grooms

Grooms should enjoy their wedding as much as the brides—here’s to all the men getting hitched.

At Seven Years Old, I Thought Love Was a Promise
At seven years old, I thought love was a promise. I believed it was something you said once and meant forever, like crossing your heart or sealing a letter you never planned to open again. I didn’t understand conditions or endings. I didn’t know people could change their minds. I only knew that when someone said they cared, it felt solid, like something you could stand on without falling through.
By Imran Ali Shah4 days ago in Marriage
The Unsent Confession
Mark was digging through the junk drawer in the kitchen. Not really digging, more like excavating. Years of forgotten keys, dried-up pens, crumpled receipts from hardware stores and takeaways, a single dice from some board game they hadn't played in a decade. Dust motes danced in the slivers of afternoon light cutting through the window above the sink, illuminating the detritus of their shared life. He was supposed to be looking for that tiny screwdriver Sarah needed for her reading glasses, but mostly, he was just procrastinating, enjoying the quiet hum of the fridge and the faint, almost nostalgic, smell of burnt toast from breakfast.
By HAADI7 days ago in Marriage
The Weight of Unsaid Words
Arthur was cleaning out the junk drawer. Not the designated junk drawer everyone has, but *Sarah's* junk drawer, the one in her old writing desk that she swore she’d get to someday. His hand, thick and calloused from years of wrenching on engines, moved slowly, sifting through ancient utility bills, dried-up pens, a single mismatched earring. Dust motes danced in the sliver of sunlight slicing through the grime on the window. He was looking for a screwdriver, really, the one he swore she’d borrowed and never returned, but then his fingers brushed against something crisp, folded precisely in half, tucked under a stack of brittle yellowed receipts.
By HAADI9 days ago in Marriage
The Weight of Unspoken Words
The streetlamp outside cast a sickly yellow rectangle across the worn carpet of the study. John sat hunched over the old oak desk, the one Sarah’s grandfather had built, his back protesting the late hour. A single, naked bulb hung above him, buzzing faintly, a cheap, harsh light for such a momentous task. In front of him, three crumpled sheets of paper, balled up like frustrated fists, lay beside a fourth, smoother page, half-filled with his looping, untidy script. His pen, a Bic, felt like a lead weight in his hand. He hadn’t written a proper letter in twenty years, not since his grandma died.
By HAADI11 days ago in Marriage
Radiant Cut Engagement Rings Explained: Beauty, Brilliance, and Style
Radiant Cut Engagement Rings Explained: Beauty, Brilliance, and Style When it comes to choosing the perfect engagement ring, couples today are looking for something that balances timeless elegance with modern brilliance. Among the many diamond shapes available, radiant cut engagement rings have steadily gained popularity for their unique ability to combine sparkle, structure, and sophistication. This stunning cut offers the best of both worlds—making it a favorite for those who want a ring that truly stands out.
By layladiamondsadarsh diamonds12 days ago in Marriage
The Salt in Her Eyes
Sarah spent too much time in the small, sun-bleached corner of their living room, an old armchair swallowing her whole. Not watching TV. Not reading. Just staring at the photographs she’d pinned haphazardly to the corkboard next to the window. Mostly faded prints, postcards picked up from antique shops, blurry internet printouts. All of them of the same place: a sliver of the Breton coast in France, a tiny fishing village called Port-Guen. Rough-hewn stone houses, their roofs heavy with moss, huddled against a grey, spitting sea. Boats, small and sturdy, bobbing in a little harbor, nets drying on the quay.
By HAADI12 days ago in Marriage
Whispers in an Ancient Library
Elara traced the spine of a book, her finger leaving a pale line in the thick dust. Her arthritis hummed a low complaint in her knuckles, a familiar ache. Another Tuesday afternoon in the stacks. Thomas, her husband of forty-two years, was a shadow at the far end of the aisle, lost in the brittle pages of some medieval tome. The air in the old city library was always the same: dust motes suspended in the weak light from the tall, arched windows, the faint, comforting scent of aging paper and something else, something metallic and cold, like forgotten iron. She’d come here every Tuesday and Thursday since she retired, not because she loved the musty quiet, but because he was here. He always was.
By HAADI14 days ago in Marriage
A New Chapter Begins: Megh Chowdhury Mahfuz and Maria Khan’s Journey of Love. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
A New Chapter Begins: Megh Chowdhury Mahfuz and Maria Khan’s Journey of Love Every meaningful journey begins with a decision, and for entrepreneur Megh Chowdhury Mahfuz, that journey recently entered one of its most significant chapters. He has officially married Maria Khan, marking the beginning of a partnership built on love, understanding, and shared values. Their union reflects not just a personal milestone, but a story that resonates with family, commitment, and balance in modern life.
By SYLAÉ BRAND15 days ago in Marriage
The Drowned City of Dishes
The kitchen smelled of burnt toast and yesterday’s regrets, a familiar perfume in their small house. Arthur scraped his fork against the ceramic plate, a thin, grating sound that pulled Eleanor’s gaze from the window. Rain lashed against the glass, just like it had for three days straight, blurring the world outside into a watercolor smear.
By HAADI20 days ago in Marriage
The Weight of Water
Sarah often caught herself sketching it on napkins, in the margins of bills, sometimes just tracing the outline of it on a fogged-up windowpane. Not *their* cramped kitchen window, mind you, but the window of a house that belonged to her only in stories. Mark's lake house. The one he’d summered in as a boy, up in northern Michigan, a quiet pocket of the world swallowed by ancient pines and the slow, deep breath of freshwater. She’d never set foot on its sun-bleached porch, never felt the splintery wood of its dock under her bare feet, never heard the slap of waves against its pebbled shore, but she knew it. She *felt* it. Like a memory stolen, or perhaps gifted, over years of shared beds and whispered confessions, a phantom limb of her own history.
By HAADI21 days ago in Marriage
Puddle Reflections
They walked, the asphalt still dry beneath their worn shoes, but the air thick, heavy. Mark's arm brushed Sarah's, a ghost of a touch, neither pulling away, neither leaning in. Another Tuesday night. Another forced smile at the host, another plate of pasta, another conversation that skittered across the surface of their lives like a flat stone on still water. The diner's fluorescent glow had been too harsh, the chatter too loud, but the silence between them now, on the street, felt louder. She chewed on her lip, tasting the faint bitterness of cheap wine, a metallic tang of something else she couldn’t quite name.
By HAADI22 days ago in Marriage
The Weight of White
Mark couldn’t sleep. He’d tried, for what felt like hours, turning from his left side to his right, punching the pillow into submission, then giving up on it entirely. Sarah was a quiet mound beside him, her breathing even, deep. A faint, silver light seeped in through the gaps in the curtains. Not the moon, not streetlights. Something else. He pushed himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his feet finding the cool wood floor with a soft thud.
By HAADI26 days ago in Marriage