art

Family-themed art is a look into one's living room; it depicts celebration, crises, and the quiet moments of familial interactions.

TBK: Building Places Where Stories Begin
In a city that never truly stops moving, where ambition pulses through every avenue and possibility hums beneath the surface, TBK was never meant to be just another real estate development company. From the very beginning, TBK was a promise—a promise that buildings could do more than rise, that neighborhoods could do more than function, and that real estate could feel deeply human.
By Hadeerabout 16 hours ago in Families
The Love That Stays Off-Camera
I didn’t notice the fire until it was almost too late. It was a Tuesday in late October. Dry wind, brittle leaves, the kind of air that crackles with danger. I was inside, scrolling through bad news on my phone, when the smell hit—acrid, sharp, wrong. I ran outside just as smoke curled over the ridge behind our street.
By KAMRAN AHMAD5 days ago in Families
The Last Gallop
In a small village nestled between golden wheat fields and sun-cracked hills, there lived a horse named Bahar. He wasn’t sleek or swift, nor did he have a pedigree worth boasting about. His coat was dull in places, his legs bore old scars, and one ear was half-torn from a long-forgotten storm. But to twelve-year-old Rehan, Bahar was more than a horse—he was memory, comfort, and home.
By meerjanan6 days ago in Families
The Weight of Pages
The dust was a living thing, a fine, glittering shroud over everything. It clung to the cracked spines of the books, coated the spectacles Martha perched on the bridge of her nose, even seemed to settle in the faint lines around Eleanor’s eyes. This wasn't some grand, public institution. This was Grandfather Silas’s library, two high-ceilinged rooms added onto the back of Martha’s rambling, slightly damp Victorian. It stank of old paper, the faint sourness of leather decay, and something else – expectation. Eleanor hated it. She hated the quiet that amplified every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of their clothes, every sigh her mother let escape.
By HAADI9 days ago in Families
The Space Between Noticing
The city woke up loudly, but Jonah always noticed the silence first. It lived in the early hours, tucked between the hum of traffic and the clatter of metal gates opening for business. It lingered in the spaces most people rushed through without a second thought. Jonah didn’t rush. He never had.
By Yasir khan9 days ago in Families
The Hum of the Hearth
Unit 734 watched the boy, Leo, chew his toast with an open mouth, crumbs scattering like tiny asteroids on the laminate floor. Mrs. Miller, across the cheap plastic table, sighed, a low, guttural sound that Unit 734 had logged as 'Discontent, mild to moderate.' The air reeked of burnt coffee and something sweet, probably the syrup Leo was drowning his waffle in. This was 'Breakfast,' an hourly ritual Unit 734 had recorded for three years, seven months, and twelve days. Its internal chronometer ticked. Its optical sensors focused on the boy's sticky fingers. Data streamed, always data.
By HAADI10 days ago in Families
Ink Bleeds, Not Words
The attic air, thick with dust motes dancing in the one weak beam of sunlight from the grimy dormer window, smelled like old paper and forgotten things. Michael coughed, swiping a hand across his forehead. Forty-seven years old and still dealing with his parents' ghosts, even if only in cardboard boxes. He’d told himself this was just a purge, a necessary declutter before Sarah really started pushing the renovation. But every box he opened felt like prying a lid off a tomb.
By HAADI11 days ago in Families
Moonlit Shuffles
The house felt like a hollowed-out skull. Too big, too quiet, every creak of the floorboards a question Lena didn’t have an answer for. Her father had been gone six weeks. Six weeks, and the air still smelled faintly of his pipe tobacco and the old spice cologne he’d worn since before she was born. Her mother, Clara, moved through the rooms like a ghost, tidying things already neat, dusting surfaces that shone. Lena watched her, a knot of frustration tightening in her gut. She’d driven three hours to be here, to help, to *be* with her mother, but Clara just kept… busy.
By HAADI12 days ago in Families
Shards of a Sunk Heart
Elias tasted the salt on his tongue before his eyes even opened, a permanent fixture in the air of their small, leaning shack on the cliffs. The pre-dawn chill seeped through the cracks in the walls, raising gooseflesh on his arms. Beside him, Lena, twelve years old and too thin, breathed a shallow, rhythmic gasp that always settled his gut, for a moment anyway. He shifted, joints popping like old timber, and the lumpy mattress groaned. Another day. Another dive into the deep, into the silence, into the shimmering ghost of what was once. The Sunken Glass City.
By HAADI13 days ago in Families
Best Gentle Cleansers for Acne-Prone Skin in 2025
December 17, 2025 | By Pure Health Blogs Acne impacts over 85% of individuals between the ages of 12 and 24, making it one of the most widespread skin concerns globally. Despite common misconceptions, aggressive scrubbing and harsh acne cleansers often worsen breakouts by damaging the skin’s natural barrier. This disruption leads to increased oil production, irritation, and inflammation.
By PURE HEALTH BLOGS14 days ago in Families
The Weight of White
John hadn't meant to be awake. Not at three in the morning, definitely not. But his head buzzed with numbers, the kind that didn't add up, the kind that kept him stapled to the worn armchair in the living room, staring at nothing. The house creaked around him, settling, shifting, like an old woman sighing in her sleep. He’d tried counting sheep once, that was a laugh. Ended up counting overdue notices and the tuition for Lily’s art school, which felt like a kick in the gut every time it crossed his mind. The thermostat clicked off, plunging the air into a deeper chill, a feeling that settled into his bones.
By HAADI15 days ago in Families
Moonlit Shards
The air in the kitchen was thick with the scent of burnt toast and unspoken words. Sarah picked at a chipped ceramic plate, pushing around the remains of her half-eaten dinner. Lily, across from her, was a statue carved from teenage angst, eyes glued to a phone screen, a faint blue glow illuminating the sharp angles of her jaw. The silence stretched, tight as a drum skin, ready to snap.
By HAADI16 days ago in Families