john dawar
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Stories (27)
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Silence Is the New Luxury
We are living in the loudest era humanity has ever known. From the moment we wake up to the second we fall asleep, noise surrounds us. Notifications buzz, videos autoplay, news headlines demand attention, and social media pulls us into endless cycles of comparison and reaction. In this environment, silence has become rare—and because of that, incredibly valuable.
By john dawar20 days ago in Art
Walking with Myself
The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a warm amber glow across the quiet park. Jordan tightened the collar of their coat and took a deep breath, feeling the crisp air fill their lungs. It was one of those evenings where the world seemed to pause, inviting introspection. Without a destination in mind, they set off on a solitary walk, determined to walk with themselves.
By john dawarabout a month ago in Lifehack
🕊️ The Returned Angel
The village of Rahimabad lay tucked between silent hills, far away from cities, noise, and anything that looked like hope. Years ago it had been a lively place—children running along dusty lanes, women laughing as they drew water from the well, and men returning home at sunset with tired smiles. But time had not been kind. One by one, the people changed. Joy faded. Crops withered. Illness spread quietly. And the night, once peaceful, now felt heavy enough to swallow even the bravest heart. No one remembered exactly when the darkness began. They only knew that the world had become a colder, harder place. Some said it was fate. Others blamed themselves. But deep down, the people shared a quiet belief: they were forgotten. And then, everything changed on a night when the moon hid behind thick clouds. It started with a glow—weak at first, like a candle fighting against the wind. A shepherd boy returning home was the first to see it. He stopped, rubbed his eyes, and stared at the sky. The light grew brighter, warmer, almost like the sunrise happening at the wrong time. Soon, the villagers noticed it too, stepping outside their homes in confusion. The glow descended slowly, taking shape—first a shimmer, then a figure, then unmistakably something not human. An angel landed at the edge of Rahimabad. He stood tall, wrapped in a soft radiance that moved like living flame. His wings, long and silver, glimmered as though dusted with stars. His face held a calmness that made even the oldest villagers feel like children again. The people stared in stunned silence. Some cried. Others trembled. A few whispered prayers they had forgotten long ago. The angel didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His presence alone felt like a warm hand placed gently on an aching heart. Without a word, he began to walk. Where he stepped, the ground healed. Dry grass turned green. Wilted crops straightened and lifted toward the sky as if remembering what sunlight felt like. The old well, long cracked and unusable, sealed itself with a soft rumble. Clear water rose, sparkling. A barren tree near the schoolyard blossomed with white flowers. The villagers followed him like a river follows its path. Mothers held their children close, amazed as the little ones—sick for months—suddenly smiled with color returning to their cheeks. The old imam, who hadn’t walked without his cane in years, found his legs steady again. Even the animals sensed the change; dogs wagged their tails, cows lifted their heads, and birds returned to rooftops where they hadn’t perched in seasons. Everywhere the angel went, something broken became whole. Yet he spoke nothing. Not even a whisper. Some wondered why he had returned. Stories of a guardian angel of Rahimabad existed long ago, but most believed they were tales for children. Now, seeing him in the flesh, they realized something far greater: they had never been abandoned. They had only stopped believing in their own strength. By midnight, the angel reached the village center. People stood around him in a circle, waiting, hoping he would say something—anything. But he simply looked at them with eyes filled with quiet compassion. Then he lifted his hand. A feather drifted from his wing—long, silver, glowing softly. It floated in the air like a falling star and landed at the feet of Gulzar, the youngest orphan in the village. The boy picked it up carefully, holding it against his chest as if it were made of glass. The angel smiled—not with his lips, but with the warmth that filled the space around him. And just like that, he began to fade. His light softened, dimmed, and then dissolved into the night sky until nothing remained except a gentle breeze. The villagers stood there long after he vanished. When dawn arrived, Rahimabad looked different—not because the angel had healed everything, but because the people themselves had changed. They repaired their homes with new energy, replanted fields, and helped one another without hesitation. Laughter returned to the wells. Songs returned to the rooftops. And every night, before sleeping, villagers glanced at the sky—not searching for the angel to return, but remembering that he had come when they needed him most. Because sometimes, an angel doesn’t stay forever. He appears just long enough to remind you that hope is not something that visits you… it is something you carry inside.
By john dawarabout a month ago in Horror
Vocal Unveils Weekly Bonus Leaderboard Winners
Vocal has released its latest Bonus Leaderboard for the week ending November 26, 2025, highlighting creators whose stories sparked exceptional discussion and community engagement. The leaderboard—published weekly by the Vocal Team—has become a core fixture of the platform’s creator ecosystem, offering both recognition and financial reward for those whose work connects meaningfully with readers.
By john dawar2 months ago in Art
Freed From Regret
1. The Whisper of Regret Regret has a quiet, insidious way of entering a person’s life. Sometimes it arrives loudly, shaking your world. Other times, it slips in silently, settling in corners of your mind you didn’t even know existed. For Arman, regret arrived the night he missed a phone call from his mother.
By john dawar2 months ago in Lifehack
The Anxiety Traps You From All Sides
Anxiety never arrives with a warning. It doesn’t burst into your life loudly; it sneaks in quietly, settling itself in the corners of your mind long before you realize what’s happening. That’s how it began for Arman. Just small things at first—a tightness in his chest, a sudden hesitation before making simple choices, a constant replay of conversations he’d forgotten hours ago. At the time, it didn’t feel like danger. It felt like overthinking. It felt normal.
