love
All you need is Love, and Love is all you need.
Open Your Heart: The Radical Power of Vulnerability in a Guarded World
In a world that often rewards sharp minds and cold logic, softness can feel like a dangerous thing. We learn early on to hide our tears, laugh off our pain, and never let anyone know how deeply they’ve touched us. Somewhere along the way, "strong" became synonymous with "closed."
By Awais ur rahmanabout a year ago in Humans
When the Lights Went Out
When the Lights Went Out By Abdie.bhai 👑 It was the night the city lost power. No warning. No storm. Just an eerie stillness, as if the sky had blinked — and everything disappeared with it. I stood by the window, watching the streetlights die one by one, like tired stars giving up. Behind me, the candle flickered on the kitchen table, its flame shaky, like my breath. I didn’t know why this sudden darkness felt different. Maybe because this time, it had nothing to do with electricity. This time, the darkness came from inside me. Ever since my sister passed, I had lived in noise. I filled my days with music, TV shows I didn’t care about, endless social scrolling—anything to avoid hearing the echo of her absence. Silence felt dangerous. It reminded me that she wasn’t just away. She was gone. That night, with no power and nowhere to run, I was forced to sit in that silence. And it was louder than anything I had ever heard. Her room was still across the hall, untouched. The posters she loved, the little notebook she used to scribble in, her favorite sweater still hanging on the back of the door. I had kept everything the same—as if she might walk back in one day, laughing and complaining about something ridiculous. But she wouldn’t. Cancer doesn’t knock. It breaks in like a thief and robs you slow. It steals more than breath. It steals birthdays, hugs, inside jokes, and the sound of someone brushing their teeth in the next room. You never realize how loud love is until it goes quiet. I sat down on the hallway floor, legs pulled in tight, head resting against the cold wall. The candlelight didn’t reach me there, but I didn’t care. That’s when I heard it. A hum. Soft. Familiar. Not from the room, not from the candle—from memory. My sister used to hum when she was nervous or couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t a real song, just a tune she made up and stuck with. She used to say it made her feel like the night had a rhythm, like it wouldn’t swallow her whole. Now, that rhythm lived in me. I started humming it too. Quietly, at first. Then louder, like she might hear me. And in that moment, something shifted. The darkness wasn’t so heavy. The house didn’t feel so hollow. And I didn’t feel quite so alone. Grief is strange. It doesn’t leave, but it changes shape. At first, it feels like drowning. Then, like carrying stones in your pockets. But some nights—quiet, broken nights—it turns into something softer. Something that reminds you love doesn’t vanish. It just… changes form. That night, the power never came back. But I didn’t need it. Because the light I needed was already inside me. Lit by memory. Kept alive by love. And maybe—just maybe—healing begins not when the pain is gone, but when you can sit with it and still find beauty. When you can sit in the dark… …and still feel the warmth.I sat there longer than I meant to. Minutes? Hours? I couldn’t tell. Outside, the wind picked up — not harsh, but soft. Like the world was finally breathing again. And for the first time in a long while, so was I. I closed my eyes and imagined her sitting next to me, bare feet on the floor, messy hair, wearing that oversized hoodie she loved. I could almost hear her laugh — that short, high-pitched one that used to annoy me… but now, I’d give anything to hear it for real. Isn't it strange how we only start to understand the value of moments when they become memories? Grief didn’t go away that night. But something opened in me. A quiet peace. A gentle acceptance. And maybe, that was enough for now.
By Abdie bhaiabout a year ago in Humans
🌿 When the Forest Taught Me to Love Again
They say stillness cures the heart, but I found that whispering leaves and golden light heal it much quicker. After my heart had been crushed, I escaped to the woods near my boyhood home, seeking seclusion but discovering something unexpected: friendship in every rustling limb and shimmering shadow. Each morning, the light would stream through the canopy like loving hands touching my cheek, and in those soft rays, I sensed an old promise: love is not just found between individuals; it exists silently in everything.
