family

Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.

.Defined by Paper & Past.
When I first met Matthew, the world didn’t see him the way I did. On paper, he was a convicted murderer. An ex-inmate. A man defined by a single decision and 23 years of his life spent behind bars.
By MadamMysticabout a year ago in Humans
A Love That Grows Right
‎A Love That Grows Right ‎ ‎How Two Hearts Found Wholeness, Balance, and Joy Together ‎ ‎Maya never believed in perfect love—only in real love. The kind that’s patient when life gets messy, honest when things get hard, and gentle even when there’s nothing left to prove. She had seen too many relationships around her burn bright and fast, only to fade into silence or bitterness. So, she waited. Not for perfection, but for peace. ‎ ‎Then came Daniel. ‎ ‎They met on a rainy Thursday in a local bookstore, both reaching for the same worn copy of The Alchemist. Their fingers brushed, and they both laughed—awkwardly, then genuinely. It wasn’t cinematic. No lightning bolts. No music playing in the background. Just two people who shared a mutual love for stories, silence, and strong coffee. ‎ ‎Their first few conversations were cautious. Both had pasts, but neither carried them like baggage. They talked about their dreams—not just the big ones, but the small ones too. Daniel wanted to learn how to cook something other than pasta. Maya had a goal of visiting every botanical garden in the country. He listened like it mattered, and she spoke like she believed he really cared. ‎ ‎What made their love different wasn’t the romance, though it was there in abundance. It was the respect. ‎ ‎Daniel never tried to fix Maya. He never suggested she “calm down” when she got passionate or “let it go” when she was frustrated. Instead, he listened, even when he didn’t fully understand. Maya, in return, never expected Daniel to read her mind. She asked for what she needed. Kindly. Directly. And he appreciated that. ‎ ‎Together, they grew—not into different people, but into better versions of themselves. ‎ ‎They had disagreements, of course. Like the time they planned a trip and forgot to book a hotel, ending up sleeping in the car. They laughed about it the next morning over gas station coffee, agreeing that it made for a better story anyway. ‎ ‎Love, they learned, wasn’t about agreeing on everything. It was about how they showed up for each other in the disagreement. ‎ ‎Maya never felt smaller with Daniel—only safe. He never felt the need to be anyone but himself with her—only seen. They encouraged each other’s dreams, even when it meant spending time apart. When Maya got accepted into a writing retreat across the country, Daniel was the first to celebrate. “Go chase your words,” he said, with a proud smile and tearful eyes. ‎ ‎And when Daniel started therapy to work through some of the pain he hadn’t talked about before, Maya held his hand without asking for details, simply saying, “I’m proud of you.” ‎ ‎They built their relationship on shared values: kindness, honesty, growth. Love, to them, wasn’t a finish line. It was a garden they both chose to water every day. ‎ ‎On their second anniversary, they planted a tree in Maya’s backyard. A flowering dogwood. Maya read that it symbolized strength and affection. They didn’t need rings or grand declarations—just something that would grow with them. ‎ ‎Years passed, and the world continued to spin in all its chaotic beauty. Jobs changed. Friends moved. Life tested them, as it does every couple. But their love remained steady—not because it was easy, but because they nurtured it with intention. ‎ ‎One evening, as they sat under the tree they planted, Daniel said, “You know what I love most about us?” ‎ ‎Maya looked at him, her head resting on his shoulder. “What?” ‎ ‎“That we didn’t rush anything. We didn’t try to make it perfect. We just... let it grow right.” ‎ ‎Maya smiled. “Like this tree.” ‎ ‎“Exactly,” he said, intertwining his fingers with hers. ‎ ‎They watched the leaves dance in the breeze, golden light wrapping them in a soft, fading glow. And in that simple, quiet moment, they both knew something deep in their bones: ‎ ‎Love doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful. ‎It doesn’t have to be dramatic to be true. ‎It just has to be honest, kind, and chosen—every single day. ‎ ‎And that’s exactly what theirs was. ‎ ‎A love that grew right.
