Young Adult
Chapter 14: Strange Disease
Ye Qiu was startled and looked up at the Dragon King. The Dragon King had a ruddy complexion and was full of energy. He didn't look like he was dying. He said quickly, "Dragon King, don't joke. I think you are in good health."
By Huaxun Literatureabout a year ago in Fiction
The Great Doctor: Chapter 13 I'm dying
In the car. Ye Qiu said, "Mom, I'm sorry, I made you feel wronged today." "You silly child, what are you talking about." Qian Jinglan said, "You encountered so many things in the hospital, but you kept it from me. If you hadn't gone to the hospital today, how long would you have kept it from me?"
By Huaxun Literatureabout a year ago in Fiction
The Unparalleled Divine Doctor: Chapter 12 In Jiangzhou, he is the God
Several security guards quickly surrounded Ye Qiu, rolled up their sleeves, and seemed ready to take action at any time. Bai Bing said anxiously: "Vice President Guo, Ye Qiu is from our surgery department, can you give me some face?"
By Huaxun Literatureabout a year ago in Fiction
The Cost of a Wandering Heart
In the vibrant South Asian diaspora communities of America, where the aroma of cumin and cardamom wafts from family kitchens and weddings are grand celebrations of tradition, love is both a promise and a test. Here, family is the backbone of identity, honor is fiercely guarded, and marriage is a sacred bond woven with expectations of loyalty and sacrifice. Yet, beneath the surface of these tight-knit enclaves, where aunties gossip over chai and elders pass down stories of resilience, individual desires clash with collective duty. As an American writer, I’ve always been captivated by how these communities balance tradition with the pull of modern dreams. This is the story of Zain, Ayesha, and a love that burned too brightly to last—a tale that broke my heart as I wrote it.
By Shakespeare Jrabout a year ago in Fiction
Lost in Lisbon, Found in Love
“Lost in Lisbon, Found in Love” Written by Noor Khan It was supposed to be just another stop on her solo trip across Europe—a three-day stay in Lisbon, Portugal, to relax before flying back home. Areeba had booked the trip months ago after quitting her corporate job in Manchester. She needed to escape, to breathe. Lisbon’s colorful streets, vintage trams, and soulful Fado music were the perfect backdrop for that kind of healing. But what she hadn’t planned for was him. 🌍 Day 1: The Missed Turn The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow on the tiled streets of Alfama, and Areeba—clutching her little map and DSLR—was chasing the perfect picture. She had just finished exploring the São Jorge Castle and was looking for a quiet café nearby when she took a wrong turn. “Excuse me, is this Rua da Saudade?” she asked a man standing near a blue-tiled building, checking his phone. The man turned. Tall, dark hair, olive skin, a soft British accent. “Actually, it is. I’m headed that way too. Want to walk together?” His name was Adam. He was a Pakistani-born Londoner on a two-week vacation after a recent breakup. “Lisbon is my detox,” he joked. They laughed and chatted as they walked the cobbled streets, passing small homes with hanging laundry and old women peering from balconies. It didn’t feel like a tourist interaction. It felt…easy. 🍷 Day 2: Rain, Wine, and Fado The next morning, Areeba thought she wouldn’t see him again. But just as she was deciding where to eat lunch, she got a WhatsApp message. Adam: “Hungry? I found this place near Baixa that serves the best bacalhau. Meet me?” She hesitated. She didn’t usually accept invitations this quickly. But something about Lisbon—something about him—felt different. They had lunch at a rustic tavern where the owner served them wine with every dish and sang Fado between courses. Outside, it had started raining, so they stayed, talking for hours. About their families. Their heartbreaks. Their dreams. “Funny, isn't it?” Adam said, staring at the candle between them. “We spend years building lives that don’t make us happy, and then in two days with a stranger, we feel...light.” That evening, instead of heading back to their hotels, they walked along the Tagus River, the rain now just a drizzle, Lisbon glowing under the wet streetlights. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t hold hands. But they didn’t need to. 🧭 Day 3: The Decision The next morning, they met again. No plans, no schedule. They just wanted to explore together. From the ancient Monastery of Jerónimos to the pastel-colored trams in Bairro Alto, Lisbon became their canvas of connection. But travel romances have one rule—they come with a clock. Areeba was leaving the next morning. Adam still had a week left. They sat in a tiny café at night, both sipping espresso, both quiet. “So,” she said, looking at her phone screen, “This is it?” He didn’t answer immediately. “What if it doesn’t have to be?” “What do you mean?” “I mean… I was supposed to go to Porto next. But maybe… I could book a flight. With you.” “You’d come to Manchester?” “No,” he said, smiling. “You said your last stop is Paris, right? I’ll meet you there. Let’s not call this the end yet.” ✈️ Two Weeks Later – Paris The Eiffel Tower looked beautiful under the twilight sky, but Areeba wasn’t looking at it. She was looking at Adam. They sat on a bench near the Seine. It had been ten days since Lisbon. They’d exchanged voice notes, video calls, late-night texts. And he’d kept his promise—he flew to Paris just for one day, just to see her. “I don’t know where this is going,” she whispered. “Neither do I,” he replied. “But I know where it started. And I want to find out where it ends.” He pulled out a small box. No ring. Inside was a tiny compass. “For our next destination. Together.” She smiled, held his hand, and nodded. ❤️ : One Year LEpilogueater They didn’t marry overnight. They didn’t post selfies with cheesy captions. They just kept meeting. From Manchester to London. From Cappadocia to Croatia. One city at a time. One memory at a time. And one year after they met in Lisbon, they returned. Same streets. Same blue tiles. Same little café. This time, the box had a ring. And this time, she said yes.
By Moonlit Lettersabout a year ago in Fiction
Before the Sky Changed
In the spring of 1986, the trees lining the streets of Prypiat bloomed early. Pale blossoms clung to the boughs like quiet promises, stirring gently in the river breeze. Fourteen-year-old Katya Ivanenko rode her bicycle down Lenina Avenue, her hair braided in twin ropes, her face flushed with the freedom of an early dismissal from school.
By M.R. Cameoabout a year ago in Fiction
Him and I. Content Warning.
I flop down onto a green beanbag in Elliot’s room and huff as I get an Xbox controller functioning. The TV glows with the blue Halo loading screen. I crave a bit of nostalgia to calm my racing thoughts from landing on the horrors of my senior prom dress shopping.
By caitodoesstuffabout a year ago in Fiction
