family
Family unites us; but it's also a challenge. All about fighting to stay together, and loving every moment of it.
“The Last Candle”
The power went out just as the storm reached its height. Thunder rattled the windows, lightning split the sky, and suddenly the house plunged into absolute darkness. For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of rain lashing against the roof and wind howling through the cracks of the old wooden doors.
By AHAD Barki 5 months ago in Humans
Big Toys, Small Joys: A Walk Through the Past
It was a regular Tuesday morning when Claire wrapped her scarf, slipped on her coat, and stepped into the crisp hush of early autumn. The city hummed its usual tune — cyclists rattling past, café spoons clinking against cups, children skipping with juice boxes in hand.
By Shehzad Anjum5 months ago in Humans
Whispers Between Two Worlds
Amara was used to silence. The kind of weighty, clean, weary silence that filled the morning hospital corridors. She clocked off at the end of a twelve-hour night shift and plodded home in tired feet and hazy mind. The city barely began to stir: public transport blasted angrily, shutters were pulled up by shopkeepers, and a foggy softness clung to the streets.
By Leyvel Writes5 months ago in Humans
Cancer Woman and Scorpio Man Compatibility Score. AI-Generated.
When a Cancer woman and a Scorpio man come together, the connection is intense, magnetic, and deeply transformative. Both are water signs, which means they naturally understand each other’s emotional language, moods, and inner depths. Cancer is ruled by the Moon, representing nurturing, intuition, and emotional security, while Scorpio is ruled by Pluto and Mars, planets of transformation, power, and passion. This pairing often feels destined, as though the two were drawn together by unseen forces.
By Inspire and Fun5 months ago in Humans
I’m Not a Gift, but I Want a Gift
The screen washed her face in blue light. Marta scrolled through profiles like trading cards: the awkward ones—swipe left; the loudmouths with barroom grins—swipe left; the “I like sunsets and the sea” types—swipe left.
By Halina Piekarska (UltraBeauty Blog)5 months ago in Humans
The Language of My Mother's Hands
The LANGUAGE OF MY MOTHER'S HANDS WRITTEN BY: LEGANCY WORDS My mother and I never got along. We were like two radios tuned to different stations—always static, never harmony. Our conversations were a minefield of misunderstood comments and sharp replies. I thought she was critical; she thought I was careless. We loved each other, I suppose, but we didn’t know how to say it without starting another argument.
By LegacyWords5 months ago in Humans
Two Paths, One Heart
Paris. Springtime. The city was alive that afternoon — golden sunlight slipping through the trees, laughter bouncing off cobblestones, and the faint smell of roasted coffee drifting through the air. Tourists lingered without hurry, as if time itself had slowed for them.
By Shehzad Anjum5 months ago in Humans
Chains of the Brothel: Part 1 Anita’s Silent Fall
In 1969, in a small, quiet village in Bengal, a child named Anita Das was born. The village was a place of stillness—narrow dusty lanes where children’s laughter echoed, fields that stretched endlessly in a green embrace, and evenings where the horizon glowed golden as the sun slipped away. Anita grew up with the innocence of the village stitched into her soul.
By Shehzad Anjum5 months ago in Humans
Chains of the Brothel: Part 2 — The Price of 2200 Rupees
The year was 1990. Anita had been married only two years when her world began to collapse. She had once believed marriage was a doorway into love and safety. Amit Mishra had wooed her with promises — sweet words whispered in the quiet of evening, vows of forever, dreams of building a family together. Anita believed him. She gave him her trust, her loyalty, her heart.
By Shehzad Anjum5 months ago in Humans
“The Night That Turned Into a New Beginning”
The night was supposed to be ordinary. Nothing more than the usual routine of walking home after a long, exhausting day. The streets were quiet, the kind of silence that feels heavier than noise. I remember feeling trapped inside my own head, weighed down by regrets and unfulfilled dreams. My life had fallen into a cycle: work, eat, sleep, repeat. It wasn’t living—it was just surviving.
By Umar Farooq5 months ago in Humans
I’m Not Young Anymore—And That’s a Strange Kind of Freedom
I used to think that youth was freedom. The late nights, the endless possibilities, the sense that life was still unwritten—it all felt intoxicating. But with it came a weight I didn’t recognize at the time: the constant pressure to prove myself, to chase after the next milestone, to look the part, to stay relevant.
By Azmat Roman ✨5 months ago in Humans