By Muhammad Saad about a year ago in Humans
Mopey Monday
“It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.” -Lewis Carroll I had a really tough week last week.
By Chloe Unfilteredabout a year ago in Humans
The Price of Nothing
In the bustling city of Daraz where skyscrapers stretched toward the clouds and narrow alleys wound through forgotten corners two boys were born into very different worlds.
By Article Writing Masterabout a year ago in Humans
Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue
Committing to Ourselves You may or may not have heard this 19th century good luck rhyme for newlyweds. Family and friends give the bride each of these items to incorporate into her attire for the big day. They're each symbols of family tradition, purity, love, and luck. These can be physical things, or spoken advice, blessings- however creative and meaningful your family would want to make it. They're pretty easy to remember, and it doesn't have to be your wedding day to incorporate their messages into your life. We're going take a creative approach as we flip this inwards, towards our own commitments to ourselves.
By carmina jasmineabout a year ago in Humans
Ferns on Glass, Wings in Air
“Beauty is fleeting, yet each vanishing carries the promise of return.” I used to wake before anyone else, creeping to the window with a child’s quiet hope. Indiana winters had promised something I’d never known before: snow. Each morning after the air had turned sharp, I pulled back the curtain to see if the world had changed overnight. Sometimes my mother was already in the kitchen, beginning the long preparations for Thanksgiving dinner, but the rest of the house was still asleep. I pressed my fingers against the windowpane and startled at the shock of cold. Frost feathered the glass into white ferns, fragile and secret. Once, I touched them, and watched them vanish under my fingertip, dissolving into water. That was the first lesson of winter: beauty was fleeting, and I could not hold it still.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzalesabout a year ago in Humans
The Candle, the Soup, the Walk
Winter does not arrive with a calendar date. It enters slowly, like a shadow lengthening across the room. First, the evenings slip away earlier than I notice. Then the sound of the world changes: footsteps on the pavement sharpen, voices outside seem to fall back into echoes. And then there is the stillness — an almost imperceptible pause that settles over the air. That is when I know it has come. Winter begins not in snow or frost, but in the silence that draws me inward.
By Alain SUPPINIabout a year ago in Humans
How One Glass of Water Changed My Entire Day
The Day Everything Felt Different Let me be honest: I used to be the kind of person who couldn’t start my morning without coffee. The smell, the taste, the comfort—it felt like the only thing that could wake me up and keep me moving.
By Dadullah Danishabout a year ago in Humans
Beneath the Trees
“Though we stand in different groves, the same wind moves through our leaves.” For one bright year, it was just me and thee,
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzalesabout a year ago in Humans
A Stolen Wallet, A Returned Check
A Stolen Wallet, A Returned Check BY: Ubaid “Please hurry up, Ammi! I’m already late,” Javed pleaded with folded hands, as his mother insisted he finish his tea before leaving. “At least sometimes, you should allow me a light breakfast.” His mother laughed at his antics. “Do you speak like this in your office too? I’m sure in front of your bosses, you only say ‘Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir’ and nothing else.” “Ammi, that’s the office. This is home. They are bosses, and you are my dear mother. There’s a huge difference,” Javed replied, kissing her hand before grabbing his lunchbox. He offered a quick goodbye and hurried out the door. It was Thursday morning. The streets bustled with the usual weekday chaos. Javed reached the bus stop just in time to catch an overcrowded bus. After pushing his way through the crowd, he managed to get inside. With no seat available, he clutched a metal pole and balanced himself. Moments later, the conductor appeared, demanding fare. Javed pulled out his