friendship
C.S Lewis got it right: friendship is born when one person says to another: "What! You too? I thought I was the only one!"
WANDERING ME
WANDERING ME ? On the day of summer ,when sun was warmly mocking the Earth . Me and my group of 5 friends decide to go on a summer camp like every person desires. Explaining , the camp excitement some of them were planning the destination , some of them were budgeting the funds , some of them were planning dress codes , some of them were planning about the hitting new cuisine , some of them were planning the activities to do on camping already .
By Roosie Roseabout a year ago in Humans
How to Love Without Attachment
I used to believe that loving someone meant holding on tightly—like gripping the edge of a cliff, fingers burning, refusing to let go no matter how painful it got. I thought love was about giving your everything and expecting the same in return. And if it didn’t come back the way I imagined, I called it heartbreak. But over the years, through one gentle loss and another sharp goodbye, I came to learn something different—something quieter, deeper, and infinitely more freeing.
By From Dust to Starsabout a year ago in Humans
Five Girls, One Pain, Endless Strength
They met at a coffee shop—five strangers, each sitting alone, each hiding a storm behind silent eyes. A coincidence, perhaps. Or maybe fate knew what it was doing when it gathered them there on a rainy evening in the heart of the city. Aaliya was the first to speak. Her mascara was smudged, and she stirred her coffee as if it held answers. “He said I was too emotional,” she said to no one in particular. “Too much of everything. But wasn’t that what he fell in love with?” The other girls turned slowly, listening, perhaps out of curiosity. But it was Zara who replied. “Mine said I was too cold. Not expressive enough. Guess there’s no perfect way to love someone, is there?” A strange silence followed, not awkward, but heavy with unspoken truths. “I gave up my career for him,” whispered Mahira, her voice trembling. “He said he wanted a simple life. So I gave him simplicity—left my job, stayed home, cooked, smiled. And he still left.” From the corner, Abeeha, who looked the youngest, gave a bitter laugh. “He said I was too perfect. Too good to be true. And I thought that was a compliment—until he blocked me a week later.” All four now turned to the last girl, who sat quietly, staring at the rain hitting the window. Her name was Hina. She took a sip of her tea, then met their eyes one by one. “He never even gave me a reason. Just disappeared. Vanished from my life like I never existed. I spent months thinking I must have done something terribly wrong.” And that’s how it began—the first meeting of the Broken Heart Girls. No one planned it. No one expected it. But from that night on, the coffee shop became their haven. Every Friday, they met at the same table by the window. They brought their pain, their anger, their healing—and slowly, something began to change. They didn’t cry as much. They laughed at stupid things. Shared stories of awkward first dates, weird text messages from exes, and late-night cravings for ice cream. They learned how to live again—not because their hearts weren’t still broken, but because they had each other now. One evening, Mahira came in wearing lipstick for the first time in months. “You look amazing,” Aaliya said with a grin. “It’s not for him,” Mahira replied. “It’s for me.” Another Friday, Abeeha walked in with paint on her hands. She had started painting again, turning her heartbreak into colors. Zara finally opened up about how she used to write poetry, and Hina insisted she share it with the group. Soon, they were listening to her poems, each word like a piece of glass turned into art. But healing isn’t a straight road. There were still nights when one of them would break down. When a memory would sting like a fresh wound. When doubt would return, whispering cruel lies into their ears. “I still wonder if he’s happier without me,” Hina confessed once. “You gave your best,” Aaliya reminded her. “That’s enough.” They didn’t fix each other. They didn’t pretend to have all the answers. But they listened, truly listened. And that was more powerful than any advice. One rainy evening, almost a year after their first meeting, they gathered at the same table. This time, something felt different. “Do you remember how broken we were?” Abeeha said softly. “We still are,” Zara added, “just in smaller pieces now.” Mahira smiled. “But we’ve learned how to carry those pieces. With grace.” They decided that night to start a blog together. “Broken Heart Girls”—a place for women like them. A place to share stories, poems, letters never sent. They poured their pain into it, not as victims, but as survivors. And soon, messages started coming in from girls around the world. “Your story is mine.” “I thought I was alone until I found your blog.” “Thank you for writing what I couldn’t say.” And just like that, five broken hearts created a safe space for thousands. They turned their sorrow into strength, their wounds into wisdom. Not because the pain disappeared—but because they learned that pain, too, can bloom into something beautiful. They were still the Broken Heart Girls. But now, the name didn’t mean weakness. It meant resilience. It meant sisterhood. It meant surviving, healing, and rising—together.
