Taboo
The Stranger Who Shared My Blood
I never imagined that a saliva test could make me question everything about my identity. Like many people during lockdown, I got bored and bought one of those at-home DNA kits. It sat on my shelf for weeks until I finally spit into the tube and mailed it off, expecting nothing more than confirmation of what I'd always been told: half Swedish, half French, and a proud mix of both.
By Hamad Haider7 months ago in Confessions
Trump’s African Summit: A Modern Display of Colonial Power
Trump’s African Summit: A Modern Display of Colonial Power On July 9, 2025, the White House became the stage for a troubling diplomatic theatre, as United States President Donald Trump hosted a mini-summit with the leaders of Gabon, Guinea-Bissau, Liberia, Mauritania, and Senegal. What was billed as a friendly summit about economic cooperation quickly revealed itself as a spectacle of domination and submission, raising critical questions about modern-day power dynamics between Africa and the West.
By Ikram Ullah7 months ago in Confessions
The Day I Climbed Over Fear
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been terrified of heights. Mortified. Even the thought of standing near a ledge makes my knees do that weird wobble thing. If heaven and hell really are in the sky and underground, I think I know which one I’d rather be closer to—and it’s not because of fire or damnation.
By ArshNaya Writes8 months ago in Confessions
How Social Media Is Quietly Changing Who We Are
It was all fun when we first joined Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. We felt a little more connected to the world because we were able to communicate with friends who lived far away, share photos, and write about our feelings. However, gradually, something began to alter. We used more than just social media — We began to change as a result. It started to shape how we see ourselves, how we talk, and how we feel slowly and quietly. It began to quietly rewrite our identity.
By kaykobad8 months ago in Confessions
Caught in Her Web: The Night That Broke Every Rule
The city never slept, and neither did temptation. The rooftop bar was a glittering jungle of clinking glasses and whispered promises, the kind of place where deals were made and morals were left at the door. The city thrummed under a relentless downpour, rain hammering the streets like a drumbeat of desire. The rooftop bar was a haze of neon and wet skin, glasses clinking amidst the steam rising from soaked bodies. I was there for business, suit pristine, but my resolve melted the moment she emerged. Her red dress, a scandalous slip of fabric, clung to her curves like a second skin, soaked through and translucent under the flickering lights. Her eyes, dark and predatory, locked onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the rain.“You look like you need to get wetter,” she purred, her voice a sultry caress as she slid beside me, water dripping from her hair onto the bar. Her perfume—jasmine laced with sin—mixed with the rain, intoxicating me. I should’ve bolted. I had a fiancée, a life of order, but her smile was a siren’s call, pulling me into her storm.“Make it quick,” I managed, my voice rough as her fingers brushed mine, igniting a spark. She ordered shots, the liquid fire sliding down my throat as rain streaked the windows. Her touch lingered, nails tracing my wrist, and the bar dissolved into a blur. It was just us, the rain a curtain shielding our reckless dance.“Let’s escape,” she whispered, lips grazing my ear, her breath hot against the cool rain. I followed, mesmerized, as we plunged into the downpour. The elevator was a pressure cooker—her body pressed close, wet dress molding to every curve, her hands sliding up my chest. By the penthouse, restraint was a distant memory.The door slammed, and she was on me, rain-slicked skin against mine. Her kiss was a wildfire, tasting of rain and rebellion. The dress hit the floor, a puddle of red, revealing her in all her drenched glory. Water cascaded down her body, catching the city lights, as she pulled me into her orbit. My hands roamed her wet skin, her moans blending with the storm outside. She was a tempest, her nails raking my back, urging me deeper into the scandal.“Who are you?” I gasped, lost in her heat, rain dripping from us both.
By Ahmad Mahsud8 months ago in Confessions
