaming: > Yes. I want to. But I don’t trust myself to love anyone right now. I don’t want to bleed on you from wounds someone else left. I’m scared that I’ll ruin you just by letting you get too close. But out loud, I only said: > “Not now.” His eyes didn’t change. He didn’t flinch. But I saw it — the quiet shift. He nodded. Gave a soft smile. Said, > “I understand.” And I knew I had just let something good slip away. --- Not Him. Not Now. After that night, we drifted. Not suddenly — like pages of a book gently closing. He stopped texting first. I stopped overthinking the silence. We didn’t fight. We didn’t say goodbye. We just… faded. And in some strange way, that hurt more. Because we were almost something. And “almost” leaves a different kind of scar. --- Now, Months Later… I still think of him when I hear that song he liked. When I order that same coffee. When I look at the stars. I wonder if he ever knew how much I cared — even if I couldn’t say it. I wonder if he found someone who didn’t hesitate. Someone who didn’t say, “Not him. Not now.” --- What I Learned Love isn’t always about whether you feel something. Sometimes it’s about whether you’re ready to act on it. I wasn’t ready. And in trying to protect him from my brokenness, I broke both of us a little. I thought saying “not now” was a kind way to protect him. But silence hurts too. Gentle endings still bruise. --- Final Thought If I could go back to that night, under that rooftop sky, I think I’d say: > “I don’t know how to love you yet. But I want to learn — if you’ll be patient a little longer.” But I didn’t. And he didn’t wait. Some stories aren’t about happy endings. They’re about moments — beautiful, temporary, real. He was the right person. Just not now. And maybe, not ever.
By Hazrat Bilalabout a year ago in Fiction
Wasp
Isaiah had spent five years doused in that dusty archive perfume. Chasing whispers of rumours. Shadows of blood. It had been years of repetitive form-filling, phone calls, and formal FOI requests. At every turn: clerical errors, half-redacted reports, vanished case numbers. Not forgetting the perennial "Not At This Address". Why did he keep doing it? Why did he keep doing it to himself? Sunk cost fallacy? Also known as, "I've come this far" syndrome? How far have I come, though, really? The long-stale government trails had led to little. Adoption services gave polite refusals, and care records mentioned names he’d never heard, faces that didn’t match. He found out his mother was dead, and it was suicide. Pills. His heart clenched tight. The search almost ended right then, but he wasn't ready to admit defeat. He wasn't some moon-faced kid who thought he and his Da and his baby brother could be together like a Real Family, but maybe a conversation would be good. Maybe talking to his father could help him find his brother. Okay, maybe he did hope he could be a real big brother after all this lost time. A guy can dream, right? He visited libraries for newspaper archives, hovered near staff rooms in council buildings. Once, a woman slipped him a number on a napkin. "Try this," she said. "But don’t say I told you." It didn't come to anything, but it was wicked little moments of Hope like that, that's what kept him going. Like a gambler to the fruit machine, or the junkie to his fix. His laptop was bursting with dozens of tabs. Registry listings, alumni notes, and property records that hadn’t shifted in years. Every tip dissolved, but he kept going. One address he followed in the search for his father took him to Wolverhampton of all places. It turned out to be a man named John. John, not Joe. Wrong age, wrong eyes. John had been alright. Shook his hand. Called him "kid", but it didn't sound condescending the way he said it. "I hope you find him, kid." Like that. Isaiah's heart lifted a little inside his chest, made him walk a little taller. "Yessir," he said, holding out his hand to shake. "Thank you, sir."
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
The Light In Hiding
I. The Night Listener Nights become days—because what’s the difference? Not fitting in was Marvin’s normal. He preferred the darkest hours, when the world grew quiet and he could breathe. At night, everything slowed down. There was peace. Calm. It felt like the whole world belonged to him.
By Marcus Hillabout a year ago in Fiction
I Followed All the Rules, Planned Everything, and Still Had to Begin Again
In my early twenties, I thought I was doing everything right. I worked hard, said no to distractions, and tried to plan everything ahead. While some of my friends were out chilling, traveling, or just taking things slow, I was building. Learning skills, taking freelance jobs, trying to be “future-ready.” I thought if I just put in the work now, life would reward me later.
By Alix Halesabout a year ago in Fiction