By Hiba bukhari official about a year ago in Humans
"Time Defeated Our Love"
The train on the platform was the last one of the night, and the last one for us. The station was silent except for the distant sound of footsteps and the faint whistle of time slipping away. Amid the fog and hurry, two hearts stood still — mine and hers — while everything around us moved forward. That night was not just an ordinary goodbye. It was the ending of a love story that had survived everything… except time. --- Flashback: The Beginning I met Maheen in university. She walked into the classroom with eyes full of quiet storms. While others saw just a beautiful girl, I saw a soul trying to hide its depth. We became friends, then best friends, and slowly — without even realizing — we fell in love. She was from a traditional family. Her father was strict, the kind of man who had already mapped out every step of her life. I, on the other hand, was a middle-class dreamer. I believed in building a life from scratch — a life full of little joys and evening cups of chai at the window. For years, we loved each other in silence, in messages, in late-night calls, in glances across the room. But love, no matter how pure, doesn’t always win against real life. --- Reality Hits Our final year ended. Dreams got bigger. Life started demanding decisions. Then came the moment that shattered us — Maheen’s engagement was fixed with a boy chosen by her father. She cried. She begged. She tried to fight it. But her voice was too soft for the noise of tradition and society. I asked her to run away with me. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and whispered, “I can break my heart, but I can’t break my mother’s.” My world fell apart in silence. I didn’t argue. I didn’t force her. I just watched her walk away… again. --- The Goodbye The platform that night felt like the ending of a movie where the hero doesn’t win. The love doesn’t bloom. The couple doesn’t run away. She was standing by the train, dressed in light green — simple, beautiful, and heartbreakingly distant. Her face was calm, but her eyes… her eyes still held our story. I stepped closer and asked one last time, “Maheen, can you think just once more?” She smiled, not the kind of smile that brings peace — the kind that holds a lifetime of pain behind it. And she said, “You gave me your time. But time… never gave us a chance.” The train whistle screamed. Doors began to close. She turned, and without another word, stepped inside. In my hand was a small gift — the same pocket watch we bought on our last university day. It had the words engraved: “Forever isn’t just a word.” Now the watch has stopped ticking. Maybe time itself gave up… or maybe it paused out of respect for a love that couldn’t win. --- Years Later… Someone told me she’s happy now. She has children. A stable life. A good husband. I smiled and nodded. I too am alive — breathing, working, living — but not truly living. Sometimes, late at night, I wonder… What if time had given us just a little more? What if her family had waited just one more year? What if I had held her hand a little tighter? But time doesn’t stop. It doesn’t wait. It just keeps moving forward, and sometimes, it leaves love behind. --- In the End... Love didn’t leave us. We didn’t betray each other. We didn’t fall out of love. We simply ran out of time. And sometimes, that’s the saddest ending of all. --- (The End)
By Hiba bukhari official about a year ago in Humans
How Communication Builds Stronger Love Bonds
In the early months of a romantic partnership, love tends to feel almost effortless. Each conversation reveals a new facet of the partner, every brush of a hand sends a small thrill up the spine, and spontaneity seems to emerge without planning. Yet as calendars fill and habits settle in, those butterflies grow quieter and are gradually replaced by chores, deadlines, and predictable evenings on the couch.
By Olivia Smithabout a year ago in Humans
How to Know If It's Love or Just Infatuation
At first glance, love and infatuation seem nearly identical, and that likeness can confuse even the savviest heart. Both feelings sweep you up, quicken your breath, and fill empty minutes with daydreams. When you meet someone who sparks all that heat, its tempting to call the experience love right away.
By Stella Johnson Loveabout a year ago in Humans
The True Meaning of Love in Modern Relationships
In an age characterized by smartphones and streaming notifications, no single definition of love seems to fit everyone anymore. Dating apps, time-zone-spanning video chats, and the curated highlight reels on social media have all altered the way people approach, form, and label their connections.
By Stella Johnson Loveabout a year ago in Humans