wallet, paid for his ticket, and slid the wallet back into his pocket. When the bus finally stopped at his destination, Javed squeezed his way through the passengers and stepped down onto the pavement. Instinctively, he reached into his pocket—only to freeze. His wallet was gone. His face turned pale. A cunning thief had emptied his pocket. Javed’s mind raced back to the moment he pulled out his wallet for the conductor. He remembered a young man standing close by, staring intently at the wallet. That must have been the pickpocket. But now it was too late. Standing on the sidewalk, Javed counted his losses: about six hundred rupees, his national ID card, and—his heart sank—a check. A ten-thousand-rupee check. The check wasn’t for him. It was for Rani. Rani’s innocent face flashed before his eyes. --- A Noble Cause Javed wasn’t just any young man. He was known in his neighborhood for his kindness and compassion. Along with a few like-minded friends, he had established a small welfare organization. Their mission was simple yet powerful: to help struggling families stand on their own feet. Over the years, they had supported poor households, provided food supplies, and most importantly, helped young women from needy families with marriage expenses. Collecting donations from generous businessmen and kind-hearted citizens, they used the funds to buy household goods and furniture for brides. Rani’s family was among those in need. Her father was poor, barely managing to provide daily meals. When her marriage was arranged, Javed and his friends stepped in. They immediately began collecting donations for her dowry and essentials. Just the day before, Javed had received a large contribution from a wealthy businessman. But instead of handing him cash, the businessman had issued a check worth ten thousand rupees. That check was now gone, stolen along with Javed’s wallet. For the thief, it was nothing more than a useless piece of paper. But for Rani’s family, it meant everything. Without it, her marriage might fall apart. --- Ten Days of Anguish Days passed in frustration and helplessness. Javed placed an advertisement in the local newspaper, offering a reward if anyone found the check. But no one responded. As the wedding day approached—only five days away—the pressure mounted. The groom’s family continued to insist on their demand for furniture. Rani’s parents were overwhelmed, and Javed himself grew restless. Nights became sleepless, days filled with worry. One morning, as Javed sat in his office lost in thought, the peon entered carrying a letter addressed to him. Javed tore the envelope open—and gasped. Inside was the very same check he had lost! Along with it lay a small folded note. With a pounding heart, Javed unfolded the paper and read: --- The Letter from a Thief *Respected Javed Anwar Sahib, Assalam-o-Alaikum, I am your culprit. I was the one who stole your wallet. Yes, I made a mistake, but I was desperate. I needed money urgently. You see, my sister Rani’s wedding was fixed in a good family. But the demands from the groom’s side were beyond what we could manage. Out of helplessness, I committed this wrong. I beg for your forgiveness. As for the large check in your wallet—it was of no use to me, since it was crossed and payable only to you. That is why I am returning it. I hope you can forgive a brother who only acted out of love for his sister. A helpless brother.* --- A Lesson Learned Javed sat motionless, the letter trembling in his hands. His mind replayed every detail. He had secured that check precisely for Rani’s wedding. If only her brother had trusted God and shown patience, the same money would have been delivered to his family through honest means. Instead, he chose the wrong path, causing harm to himself and unnecessary distress to others. Javed sighed deeply. The irony was bitter. The thief’s desperation and impatience had blinded him to the truth—that help was already on the way. Yet, Javed couldn’t bring himself to feel anger. Instead, he felt pity. After all, wasn’t this what their organization stood for? To support those who thought they had no other way? Folding the check carefully, he whispered to himself: “Sometimes, the real theft is not of money—but of trust and hope.”
