Ahmad Mahsud
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Caught in Her Web: The Night That Broke Every Rule
The city never slept, and neither did temptation. The rooftop bar was a glittering jungle of clinking glasses and whispered promises, the kind of place where deals were made and morals were left at the door. The city thrummed under a relentless downpour, rain hammering the streets like a drumbeat of desire. The rooftop bar was a haze of neon and wet skin, glasses clinking amidst the steam rising from soaked bodies. I was there for business, suit pristine, but my resolve melted the moment she emerged. Her red dress, a scandalous slip of fabric, clung to her curves like a second skin, soaked through and translucent under the flickering lights. Her eyes, dark and predatory, locked onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the rain.“You look like you need to get wetter,” she purred, her voice a sultry caress as she slid beside me, water dripping from her hair onto the bar. Her perfume—jasmine laced with sin—mixed with the rain, intoxicating me. I should’ve bolted. I had a fiancée, a life of order, but her smile was a siren’s call, pulling me into her storm.“Make it quick,” I managed, my voice rough as her fingers brushed mine, igniting a spark. She ordered shots, the liquid fire sliding down my throat as rain streaked the windows. Her touch lingered, nails tracing my wrist, and the bar dissolved into a blur. It was just us, the rain a curtain shielding our reckless dance.“Let’s escape,” she whispered, lips grazing my ear, her breath hot against the cool rain. I followed, mesmerized, as we plunged into the downpour. The elevator was a pressure cooker—her body pressed close, wet dress molding to every curve, her hands sliding up my chest. By the penthouse, restraint was a distant memory.The door slammed, and she was on me, rain-slicked skin against mine. Her kiss was a wildfire, tasting of rain and rebellion. The dress hit the floor, a puddle of red, revealing her in all her drenched glory. Water cascaded down her body, catching the city lights, as she pulled me into her orbit. My hands roamed her wet skin, her moans blending with the storm outside. She was a tempest, her nails raking my back, urging me deeper into the scandal.“Who are you?” I gasped, lost in her heat, rain dripping from us both.
By Ahmad Mahsud6 months ago in Confessions
How to confess your love to someone
Confessing your love to someone can be one of the most exhilarating yet nerve-wracking experiences. It’s a moment that requires courage, sincerity, and a bit of planning to ensure your feelings are expressed clearly and respectfully. If you’re ready to tell her how you feel, here’s a guide to help you navigate this important step with confidence and care, tailored to make the moment meaningful for both of you.First, take time to reflect on your feelings. Ask yourself why you love her—what qualities, moments, or connections make her special to you? This clarity will ground your confession and help you articulate your emotions. It’s not just about the grand gesture; it’s about showing her you’ve thought deeply about your bond. Write down your thoughts if it helps—you don’t have to read them verbatim, but they can guide you during the conversation.Timing is crucial. Choose a moment when she’s relaxed and unlikely to be distracted—perhaps during a quiet walk, over coffee, or in a private setting she enjoys. Avoid public places if she might feel uncomfortable, and steer clear of stressful times like right before a big event. A calm, personal environment allows her to process your words without pressure. Pay attention to her mood; if she seems off, it might be better to wait for a better day.When you’re ready, start with honesty. You don’t need a scripted speech—begin by acknowledging the moment. Something simple like, “I’ve been wanting to share something important with you,” sets the tone. Then, express your feelings directly but gently. Say, “I’ve realized I’m in love with you because of your kindness, your laugh, and how you make me feel so understood.” Be specific about what draws you to her; it shows your love is genuine and not just a fleeting feeling.Keep her comfort in mind. Let her know there’s no expectation for an immediate response—say, “I just needed you to know how I feel, and I’m okay with whatever you need to think about.” This reduces pressure and shows respect for her emotions. If she’s surprised or unsure, give her space to process. A confession isn’t about forcing a reaction; it’s about sharing your heart authentically.Consider the setting to add a personal touch. If she loves nature, a park at sunrise could be perfect. If she’s sentimental, revisit a place with shared memories. You could bring a small gesture—like a handwritten note or her favorite flower—to make it memorable, but keep it simple. Over-the-top gestures might overwhelm her unless you know she’d appreciate them. The focus should be on your words and connection, not extravagance.Prepare for any outcome. She might feel the same, need time, or not reciprocate. If she returns your love, celebrate the moment with joy but don’t rush into anything—let it unfold naturally. If she’s unsure, respect her need for space and check in later with a kind message like, “I meant what I said, and I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.” If she doesn’t feel the same, handle it with grace. Thank her for listening, say you value her as a person, and step back to process your own emotions. Rejection stings, but it doesn’t diminish your worth.Practice can ease your nerves. Rehearse what you’ll say with a friend or in front of a mirror to build confidence. Focus on speaking from the heart rather than memorizing lines—authenticity resonates more than perfection. Breathe deeply before you start; it’ll calm your racing heart and help you stay present.Finally, trust your instincts. Every relationship is unique, so adapt these steps to fit your dynamic. After confessing, give her time to respond in her own way—whether it’s a conversation, a text, or silence. Be patient, and let your love shine through your actions moving forward, regardless of the outcome. This moment is about honoring your feelings and her, setting the stage for whatever comes next. With courage and care, you’ll create a memory that reflects the depth of your heart.
