Azmat Roman ✨
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Stories (158)
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Everyone Says Time Heals. No One Talks About the Waiting.
Everyone says time heals. No one talks about the waiting. When Maya lost her mother, the world around her didn’t suddenly become easier. The advice poured in like rain: “Time will heal you,” her friends said, “Just give it some time.” But no one warned her about the long, silent hours spent waiting—waiting for the pain to dull, for the sharp edges of grief to soften, for the moments of unbearable sorrow to pass.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
I Didn't Cry at the Funeral. I Cried in the Laundry Room.
Everyone kept watching me at the funeral. Eyes skimmed over my stiff posture and dry cheeks like they were waiting for a crack, a single shiver of emotion to make it all feel real. My mother had just died, and I stood at the edge of the casket like a stone monument—unmoving, unreadable. I didn’t cry.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
The Grief I Never Talk About Lives in My Kitchen
There’s a particular silence in my kitchen that never leaves. It’s not the absence of sound — the radio still hums softly in the background most mornings, and the kettle still whistles its shrill alarm when the water boils. It’s something deeper, more personal. A silence that tugs at the edges of my chest when I stand by the sink. A silence filled with memories that linger in the corners like grease stains — impossible to scrub out completely.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
I Still Buy His Favorite Cereal. He's Been Gone for Years
I reach for it every Saturday morning—the bright yellow box with the cartoon tiger on the front. Third shelf down, second from the left. I don’t even read the label anymore. I could find it blindfolded. My hand moves before I think, before I remember. Or maybe I do remember, and that’s why I keep doing it.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
You Don't Move On. You Move With It
I was sitting at the edge of my mother’s hospital bed, watching her chest rise and fall for what would be one of the last times. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the room. In that moment, I thought about all the things people had told me since her diagnosis: “You’ll be okay,” “Time heals all wounds,” “You’ll move on.”
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Humans
Grief Doesn’t Go Away – It Just Changes Its Shape
I used to think grief was like a season. A bitter winter that you endured, clenched your jaw through, and waited for spring to melt away. I thought it would come, wreak havoc, and eventually leave. I didn’t realize grief doesn’t go away. It just changes its shape.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Humans
Why I Still Set a Place at the Table for My Dead Son
There’s a chair at our dining table that no one sits in. The plate is always the same — white with a thin blue ring around the edge, the kind you find in discount stores. The fork and knife lie in their proper places, and I still pour a glass of water like he’s about to walk through the door. Every evening, I set it there, quietly, without ceremony but never forgetting. Some find it odd, even unsettling. But for me, it’s comfort. It’s memory. It’s love that refuses to die just because he did.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Blush
She Only Lived Eight Years. But She Taught Me Everything.
I still remember the way her laugh echoed through our tiny house — bright, unfiltered, and bubbling with life. Emma had a way of making the ordinary seem magical. A cracked sidewalk became a hopscotch course. A broken crayon became a reason to invent new colors. And a rainy day? That was just an invitation for a pillow fort.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
I Left Without a Word. Here's Why I Never Went Back
It was a Tuesday morning—gray, indifferent. The kind of day that never makes the headlines of memory. I remember zipping up my backpack, making sure it didn’t make too much noise. I remember the slight creak in the floorboard outside my room and how I paused before stepping over it, almost out of respect for the silence I was leaving behind.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
What I Lost When My Son Died (And What I Refuse to Let Go)
When my son died, the world didn’t stop turning—but mine did. I remember the exact moment I got the call. It was a Sunday, late afternoon. I was folding laundry, thinking about dinner, planning the next week in my head. Then my phone rang, and everything I thought I knew—everything that felt solid—crumbled in seconds.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Families
This Is the Lie I’ve Been Living With for 10 Years
Most people think surviving a tragedy makes you a hero. They look at your scars, hear your story, and they admire your strength. But no one ever wonders if the survivor might be the reason the tragedy happened in the first place.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Confessions
No One Believed Me Until It Was Too Late
I always knew something was wrong with Millers Creek. On the surface, it was the kind of sleepy little town you’d see in a postcard—brick sidewalks, cozy diners, a sheriff who knew every kid’s name. But underneath that Norman Rockwell charm was a rot that no one wanted to see. And when I started talking about it, they looked at me like I was crazy.
By Azmat Roman ✨7 months ago in Horror
