Azmat Roman ✨
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Stories (158)
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They Called It a Breakdown. I Call It the Beginning
I remember the exact moment my world cracked open. It was a Tuesday morning—ordinary by all appearances. I was sitting at my desk at the marketing agency where I’d worked for seven years. My inbox was flooded, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and my boss had just cc’d me on another passive-aggressive email. I should’ve been used to it. But that day, I wasn’t.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Motivation
The Checklist Man: Why I Walked Away From Everything I Thought I Wanted
I met Daniel at a mutual friend’s engagement party. He was tall, impeccably dressed, and carried himself with a quiet confidence that made people lean in when he spoke. He wasn’t loud or flashy. He didn’t need to be. He had the kind of presence that filled a room without trying.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Humans
The Day I Packed a Bag and Never Looked Back
The Day Everything Changed It was a Tuesday. Tuesdays are rarely revolutionary. They’re the sleepy cousins of Mondays—unremarkable, predictable. But that one? It was the day I stopped pretending everything was okay. The day I zipped up a single bag, walked out the door barefoot, and didn’t look back.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
She Died at 34. I Still Set Her Alarm Every Morning.
It was 6:30 AM—the time I’d set her alarm for the last ten years. Every morning without fail, my phone buzzes with that same melody, a reminder of a life abruptly silenced at 34. She’s been gone for over two years now, but I still set her alarm every morning.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Humans
The Closet That Holds Us Both
His clothes still hang in the closet. So does my guilt. I walk past that closet every day, hearing the faint rustle of fabric that’s no longer worn, no longer lived in. But the emptiness inside those shirts and jackets feels heavier than any weight I’ve ever carried. It’s a silence so loud it drowns me out.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
I Forgot His Voice. And Then One Night, I Heard It Again.
I used to think the sound of someone’s voice could never leave you. That even after death, it would echo somewhere in the back of your mind—gentle, stubborn, familiar. I thought memory was enough to preserve it. But I was wrong.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
What No One Tells You About Losing a Child
The Day Time Stopped No one tells you how the world keeps spinning when yours comes to a sudden halt. It was a Tuesday—sunny, unassuming. The kind of day where nothing monumental should happen. My son, Caleb, had just turned seven. He had a wild laugh that echoed off the walls and a tender soul that seemed too large for his little frame. That morning, he had asked me if whales could get sunburned. I said I didn't know, and he said, "Let’s Google it after school."
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
Whispers from the Grave: My Mother-in-Law's Final Words Changed Everything
I never expected her to speak again. My mother-in-law, Gloria, had been battling cancer for months. The once-vibrant woman who had ruled her home with elegance and a touch of tyranny was now frail, ghostly pale, and tethered to machines in a hospice bed. Her eyes, once sharp and calculating, now fluttered open with a softness I had never seen.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
The First Time I Laughed After He Died, I Felt Like a Traitor
The first time I laughed after he died, I felt like a traitor. It wasn’t a polite chuckle or a weak smile. It was real—genuine and loud. The kind of laugh that escapes your chest before your brain can catch it. The kind of laugh that feels like life itself.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
Some Days I Pretend He’s Just at a Friend’s House
It’s been 431 days since I last saw my son. But some days, I pretend he’s just at a friend’s house. I imagine his laughter echoing in someone else’s living room, his sneakers kicked off by the door, his phone left charging on the kitchen counter. I tell myself he’s staying up late playing video games, eating pizza rolls straight from the oven, yelling strategies over a headset. I picture him rolling his eyes when I call to check in. “Mom, I’m fine,” he would say, dragging out the word with teenage disdain, “I’m just at Jason’s.”
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