By Ahmad Mahsud7 months ago in Confessions
Good Morning Messages for Her: Start Her Day with Love and Positivity.
Good Morning Messages for Her: Start Her Day with Love and PositivityWaking up to a heartfelt message can transform a woman’s morning, especially if she’s your partner, wife, girlfriend, or a cherished friend. A thoughtful good morning message shows you’re thinking of her first thing, strengthening your bond and brightening her day. Below is a collection of romantic, sweet, motivational, flirty, and long-distance messages, along with tips to create your own.
By Ahmad Mahsud7 months ago in Confessions
From Broke to Building Wealth: 7 Proven Strategies to Save $10,000 in a Year
Two years ago, I was drowning in credit card debt, living paycheck to paycheck, and convinced I’d never escape the cycle. My bank account hovered near zero, and the idea of saving $10,000 seemed like a fantasy reserved for people with trust funds or six-figure salaries. But then I hit rock bottom—a car repair bill I couldn’t pay forced me to rethink everything. I wasn’t going to win the lottery, so I had to get smart. Over the next year, I clawed my way to saving $10,000, not by earning more, but by mastering small, deliberate changes. Here’s how I did it, with seven proven strategies you can start today to build your own $10,000 nest egg.
By Ahmad Mahsud7 months ago in Writers
Endless Love
Istanbul, 2015 The Bosphorus shimmered under the golden haze of a late summer evening, its waters whispering secrets to the city that straddled two continents. Istanbul was a place of contrasts—opulence and struggle, dreams and despair. Kemal, at twenty-two, is a determined student from Zonguldak, balancing university studies with part-time jobs to support his family. On a regular day, he boards a bus home, his mind occupied with engineering concepts. His hands, calloused from labor, rest on his lap, a stark reminder of his modest roots.The bus lurches to a stop, and Nihan, a beautiful and slightly disheveled artist, steps aboard, her sketchbook under her arm. She offers cash to the driver, but he insists on a bus card, leaving her confused. Kemal, noticing her distress, stands up and offers his own bus card. "Here, you can use mine," he says, his voice steady but warm.She looks up, surprised, and then smiles, a smile that makes Kemal's heart skip a beat. "Thank you," she says, taking the card and swiping it. As she hands it back, their fingers brush, and for a moment, time seems to stand still. They stand close in the crowded bus, the vehicle's sway bringing them nearer with each turn. Kemal can smell her perfume, a light, floral scent that mingles with the city air. He notices she is carrying a sketchbook, and every now and then, she glances at him, her eyes lingering on his face.Is she sketching me? he wonders, but dismisses the thought as the bus continues its route. At another stop, a seat becomes available, and Kemal gestures for her to take it. "Please," he says, his manners ingrained from years of hard work and respect for others.She sits down, grateful, and opens her sketchbook on her lap. Kemal tries not to stare, but his curiosity gets the better of him. He leans slightly, trying to catch a glimpse, but she quickly turns the page, revealing a sketch of an old man instead. Kemal chuckles inwardly, impressed by her quick thinking, thinking, "She's clever, this one."When his stop arrives, Kemal alights, casting one last look at the woman. She meets his gaze, and for a brief moment, there is a connection, a spark that neither can deny. But then the bus pulls away, leaving Kemal with a sense of loss, wondering if he would ever see her again. Later that day, Kemal finds himself at a mall with a friend, browsing through the shops. An art exhibition catches his eye, and he wanders in, more out of curiosity than interest. As he walks through the displays, a particular sketch stops him in his tracks. It is his own face, rendered with remarkable detail and emotion, the eyes capturing a depth he hadn't realized he possessed. In the corner, signed "Nihan Sezin," he smiles, committing her name to memory, a small piece of her he can hold onto. That evening, Kemal is working as a valet at an upscale restaurant, a job necessitated by his family's financial struggles. As he parks cars, he notices a group entering, a large banner proclaiming "Happy Birthday Nihan!" hanging above the entrance. His heart skips a beat when he recognizes her, radiant in a beautiful dress, surrounded by friends and family.But as he watches, a sense of inadequacy washes over him. She is from a world of wealth and privilege, while he is just a student struggling to make a living. He turns away, ashamed of his own status, fearing that if he approached her, he would be mocked or dismissed, his heart heavy with unfulfilled