By Dr. Engr. Miqdad Hussainabout a year ago in Humans
Life of Cousins
In a small town nestled between hills and fields, lived a large, close-knit family where cousins weren’t just relatives—they were each other’s first best friends. Among them were four: Ayaan, Zara, Hamza, and Noor. Their parents were siblings, and their families lived only a few houses apart. From the earliest days of childhood, they shared every joy, every fight, and every milestone. Their story began with mud pies and hide-and-seek. During summer vacations, they would gather at their grandparents' home—a simple house with a wide courtyard, shady neem trees, and a swing that creaked with age but carried countless memories. That place became their kingdom. Ayaan, the eldest, was the self-declared leader. He was always curious, always trying to invent things—once even building a "time machine" from cardboard and kitchen utensils. Zara was his closest rival, smart and sarcastic, always challenging his ideas. Hamza, the peacemaker, loved photography and animals, often disappearing with his camera to capture birds or their neighbor’s cat. Noor, the youngest, was shy but deeply observant. She rarely spoke, but when she did, everyone listened. As children, their world was small but magical. Monsoon evenings were for cricket in the rain. Winter nights meant bonfires and ghost stories. They built tents with bedsheets and made “secret clubs” with ridiculous rules. Their bond was unbreakable. But like all stories, change was inevitable. Years passed. Ayaan left for university in Karachi. Zara’s family moved abroad. Hamza started working with his father in their auto business. Noor remained in the same town, quietly writing poetry that no one yet knew about. Distance crept in—not just physical, but emotional. The WhatsApp group they once messaged daily turned silent. Birthdays passed with only a message or two. Family functions felt a little emptier. Then came a wedding. Their cousin Hira was getting married, and the whole family was gathering again after years. The event became a reunion, a revival of something long buried. On the first night, Ayaan arrived late, looking taller and more serious. Zara walked in the next morning, elegant and confident, fresh from years in London. Hamza, ever warm, picked them up from the airport. Noor stood quietly at the door, a little nervous, holding her diary in hand. At first, it was awkward. The jokes didn’t land the same way. Conversations stumbled. But slowly, piece by piece, the old rhythm returned. Ayaan challenged Zara to a game of chess like old times. Hamza brought out his dusty camera and started taking photos again. Noor, for the first time, shared a poem—about cousins, about time, about missing pieces of herself. One evening, they sneaked away from the wedding festivities and went to their grandparents’ house. Though dusty and unused, it was still standing. The swing still creaked. They sat under the neem tree in silence. “Do you guys ever miss it?” Noor asked. Zara smiled. “Every day.” Ayaan nodded. “I thought we’d never be this close again.” Hamza added, “We might have changed, but what we had was real. Still is.” That night, they stayed up talking. About love, heartbreaks, dreams, regrets. They weren’t children anymore, but the bond had evolved—it had matured. The laughs were deeper, the silences more comforting. From then on, they made a promise. No matter where life took them, they'd meet once a year. Even if only for a weekend. And they kept that promise. Over the years, their lives took different paths. Ayaan became an engineer, Zara a writer, Hamza a wildlife photographer, and Noor, finally, published her first poetry book. They faced setbacks—illness in the family, job losses, heartbreaks—but their yearly meetups remained their anchor. In those reunions, they laughed like children and cried like old friends. They revisited childhood memories, created new ones, and grew stronger as individuals, knowing they had each other. The life of cousins isn’t just about sharing toys or holidays—it’s about growing up side by side, drifting apart, and still finding your way back. It’s about the comfort of knowing someone remembers your childhood better than you do. Someone who knows where you came from and celebrates who you’ve become. In a world that’s always moving, where friendships fade and people change, the cousins held on—to each other, to their roots, and to the stories that only they could tell. Because cousins are the first chapters of our life story. And sometimes, the best ones too.