By john dawar2 months ago in Lifehack
Freed From Regret
1. The Whisper of Regret Regret has a quiet, insidious way of entering a person’s life. Sometimes it arrives loudly, shaking your world. Other times, it slips in silently, settling in corners of your mind you didn’t even know existed. For Arman, regret arrived the night he missed a phone call from his mother.
By john dawar2 months ago in Motivation
The Quiet Pause
The air was still, not a breath of wind stirring the trees outside. Inside, the world felt heavy, each thought pressing down like a stone, each heartbeat too loud in the quiet of the room. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, but it felt like time itself had slowed—each second stretching long and thin, carrying with it the weight of an unspoken tension. Anna sat by the window, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of the glass as if the cool surface could offer some kind of relief. Her chest felt tight, and she could feel the anxious pulse of her heart, quick and uneven. She hadn’t expected the day to feel like this—not today, not when everything had seemed so ordinary this morning. It had started with a simple to-do list, a few tasks, a cup of tea. But somehow, the list had spiraled into a cloud of dread. The air had thickened with the pressure of unspoken expectations—both from the outside world and the relentless voices in her mind. The anxiety had come out of nowhere, like a storm on a clear day. And now, sitting in the stillness, she didn’t know how to escape it. For a long time, she had tried to fight it. Tried to push the feeling away with distractions, with things that were supposed to calm her: deep breathing, meditation, a warm bath. But nothing seemed to work. The tension only deepened, the worry twisting into new shapes, new fears. The weight of it all felt suffocating. But then, something shifted. She shifted. Instead of struggling to push away the feelings, she let herself pause. Just a small pause, a breath. She leaned back in her chair, the quiet of the room surrounding her, and closed her eyes for a moment. Not to escape, but to truly notice the world around her. She heard the soft hum of the refrigerator, the gentle tapping of a neighbor’s footsteps down the hall. She felt the weight of her body pressing into the chair, the coolness of the window against her fingertips. In the distance, a bird chirped—so small, so unbothered by the worries of the world. And for a brief second, it was as if the bird’s song filled the room with a quiet kind of peace. Anna exhaled, slowly, deeply. In that moment, she didn’t need to fix anything. There was no need to push the anxiety away or to make it disappear. It was simply there, present like the afternoon light streaming through the window. But it didn’t have to define her. She didn’t have to be consumed by it. The pause, the space between the breaths, became a sanctuary. And for the first time in what felt like hours, she wasn’t fighting. She wasn’t running from the anxiety or the tightness in her chest. Instead, she was simply being with it. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t feel as overwhelming either. There was a certain quietness in accepting the feeling, a stillness in allowing herself the room to simply exist. To not have all the answers, to not know how or when it would pass. But to trust that it would—just as everything else in life ebbed and flowed. The clock ticked again. The world outside continued on. But inside, in that brief, quiet moment, she felt her pulse slow, her thoughts soften. The anxiety hadn’t vanished, but it no longer felt like a storm she had to outrun. She opened her eyes and looked out the window. The trees were swaying gently in the breeze, their branches like hands reaching out, moving with the rhythm of the world. And for a moment, Anna felt connected to it all—the stillness, the movement, the uncertainty, and the peace. She was part of it, just as the bird was, just as the trees were. And that was enough. In the silence, she found a new kind of comfort—a quiet, knowing pause where she could breathe, just be, and let the world turn without feeling the need to control it. And for now, that was enough.
By john dawar2 months ago in Petlife
Ink Made of Memory
One rainy evening, I opened an old notebook and found pieces of myself I thought had disappeared. The pages, worn from years of neglect, were filled with scribbled lines and trembling handwriting—fragments of thoughts I once thought too fragile to hold onto. At first, I felt the rush of nostalgia, the same familiar twinge of vulnerability I’d felt when I first wrote them. But as I sat there, reading the half-finished thoughts, I realized something unexpected: they had become bridges back to the person I once was.
By john dawar2 months ago in Writers
The Pages That Saved Me
I began writing only because I had nowhere else to place the weight I was carrying. Grief, fear, shame—each emotion felt like a stone tucked deep inside my chest, heavy enough to slow my breathing but invisible enough that no one around me noticed. I didn’t set out to create anything beautiful or profound. All I wanted was relief. A place to put the things I didn’t know how to say out loud.
By john dawar2 months ago in Writers
The Lighthouse Keeper’s Secret
The lighthouse had stood on the cliff for over a century, its whitewashed walls battered by storms and salt, yet steadfast against time. To the townsfolk below, it was just a beacon for passing ships, a relic of a bygone era. But to Emma, who had spent her summers wandering the rocky shoreline as a child, the lighthouse held whispers of secrets long kept from the world.
By john dawar2 months ago in Fiction
When Silence Learns to Speak
Silence was the first language I ever learned. Not the silence of peace, but the silence that grows inside a person when their truth feels too fragile to release. I carried it like a second skin—thin, invisible, and impossible to peel away. People saw me as quiet, composed, gentle. They didn’t see the storms that raged beneath my ribs. They didn’t hear the words I swallowed day after day because I didn’t know where to put them.
By john dawar2 months ago in Writers