longing.Inside the restaurant, the birthday celebration is in full swing, but Nihan feels out of place. Her mother, Vildan, is pressuring her to marry Emir Kozcuoğlu, a wealthy businessman who has been infatuated with her since childhood. Nihan has no interest in Emir; her heart belongs to art and freedom.As the night wears on, Emir arrives, his presence commanding attention. He is charming, but there is a darkness in his eyes that makes Nihan uneasy. When she dances with a male friend, a classmate from her art circle, Emir's jealousy flares, and he confronts the friend, beating him in a fit of rage. The scene causes a commotion, and Nihan, humiliated and angry, leaves the party in tears, her heart racing with fury and exhaustion.She drives to the seaside, seeking solace in the open air. Renting a water motorbike, she hopes the speed and the sea will clear her mind. But as she rides, her foot slips, and she plunges into the dark waters, the cold enveloping her, panic setting in.Kemal, who had been working nearby, sees the accident and doesn't hesitate. He dives in, swimming with all his strength to reach her, pulling her to safety and bringing her to his boat, where he works part-time. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern as he wraps her in a blanket.Nihan, shivering but safe, recognizes him. "You're the one from the bus," she says, a small smile breaking through her distress.Kemal nods, returning her smile. "And you're Nihan Sezin, the artist." They laugh, the tension easing, a shared history bridging the gap between them. "Happy birthday, Nihan," he says softly, surprising her."How did you know?" she asks, her voice tinged with curiosity."I saw the banner at the restaurant," he admits. "I work there sometimes." Her expression softens, grateful for his honesty, and for a moment, the world feels right. On the boat, between 7 pm and 11 pm, they talk for hours, sharing stories of their lives. Kemal opens up about his poverty, his education, and his goals to make mines safe and reliable, aspiring to be the best mining engineer. "I want to build a future where no miner has to fear for their life," he says, his eyes earnest, his voice carrying the weight of his dreams.Nihan speaks of her love for art, how each stroke is a rebellion against her family's expectations. "They want me to marry for money, for status," she confesses, her voice trembling. "But I want to live for myself, for my art." Their connection deepens, a bridge across their class divide, each word a thread weaving their hearts closer.At one point, Nihan takes Kemal's hand, tracing an infinity sign on his palm with her fingertip. "This is how I feel about you," she whispers, her eyes locking with his, a vow of endless love. Moved, Kemal leans in, and they share their first kiss, tender and passionate, a moment of pure connection under the starlit sky, the Bosphorus whispering below them.As the clock strikes 11 pm, Nihan knows she must leave. They exchange numbers, reluctant to part, but knowing they'll see each other again, their hearts alight with hope, the infinity sign a silent promise etched in their minds. That same night, as Nihan drives home, her phone rings at 11:30 pm. It's Ozan, her brother, his voice a frantic wail. "Nihan, I—I think I killed someone! At the farmhouse! Please, come quickly!" Fear grips her heart, the joy of the evening shattered. She floors the accelerator, her car tearing through Istanbul's streets, arriving by 12:30 am at the farmhouse, her pulse pounding in her ears.What she finds there is a nightmare. Ozan is pale, shaking, and Emir stands over him, calm and calculating, his eyes gleaming with a predator's satisfaction. Emir had orchestrated a trap, bringing Ozan to the party, plying him with drinks, and setting up a scenario where Ozan would shoot a woman, Leyla, who was supposed to play dead. She wore blood bags and a bulletproof vest around her belly, the plan being that Ozan, drunk and in excitement, would fire at her abdomen, the blood bags would burst, and she would collapse, feigning death. Emir would then "save" Ozan, burying the body and framing it as a tragic accident, binding the Sezins to him.But in his drunken state, Ozan, his hand trembling, fired at her chest, piercing her heart. Leyla gasped, blood seeping through her fingers as she crumpled to the floor, dead. The room froze, Ozan dropping the gun, his face pale, his bravado shattered. Emir's eyes narrowed, but his mind raced. A real death was better than a staged one—it was leverage, unassailable and absolute. "You’ve killed her," he said to Ozan, his voice calm but laced with menace. "But I’ll fix this. For you. For your family."Emir dragged Leyla's body to the farmhouse garden, Ozan stumbling behind, sobbing. Under the cover of darkness, they buried her beneath an olive tree, the