Love

The Man Who Waited Every Evening
Every evening at exactly six o’clock, the old man sat on the same wooden bench outside the hospital. Rain or sunshine. Winter or summer.
By Khana day ago in Fiction
The Architecture of a Marriage. AI-Generated.
Year One: The Studio Apartment Four hundred square feet. One room pretending to be four. The bed faces the kitchen because there's nowhere else for it to face. Her books colonize the windowsill. His guitar leans against the radiator, slightly warped from the heat but still in tune.
By Reich Corpa day ago in Fiction
My Dead Father Sent Me a Voice Message at 2:13 AM — And It Exposed the Darkest Secret of Digital Immortality
The last message arrived at 2:13 AM. Not a notification. Not a call. A voice note. From my father. My hands froze. My father had been dead for three years.
By Omid khan2 days ago in Fiction
Love Ends, Memories Don’t
Love didn’t end loudly for us. There was no final argument, no shouting, no dramatic goodbye that could be replayed in my mind. It ended quietly, almost gently, like two people slowly letting go without knowing how to say it out loud. Like a candle burning out in an empty room, leaving darkness behind without making a sound. I still remember the first time we talked. It wasn’t special or planned. Just a normal moment, the kind that usually fades into nothing. But somehow, it stayed. Your words felt familiar, like I had heard them before in a dream. Your laughter settled somewhere deep inside me, warm and comforting, as if it had always belonged there. We didn’t fall in love suddenly. There was no instant spark, no dramatic realization. We drifted into love slowly, quietly, without noticing the moment it began. One conversation turned into many. Late replies turned into sleepless nights. And before I knew it, your name became my favorite sound. We shared the smallest things, and they meant everything. Late-night talks when the world felt peaceful. Inside jokes no one else would ever understand. Comfortable silences that spoke louder than words. You knew my fears without me explaining them. I learned your moods from the smallest changes in your voice. For a while, love felt effortless. It felt safe. It felt permanent. We talked about the future like it was guaranteed. Like love alone was enough to protect us from everything that could go wrong. But love isn’t always destroyed by betrayal or hatred. Sometimes, it fades. Sometimes, it’s defeated by time, distance, and silence. By conversations we postpone. By feelings we ignore. By problems we promise to fix later, until later never comes. We began to change, slowly and quietly. Smiles required effort. Replies took longer than they used to. Conversations felt heavy instead of exciting. “Good night” became a habit, not a feeling. And I noticed it, but I chose to ignore it. I told myself it was temporary. You told yourself the same lie. We both believed love would survive on memories alone, without care, without effort, without presence. It didn’t. The day everything ended was painfully ordinary. No dramatic scene. No cruel words. Just honesty wrapped in exhaustion. “We’re not the same anymore,” you said softly. And I didn’t argue, because deep down, I already knew. We had become two people holding onto memories instead of each other. Love ended that day. But it didn’t leave alone. The memories stayed. They stayed in the songs I still can’t skip. In places I avoid but remember perfectly. In moments when something funny happens and my first instinct is to tell you. Then reality hits, and I remember you’re no longer part of my life. I moved on, or at least that’s what I tell people. I learned how to smile again. I learned how to laugh without looking at my phone. I learned how to live without you being part of my daily routine. But moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. Because memories don’t move on. They wait. Quietly. Patiently. They show up when I least expect them. In the middle of the night. In the middle of happiness. In the middle of meeting someone new. Sometimes I wonder if you remember me the same way. If my name ever appears in your thoughts without warning. If you ever miss the version of yourself you were when we were together. If you ever think about how close we came to forever. I don’t want us back. Not anymore. Some stories are beautiful because they end. If they continued, they would lose the meaning that made them special. Love, sometimes, is meant to be remembered, not repeated. Still, I am grateful. Grateful for the love that taught me how deeply I could feel. Grateful for the heartbreak that taught me how strong I could become. Grateful for the memories that remind me I once loved honestly, without fear. Love ends. People change. Lives move in different directions. Dreams shift. Promises fade. But memories don’t. They stay quietly inside us. Not to hurt us. Not to hold us back. But to remind us that what we felt was real. That once, someone mattered enough to leave a permanent mark on our hearts. And sometimes, that reminder is enough.
By Jack Nod2 days ago in Fiction
The Short Career of a Serial Killer
He was a happy man he really was, Fred had it all. A wonderful wife named Laura and two little girls - Megan and Pam. He was a nine to five man, working at the local cannery. They packed up vegetables and he even got cans to take home. Being a middle size town, the cannery was the center of it all. So each noon the big whistle would blow, announcing that lunchtime had arrived. It happened rather oddly, strangely I might say.
By Rasma Raisters2 days ago in Fiction
Hello, Stranger. Top Story - January 2026.
"See you there, Stranger!" I called. "Yes, Love," my husband replied. "Not yet, silly." "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Later, Stranger."
By Julie Lacksonen2 days ago in Fiction
Silent farewell, audible yearning
My boyfriend and I met in high school. We were crazy in love—the kind of couple everyone else called “goals.” Then, a year ago, he died of an illness that took him too fast.
By Aiden Wang3 days ago in Fiction
Pleasure Hour
"Why didn't you do your helmet time yesterday, Leaf?" Leaf stared at the floor and felt his head boil with indignation. "I had chores to do. I already felt fine..." said Leaf.
By A. S. Lawrence3 days ago in Fiction
The Lantern That Learned Your Name
The town of Greywick learned early not to ask questions at night. By day it was ordinary—brick storefronts, a river that pretended not to remember what it had carried downstream, houses with porches that sagged the way old men sigh. But when dusk arrived, the town changed its rules. Lamps flickered on in windows. Doors closed. Dogs went quiet. And if you were smart, you did not linger where the streetlights thinned and the dark began to feel… deliberate.
By Edward Smith3 days ago in Fiction
The Bloom and the Bullet
The dust doesn’t just coat your boots on Persephone Station; it gets into your soul. It’s the colour of dried blood and old regrets, and it swirls in the thin, recycled air like a ghost that won’t leave you alone. I’m Marshal Silas Rook, and my job is to keep the peace in this tin can hanging in the void between nowhere and oblivion. My peace is usually kept with a six-shooter named Widowmaker and a sawed-off shotgun called Final Argument.
By Edward Smith3 days ago in Fiction
The Saloon Murders
It’s late in the evening. The cowboys and cowgirls are all in bed. A woman is sitting in the dark again. She is at her desk typing details in a letter. She doesn’t need the light to see what is being typed. She’s got it down to a science. She types it urgently as if it’s a matter between life and death. The typewriter dings with each return. She is frantic and determined to fix what this woman has done to the man she loves. In mid-sentence, the phone rings causing her to jump. She answers it.
By Meredith McLarty3 days ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Fog
The fog settled over the village like a blanket soaked in silence. At first it was gentle, wrapping the streets in a quiet hush. But as night deepened, it thickened into something heavier, almost alive, crawling along the cobblestones and slipping into the cracks of every home. It was not the kind of fog that simply blurred the edges of things. This fog carried a chill that touched the marrow, a weight that pressed on the heart, and whispered doubts in voices that sounded eerily familiar.
By Sound and Spirit3 days ago in Fiction