By Ikhtisham Hayatabout a year ago in Humans
I Want A Wife
I want a wife who after her 8 hour day taking care of other people’s emotions, comes home with enough energy to cater to me and my feelings, and does not ask me to do the same. I want a wife who does not ask anything of me until I let her know I am ready for it. I want a wife who will ask me when I will be ready, and is satisfied when the answer is “not right now” with no real commitment to a later time. I want a wife who wants to share about her day with me but only when I am ready, without me knowing that she has already shared about her day with her friends. I want a wife who will sit and watch the TV shows that I want to watch with me until 9pm, and then do the chores we have designated for her. I want a wife who goes to bed early so she’s well-rested for tomorrow. I want a wife who will be understanding of my career without questioning my logic. I want a wife who is interested in my curiosities, and forgives me easily when I forget to ask about hers. I want a wife who doesn’t keep her curiosities to herself, even though I don’t really give her the chance to talk about them when she does bring them up. (To be fair, I get too excited and want to participate so badly that I interrupt her.) I want a wife that does not keep score of when I make mistakes, even when I scold her about the same exact mistakes. I want a wife who does not keep a list of things she has done wrong. It’s like she is attempting not to gaslight herself. I want a wife who wants to have sex with me regularly even though I have not done much beforehand to woo her, except in the way I am comfortable doing so. (I want a wife who does not care about who comes in bed first, mostly because I am so sensitive and always orgasm multiple times.) I want a wife who only wants to hang out with her friends once a month, since we need to work on our relationship, and we don’t get true quality time during the week. I want a wife who prioritizes herself, and is still helpful with my health issues first. I want a wife who will have a conversation with me when I am telling her about what she has done wrong, instead of only responding with “okay.” I want a wife who is understanding of my health issues but does not remind me to remember her own, because I am understanding but I can’t be as understanding when I am dealing with my own shit. I want a wife who doesn’t spend on her credit card. Sometimes she says we can’t afford groceries without it. I want a wife that forgives me when I spend $300 on stamps and coins because my spending impulse is going to happen regardless, so might as well spend it on investments. I want a wife to find a better-paying job. This is the first time I have seen her have a good time in a job. I want a wife who can do a side hustle on top of hanging out with me and regular chores and pulling energy out of her ass. I want a wife who can pull energy out of her ass at all, but who can also relax with me when she gets home. I want a wife who has energy for active things we can do together. I want a wife who can do everything and still have time and energy and space to do her hobbies, because she deserves to have time for that. I want a wife who does not need to be considered. I want a wife who is okay with me making plans with her family and friends without asking her, although I ask her to ask me when she wants to do the same thing. I want a wife who does not focus on whose fault it is, but does take accountability for her actions. I want a wife who does not focus on hypocrisy because everyone is hypocritical anyway, so why focus on it at all? I want a wife who does not care that my family does not know about her, does not care that my family will never know about the work she does. I want a wife who loves me unconditionally and stays unconditionally. I want a wife who is okay with an unfair, equitable relationship, and who still prioritizes herself because I know it’s important to prioritize yourself like I do. I want a wife who is okay that I am still figuring out how to work as and consider us as a couple. Funny enough, in the end, I am the one who asked her to marry me. I want a wife who is okay that I don’t really consider her in my future plans and is, in fact, happy at being invited. I want a wife who realizes what an honor it is that I am inviting her into my pre-planned life and does not want my plans to be adjusted for her and/or our partnership. I want a wife who understands that change is difficult for me, and I expect her to adjust to this quickly. I want a wife who is my everything. I cannot be her everything, and it is ridiculous for her to even expect that of me. I want a wife who dances the way I do. I don’t prefer to go out dancing. She’s constantly asking to go. I’ve rarely seen her dance the way she likes to. I can’t remember the last time I saw the joy it brings her.
By Ariana GonBonabout a year ago in Humans
The Mark on Her Neck. AI-Generated.
Please Don't Forget Like and Subscribe Read For End Thanks. . . . It was a rainy Thursday afternoon in a quiet town just outside Toronto. The streets were nearly empty, and the gray clouds hung low in the sky. In a small bookstore tucked between a bakery and a flower shop, a girl named Laila stood by the window, watching the raindrops race each other down the glass.
By Bilal Mohammadiabout a year ago in Humans
When an American Boy Fell for a Canadian Girl. AI-Generated.
It was a warm Saturday afternoon in Vancouver, Canada. The sun was shining, and the city’s famous weekend market was full of life. People walked between colorful stalls selling fresh fruits, handmade crafts, and delicious street food. Laughter, music, and the smell of grilled corn filled the air.
By Bilal Mohammadiabout a year ago in Humans