earth swallowing their secret. Emir's hands were steady, his heart untroubled. To him, Leyla's death was a fortunate twist, a stronger chain to bind Nihan.He then called Nihan's family, revealing he was now an accomplice to murder. He blackmailed Nihan, saying, "Marry me, or I'll tell the police, and Ozan will spend his life in prison." Vildan, Nihan's mother, clutched her arm, her voice shrill. "You have to do this, Nihan! For Ozan, for us!" Onder, her father, was quieter, his eyes pleading, torn between guilt and helplessness. Ozan, wracked with panic attacks, could only whimper. By dawn, Nihan agreed, her soul fracturing under the weight of her choice, the infinity sign on Kemal's palm feeling like a distant dream. The next day, Kemal, unaware of the tragedy, called Nihan, his voice bright with hope. "Meet me at the boat," he said. "I have a surprise for you." Nihan, hollowed by grief, drove to the dock, each mile a step toward her own execution. The boat was transformed, strung with fairy lights, a small table set with candles and a simple meal—Kemal's labor of love.They sat, and Kemal poured her a cup of Turkish tea, its warmth a cruel contrast to the coldness inside her. She sipped it, her hands shaking, the porcelain clinking against her teeth. The sky darkened, clouds gathering over the Bosphorus. Kemal, sensing a divine signal in the changing weather, knelt before her, pulling a small box from his pocket. He opened it, revealing a modest ring, its simplicity a testament to his heart. "Nihan, I know it's not much," he said, his voice soft but fervent. "Your hands deserve more, but this is all I have for now. I promise I'll work hard, give you everything you deserve. Will you marry me?"Nihan's breath caught, her hand flying to her mouth as tears spilled over. The proposal was everything she had dreamed of, but it came at the worst moment of her life. Her mind replayed Emir's threats, Ozan's terrified face, the blood in the farmhouse garden. She loved Kemal with every fiber of her being, but she was no longer free. The tears became sobs, her body shaking with the weight of her mourning. Kemal's face fell, confusion clouding his eyes. "Nihan?" he asked, like a child seeking reassurance. "Will you marry me?"She shook her head, a silent, agonized no. The sky broke open, rain pouring down in sheets, as if the heavens wept for them. Nihan stood, her dress clinging to her skin, and ran from the boat, her sobs lost in the storm. Kemal remained seated, the ring in his hand, rain mixing with the tears sliding down his face. The infinity sign she had traced on his palm felt like a lie, and fate, merciless, tore them apart.
By Ahmad Mahsud7 months ago in Fiction
An Invisible Cage
Part 1: "The Tangled Dance of Love and Control" The café was bathed in the soft glow of late afternoon, the kind of light that makes everything feel like a memory even as it’s happening. Sarah sat across from Ethan, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee mug, her eyes catching the way his lips curled into a half-smile as he recounted a story from work. It was always like this with him—moments of charm so potent they made her forget the hours of doubt that came before. They’d been together for two years, and yet, every date felt like a performance she was desperate to perfect.It started innocently enough. Ethan was magnetic, the kind of man who could command a room with a single glance. When they met at a mutual friend’s party, he’d locked eyes with her across the crowded living room, and by the end of the night, she was dizzy with his attention. He texted her the next day, a witty message that made her laugh out loud. Within weeks, they were inseparable. He’d plan elaborate dates—rooftop dinners, weekend getaways—and shower her with compliments that felt like poetry. “You’re different, Sarah,” he’d say, his voice low and deliberate. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.” She’d blush, her heart swelling, unaware that those words were the first threads of a web being spun around her.But as the months passed, the cracks began to show. Ethan’s charm had a shadow side, one that emerged when Sarah didn’t meet his unspoken expectations. If she was late to a date, he’d give her the silent treatment for hours, only to later explain how her “carelessness” made him feel unvalued. If she spent too much time with friends, he’d make offhand comments about how she must not care about him. “I just thought you’d prioritize me,” he’d say, his tone heavy with disappointment. Sarah would apologize, rearrange her plans, and try harder to please him. She didn’t notice how her world was shrinking, how her friends’ names appeared less and less on her phone.The narcissism was subtle at first, cloaked in vulnerability. Ethan would share stories of his past—his difficult childhood, his