Teenage years
Living with Anxiety: What I Wish People Understood About Me
I. The Face I Show, and the Storm Inside If you met me on the street, you'd probably think I’m doing okay. I smile. I make jokes. I go to work or school. I show up. But what you don’t see is what’s going on behind that smile — a mind running at full speed, always scared of something going wrong, even when everything seems fine.
By The Pen of Farooq 6 months ago in Confessions
The Firefly That Refused to Fade
Story: On the edge of a quiet village, nestled in tall blades of grass, lived a firefly unlike any other. His name was Lumo, and unlike most fireflies who blinked their lights for brief moments of courtship or instinct, Lumo carried a different fire—one not just in his abdomen, but deep within his soul.
By Ihsan Ullah LLC6 months ago in Confessions
When Silence Speaks Loudest
The clock ticked softly, almost too softly for a room so still. Outside, the winter air pressed its foggy fingers against the frosted glass of the living room window. Inside, two people sat, separated by three feet of space and miles of misunderstanding.
By Muhammad Tayyab6 months ago in Confessions
My dog didn’t just fill the silence—he became my voice
There was a time in my life when silence wasn’t peaceful—it was painful. The kind of silence that gets into your bones. The kind that, after loss, after loneliness, after life, takes away those few voices that used to make you feel seen.
By Echoes of Life6 months ago in Confessions
The Unwritten Letters I Never Sent to Myself
I used to write letters to myself every year on my birthday. I don't remember why I started—maybe because I thought it was poetic, or maybe I just wanted someone to talk to. Someone who understood me better than anyone else could.
By Jawad Ali6 months ago in Confessions
The Hands That Braided My Hair
When I was a child, Daadee’s hands were magic. They could soothe any fever, find anything I lost, and braid my hair so perfectly that not a strand dared fall out of place. She wasn’t loud, like Dada. She didn’t tell jokes or command attention at family dinners. But her presence filled the room in quieter, stronger ways.
By Muhammad Usama6 months ago in Confessions
