Rakesh Professional
Bio
An expert content writer and storyteller, Rakesh Kumar has been into blogging, article writing, and storytelling across genres. An expert in SEO and digital trends, he produces meaningful and impactful content meant for his audiences.
Stories (5)
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The Last Dreamer. Content Warning.
The Last Dreamer A World Without Dreams The city never sleeps. Neon veins run through its metal framework, reflecting off glass monoliths stretching skyward, forever surrounded by artificial lights. Here, in New Babel, night is not a time to rest—it’s a marketplace of illusions. No one dreams anymore. The Dream Corp. made sure of that. For a price, they offer an escape—artificial dreams, curated and delivered straight to the subconscious. Love stories for the lonely, power fantasies for the weak, nostalgia for the lost. Every night, citizens sink into their pre-designed dreams, never knowing what it really means to dream. Erin is a Dream Architect. He doesn’t sleep the way humans once did. His job is to construct these illusions, weaving together fragments of memory, desire, and artificial wonder. But deep down, he knows: He’s not an artist. He’s a technician, a forger of stolen dreams. One night, in her dimly lit dream lab, a new request comes into her queue. But it's different. It's not a request for a dream. It's a request for a meeting. She arrives quietly, her presence an anomaly in a town that no longer questions. A girl with dark, unblinking eyes, her breath barely stirring the still air. "I don't want a fake dream," she says. Her voice is quiet but firm. "I dream naturally." Erin laughs. "That's impossible. Nobody can." But then she closes her eyes. The air around her glows and twists, like heat rising from the pavement. And then Erin sees it—an image, raw and unfiltered. Not projected, not programmed. A dream, real and alive. The ground beneath her shakes. He stands in an endless golden meadow, the wind whispering secrets in a language he doesn’t understand. The sky above him is not the polluted steel-gray of New Babel but a deep, aching blue, infinite and free. It feels more real than anything he’s ever created. When he blinks, he’s back in the lab, his breathing shaky. She looks at him. “Believe me now?” Her hands are shaking. If Dream Corp finds her, they’ll wipe her out. She’s the last Dreamer. And that means she’s dangerous.
By Rakesh Professional12 months ago in Fiction
Letters from the Heart: A Postman's Farewell. Content Warning.
Letters from the Heart: A Postman's Farewell The Genuine Friend of Life Raj had consistently esteemed his work more than anything else throughout everyday life. For a long time, he had been the modest mailman, burning through the peaceful paths of the town, conveying letters to each doorstep. To every other person, he was only a mailman, yet to Raj, each letter resembled a little story, and he was its quiet watchman. He was an observer to such countless lives—love letters, birthday wishes, sympathies, and expectations—every envelope a part in the existences of individuals he served. However, Raj's life, interestingly, was an account of isolation. He had no dear companions, no family to impart his days to. Each time he attempted to frame an association, it appeared to self-destruct for some explanation. The distance between him and others, both physical and close to home, had developed more extensively throughout the long term. His main sidekick was his bike and the packs loaded with letters that he conveyed, and even they had turned into a piece of his character. He considered the letters his approach to interfacing with the world, despite the fact that he never permitted anybody to associate with him, really. Each home he visited was another section, yet his own pages felt vacant. Maybe that was the reason; when he passed by somebody's entryway, conveying a birthday card or a letter, he felt a baffling feeling of warmth. Briefly, he felt a piece of their lives. However, as his retirement drew nearer, a calm bitterness started to sneak in. "Will anybody recall me when I'm gone?" he pondered. "Will anybody care when I quit conveying their letters?" The Main Taste of Goodbye Raj started his last course very much like some other morning. The sun was still low overhead, projecting a brilliant tone over the calm roads. As he accelerated along, the town appeared to be changed today. There was a tranquil, implicit feeling of progress in the air. Individuals who typically waved from their windows or yelled a speedy hello were waiting a piece longer, their grins somewhat more extensive. It felt like the town was giving him an implicit goodbye. From the get-go, Raj didn't grasp it. They were simply being caring, he thought. He was, all things considered, the mailman they had known for quite a long time. In any case, there was another component—an inclination that something was finishing, an option that could be more profound than simply a task. Raj felt it in the manner the youngsters raced to him with fervour in their eyes, the manner in which the older neighbours grinned energetically as he gave them their letters. It was then that he understood: they were bidding farewell—to the mailman, however, to a piece of their set of experiences. Each house he halted at today appeared to hold a memory, his very own little piece of story. As Raj conveyed the keep-going letter on his course, he remained there briefly, taking in the quiet scene. The delicate stirring of the leaves, the chuckling of youngsters playing in the yard, the far-off sound of a canine woofing—this multitude of little things, which he had underestimated throughout the long term, now felt all the more valuable. He had been a piece of every last bit of it. The Startling Letter As Raj moved toward the mail centre, his heart was weighty with the heaviness of his last day. He had never contemplated retirement—he