exes who “never understood him”—and Sarah would feel a surge of empathy, determined to be the one who got it right. But his vulnerability was a trap. When she tried to share her own struggles, he’d listen for a moment before steering the conversation back to himself. “That’s tough,” he’d say, “but you know what’s been really hard for me lately?” Her feelings were always secondary, her role to soothe and support.One evening, after a particularly exhausting week, Sarah tried to talk to Ethan about her stress at work. She was mid-sentence when he interrupted, his voice sharp. “You think you’re the only one with problems? I’ve been dealing with way worse, Sarah.” She froze, her words dissolving. Later, when she tried to bring it up again, he brushed it off with a laugh, pulling her into his arms. “You’re too sensitive, babe. I’m just passionate, you know that.” And just like that, she’d doubt herself, wondering if she was overreacting.The cycle was relentless. Ethan would criticize her—her clothes weren’t “classy” enough, her opinions too “naïve”—and she’d try to change, hoping to win back the man who’d once called her perfect. But no matter how much she adjusted, it was never enough. He’d find new flaws, new ways to make her feel small. Yet, when she hinted at leaving, when the weight of his disapproval became too heavy, he’d shift gears. He’d show up with flowers, write her a long letter about how much she meant to him, or plan a romantic evening that felt like the early days. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he’d whisper, his eyes soft and pleading. And Sarah, desperate for the man she fell in love with, would stay.She felt it deep down, though—the gnawing sense that he was fed up with her, that she was a burden he tolerated only because she kept trying. She’d catch him rolling his eyes when she spoke, or notice how he’d check his phone while she poured her heart out. But when she tried to pull away, to reclaim some piece of herself, he’d reel her back in. One night, after a fight where he’d called her “selfish” for wanting to spend a weekend with her family, she told him she needed space. The next morning, her phone lit up with a message: “I was up all night thinking about you. I’m sorry, Sarah. You’re my everything. Let’s fix this.” She met him for dinner, and by the end of the night, she was apologizing again, promising to do better.This was the dance they danced—her chasing his approval, him dangling it just out of reach. She surrendered to it, not because she didn’t see the truth, but because she wanted so badly to believe in the version of Ethan she’d fallen for. She ignored the voice in her head that whispered she was losing herself, that his love was a cage disguised as devotion. She stayed because the moments of sweetness, however fleeting, were enough to keep her hooked. But the cost was her spirit, her confidence, her sense of who she was outside of his gaze. Their relationship became a series of performances. Sarah learned to anticipate Ethan’s moods, to tailor her words and actions to avoid his disapproval. She stopped wearing the bright colors she loved because he’d once said they were “tacky.” She stopped sharing her dreams of starting her own business because he’d laughed and called them “cute but unrealistic.” She became a shadow of herself, always second-guessing, always trying to be the woman he wanted. Yet, no matter how much she gave, he always seemed to want more.One incident stood out. They were at a friend’s wedding, and Sarah, feeling a rare moment of joy, laughed loudly at a joke. Ethan’s face darkened. Later, in the car, he berated her. “You embarrassed me,” he said, his voice cold. “Everyone was staring. You need to act more refined.” She apologized, tears stinging her eyes, but inside, she felt a flicker of defiance. Why was it always her fault? Why was she always the one who needed to change?That flicker grew over time, though it was buried under layers of self-doubt. She began to notice how Ethan never apologized sincerely, how his apologies were always followed by a “but” that shifted the blame back to her. She saw how he’d light up when others admired him, but dim when she needed his support. She started keeping a journal, writing down the moments that made her feel small, and the pages filled up faster than she expected.Still, leaving felt impossible. Every time she considered it, Ethan would sense her withdrawal and pull her back with grand gestures—a surprise trip, a heartfelt letter, a night of intimacy that made her feel seen again. She’d melt, convincing herself that this time, things would be different. But they never were. The cycle continued: criticism, withdrawal, sweet words, repeat. Sarah was trapped, not by chains, but by her own hope that he could change.
By Ahmad Mahsud7 months ago in Psyche