By Ubaid about a year ago in Humans
The Forgotten Purse That Taught Me Faith
A Forgotten Purse and a Lesson in Faith BY:Khan Life often teaches us lessons in the most unexpected ways. Some experiences leave such a deep impression that they remain etched in memory forever, not only as personal anecdotes but also as reminders of faith, trust, and divine protection. One such incident happened to me many years ago, during a wedding in our family. Though it took only a few hours to unfold, the memory of that day has lived with me ever since. It was the wedding of a close relative, and my mother and I were invited to attend the function at the Pearl Continental Hotel, one of the most prestigious hotels in our city. Such events were not a frequent part of our lives, so going there itself felt special. My mother, dressed modestly yet elegantly, seemed excited but slightly reserved, as she always was on social occasions. When we reached the hotel, the grand lights, beautifully decorated halls, and the hustle of the wedding festivities welcomed us warmly. Relatives and acquaintances filled the venue with laughter and conversation. Amidst the ceremony, one of our close family members approached us. He greeted my mother affectionately and handed her a large sum of money, saying gently, “This is an amanat (a trust). Please keep it with you. When I need it, I will take it back.” My mother, as trustworthy as she always was, carefully placed the money inside her purse. She held onto it with a sense of responsibility, as if guarding not only her own belongings but also the faith someone had placed in her. The evening passed in the usual way — with greetings, food, and the joy that weddings bring. Soon, it was time to leave. We walked down to the parking area, where cars, scooters, and motorbikes stood in neat rows under the dim yellow lights. As my mother prepared to step into the car, she paused. Adjusting her burqa before getting seated, she placed her purse for a moment on the seat of a nearby scooter. It was a simple action, one of those ordinary things we do without much thought. Once she had adjusted her clothing, she got into the car, completely forgetting that her purse — with all the money and valuables inside — was still resting on that scooter seat. I started the car, unaware of what had just happened, and we drove off. Halfway through our journey home, I decided to stop at a petrol station to refuel the car. As the attendant filled the tank, I casually asked my mother, “Can you please hand me some cash from your purse?” It was at that moment her face changed. A sudden realization struck her like lightning. She gasped and placed her hand on her forehead. “Oh no,” she said in a trembling voice, “I left my purse on the scooter when I was fixing my burqa. I forgot to pick it up before getting into the car.” My heart sank. I couldn’t believe what I had just heard. The purse didn’t just have her money; it also carried the large sum entrusted to her by our relative. Losing it meant not only financial loss but also the betrayal of someone’s trust. I felt panic rise within me. “Mother, that purse had so much money! What if it’s gone? What will we tell him? How will we explain this?” She looked at me with calm eyes, though I could sense her worry beneath them. “Don’t worry,” she said softly but with conviction, “Allah is merciful. I have full faith that He will protect it. That purse will still be there.” Her unwavering belief in God surprised me. To me, it seemed almost impossible. The hotel parking lot was always busy. Many people must have come and gone in that half an hour. How could a purse, left openly on a scooter seat, remain untouched for so long? Still, without wasting another moment, I turned the car around and headed back toward the hotel. The entire drive back, I was restless. My mind played out all sorts of scenarios — someone might have already picked up the purse, the money could be gone, or perhaps the purse itself would no longer be there. Yet my mother remained calm, repeating quietly under her breath: “Allah is the Protector. He will not let it be lost.” Finally, we reached the hotel. My heart pounded as I parked the car and hurried back to the spot where we had left. And there it was — the purse, sitting exactly where my mother had left it, resting untouched on the scooter seat, as if no one had even noticed it. With trembling hands, my mother picked it up and immediately opened it. Every single rupee was still inside. Nothing was missing. The trust of our relative was safe, and so was her own money. We stood there, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude. That moment felt like more than luck. It was, in truth, an example of God’s mercy and protection. In a crowded parking lot, where countless people must have passed by, not a single one laid eyes on that purse. My mother’s faith had not wavered, and her trust in God was answered in the most beautiful way. Years have passed since that day, but the memory is as fresh as ever. Whenever I think of it, I am reminded of how fragile our sense of control truly is, and how often we are powerless in situations we cannot manage ourselves. Yet, faith gives us strength. My mother’s calm conviction that God would protect what was entrusted to her was something I had never fully understood until that night. For me, the incident was more than just the recovery of a purse. It was a powerful lesson in trust, faith, and divine mercy. Life often surprises us, but sometimes, those surprises become stories of hope that we carry forever.
By Khan about a year ago in Humans
It's an "Amazon" Christmas
Ah, the good old Sears catalogs. There was nothing like them back in the day. One of my favorite holiday traditions growing up was flipping through those glossy pages, circling the things I hoped would end up under the tree. I have a vivid memory of my grandma handing me one after school one day when I was about six or seven-years-old.
By Chloe Unfilteredabout a year ago in Humans