had consistently considered his responsibility to be a lifestyle, in addition to something important to abandon. Be that as it may, as he ventured inside the workplace, he was given an envelope. From the start, he expected it was simply one more piece of mail to be arranged, yet when he took a gander at it intently, he saw something that left him speechless: the letter was addressed to him. The penmanship was flawless and natural, yet it wasn't from any individual—this envelope was from the whole town. Inquisitive, Raj got it into his sack and proceeded with his obligations. Yet, he was unable to shake the irritating inclination that this was a significant thing. Around noon, with the day developing calm, Raj found a confined spot close to the old oak tree by the recreation area and opened the envelope. Inside was a basic card, decorated with photos of the town—a sign of all that he had consumed in his time on earth. "Dear Raj," the card started, "We, individuals of this town, need to thank you sincerely for every one of the years you've spent conveying letters, yet grins, recollections, and thoughtfulness. Your presence has been the string that has integrated every one of us. You've been there for each achievement—each birth, each wedding, each goodbye. Our lives have been more extravagant on the grounds that you were important for them. You are something beyond a mailman. You are a piece of our loved ones." Tears gushed in Raj's eyes as he read the words. Without precedent for his life, he understood the profundity of the effect he had made. He had gone through his days interfacing with individuals; however, he had never permitted himself to be really associated. This letter wasn't simply a thank you—it was an update that he had made a difference. He had been a piece of individuals' lives in manners he had never perceived. Raj stayed there for a significant length of time, letting the words hit home. The tranquil park, the stirring leaves, the far-off chuckling—every last bit of it appeared to reflect the sentiments expanding inside him. Such an extremely long time, he had conveyed far beyond letters. He had conveyed delight, love, solace, and at times, recuperation. Individuals of the town weren't simply his "clients" or "neighbours." They had turned into his family, as well. An Existence of Stories As Raj proceeded with his course, the expressions of the letter reverberated to him. His means felt lighter, like the heaviness that could only be described as epic of administration had been taken off his shoulders. Each house he passed, each entryway he thumped on, appeared to hold another memory now. He pondered the youthful couple who had sent letters this way and that to one another prior to getting hitched, the older lady who composed letters to her late spouse consistently, and the youngsters who had stood by anxiously for the birthday cards they adored to such an extent. These individuals had entrusted him with their lives, their most profound feelings, and he had conveyed those accounts with him for quite a long time without completely acknowledging how significant they were. Raj felt a profound feeling of satisfaction. Indeed, he was resigning; however, his work had implied something undeniably beyond conveying bundles. It had implied making associations, fashioning bonds, and, above all, being there for individuals in their most weak minutes. The Last Farewell When Raj arrived at the mail centre in the late evening, the sun was starting to set, projecting a delicate brilliant light over the town. His partners were hanging tight for him, grinning with blended feelings. They all knew the amount Raj had intended to give them, yet presently, they needed to bid farewell. "Raj," the postmaster said, his voice thick with feeling, "You've been something beyond a partner. You've been the substance of this town. We'll miss you." Raj grinned through the tears in his eyes. "I'll miss you as well. In any case, just relax. Despite the fact that I will not be conveying letters any longer, I'll continuously convey this town with me. You're all in my heart." As Raj left the mailing station one final time, he didn't feel bitterness. All things being equal, he felt a profound feeling of harmony. He had conveyed something other than letters. He had conveyed recollections, connections, and love. And, surprisingly, however his task was finished, his position in the hearts of individuals he had served could never be neglected.
By Rakesh Professional12 months ago in Journal
You Deserve to Feel Okay: 5 Powerful Ways to Protect Your Mental Health. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
5 Powerful Ways to Protect Your Mental Health Ever feel like you're carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? Like no matter how hard you try, you just can't seem to catch a break?
By Rakesh Professional12 months ago in Men
Waves of Happiness: Shore Life. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Coastal Whisperings A reverberate echo through the recesses of time; in waves were the dancing figures, ever moving and swirled towards the shore. Each crash pleaded a little promise in whispers, White foam kissed the skirting sand with glee, Concealing information borrowed from the farthest nitty-gritty of the sea. We begin to witness the little scuttlers clinging to shadows cast by the obscured sun, Small feet furiously digging on, as if pressed for attending something important.
By Rakesh Professional12 months ago in Lifehack
A rekindling of friendship from heartbreak to hope. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
A Friend I Thought I'd Never Find I didn't mean to disappear. Being a young adult was the storm life blew me through. I felt like trash people used to discard because they could, without their feet even hanging over the edge of the dumpster first. I was nothing, no one—though she saw me.
By Rakesh Professional12 months ago in Humans
