fact or fiction
Is it a fact or is it merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores relationship myths and truths to get your head out of the clouds and back into romantic reality.
The Line We Were Never Meant to Cross — Epilogue
Three years later, the darkness hadn’t left him. It had learned restraint. Aarav stood by the window as rain slid down the glass, slow and deliberate. The city below pulsed with life—unaware of the things we’d survived inside these walls. He still watched storms like they might accuse him of something. “You’re spiraling,” I said from the bed. He didn’t turn. “I’m remembering.” I rose and crossed the room, stopping behind him. I didn’t touch him immediately. That mattered. It always had. “I remember too,” I said quietly. “And I stayed.” His breath hitched. Just slightly. The old Aarav would have taken my words as permission. As ownership. This one didn’t move until I rested my hand against his back—my choice. Only then did he turn. “Do you ever miss it?” he asked. “The way it was? When I wanted you too much?” I didn’t pretend not to understand. “Sometimes,” I admitted. “It scared me. And it thrilled me.” His jaw tightened. “But I love this more,” I continued. “Because now, when you touch me, it’s because I let you.” His hands came to my waist—slow, reverent, still dangerous in their promise. The darkness was there. It always would be. But now it waited for consent. “You still undo me,” he said. “I just know when to stop.” I smiled faintly. “And I know when not to ask you to.” We lived in that balance—control and surrender woven together so tightly they were indistinguishable. Our love was not loud. It was private. Intense in ways that never needed witnesses. He never claimed me again. He chose me. And I chose him back, knowing exactly what he was capable of—because I’d seen it, survived it, and stayed anyway. The ring on my finger was simple. But the meaning behind it was anything but. It wasn’t a promise of safety. It was a promise of awareness. “I still want you like I shouldn’t,” he murmured one night, lips against my throat. “I just don’t let it own me.” I tilted my head, granting him access I trusted him not to abuse. “I want to be wanted,” I whispered. “Not trapped.” His mouth curved against my skin. “Then we understand each other.” Our love was never pure. It was conscious. We kept the darkness—not as a weapon, not as a cage—but as a reminder of how easily love can turn cruel when it forgets choice. Some nights, when the rain was heavy and the world felt too quiet, he held me like he used to—tight, almost desperate—but never past the line we drew together. And when he asked, “Still here?” I always answered, “Yes.” Because this time, staying was my decision. And his restraint— —that was his redemption.
By Rosalina Jane23 days ago in Humans
Stranded in the Sky: The Unbreakable Spirit of the Andes Survivors
Imagine this: You're flipping through a dusty old album on a quiet Sunday, the kind where the house is too still and your mind wanders. Suddenly, a photo hits you like a punch. A bunch of young guys, bundled in whatever rags they've got, standing in blinding snow, arms slung around each other, smiling like they've just scored the winning try. But right in the middle of the frame-there's a human spine. Clean. White. Stark against the whiteout. Your stomach drops. These aren't props. These are the remains of their friends. And those smiles? They're not fake. They're the smiles of people who've stared death down and somehow kept breathing.
By KWAO LEARNER WINFRED23 days ago in Humans
The Minority
When the topic of immigration is mentioned here in the United Kingdom, I throw a diamond spanner in the conversation. The most influential being of all time who shapes the lives of billions of individuals was a refugee, facing the very same struggles in an attempt to seek belonging, peace and acceptance in a land of unfamiliarity and hostility.
By Malachai Hough24 days ago in Humans
The Dangers of Not Having Your Coffee
5:30 a.m. and my husband coos at me asking if I am awake. I am now, but barely. He tells me he is off to work, checked the fire downstairs, and that is will be fine until I wake up (until 7:30 a.m.). Cool. I set my alarm for 7:30 and head back into some delicious dream, I can’t remember anymore. No I would not tell you, even if I could remember the dream)
By Alexandra Grant25 days ago in Humans
The Power of Tears
The three of them were sitting in a park, staring at the money placed before them. The amount taken from the stolen wallet consisted of three hundred-rupee notes, one fifty-rupee note, and one ten-rupee note—making a total of three hundred and sixty rupees. Seeing such a small amount filled all three with disappointment.
By Sudais Zakwan25 days ago in Humans
The Line We Were Never Meant to Cross — Part 2
I shouldn’t have gone back. I knew better. Every nerve screamed, run. But there was something about Aarav that made logic dissolve like sugar in rain. A week passed since that night. A week of sleepless hours, of replaying the feel of his hands, his mouth, the suffocating heat of him pressed against me. I told myself I was done, that I could survive without him. But survival wasn’t enough—I wanted him, and that made me dangerous to myself.
By Rosalina Jane26 days ago in Humans
What is Application Development? A Detailed Guide to 2026
Think about the last app you used today. Maybe you checked the weather, ordered coffee, or scrolled through social media during your commute. Behind each of those taps and swipes is a world of planning, coding, testing, and refining. That's application development, the art and science of building software that actually works for people.
By Supreme Technologies27 days ago in Humans
The Line We Were Never Meant to Cross — Part 1
I knew better than to trust silence. Silence had a way of tempting people into saying things they couldn’t take back. The night I went to Aarav’s house, the city was under a power cut. No streetlights. No neighbors awake. Just rain scratching against windows like it wanted to be let in. I told myself I was there for closure. That was a lie. The door opened before I knocked twice. Aarav stood there barefoot, sleeves rolled up, eyes dark in the candlelight behind him. He looked… undone. Like someone who hadn’t slept, or forgiven himself, or stopped thinking about me. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “I know.” Neither of us moved. The storm thundered. Somewhere inside the house, a clock ticked loudly—counting down to something neither of us was ready for. “Come in,” he said finally, stepping aside. The door shut behind me with a sound that felt too final. The house smelled like coffee and rain and something unmistakably him. The living room was lit only by two candles on the table. Shadows clung to the walls, turning familiar furniture into something dangerous. “You said you were done with me,” I said, crossing my arms. “I said I was trying,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.” We had history. Ugly history. Stolen looks that lasted too long. Conversations that went too deep at the wrong hours. A kiss we pretended never happened. And the night he walked away without explanation. “I didn’t come to argue,” I said. “I just wanted to understand why you left.” Aarav laughed softly. Not amused. Bitter. “Because wanting you made me someone I didn’t recognize.” That should’ve scared me. Instead, it pulled me closer. “I waited,” I said quietly. “You disappeared, and I waited like an idiot.” He took a step toward me. One. Slow. Careful. Like approaching a wild thing. “If I touch you,” he said, voice low, “I won’t stop.” My heart slammed against my ribs. “Then don’t touch me,” I whispered. He stopped inches away. Close enough that I could feel his breath. Close enough to smell the rain on his skin. “You’re shaking,” he said. “So are you.” His hand rose—hesitated—then gripped the edge of the table instead of me. Wood cracked softly under his fingers. “This is why I left,” he said tightly. “Because you make me lose control.” I should’ve walked out. Instead, I reached for him. The moment my fingers brushed his wrist, something in him snapped. He pulled me against the wall—hard enough to steal my breath, careful enough not to hurt me. His body caged mine, his forehead resting against my shoulder as if he was fighting himself. “Say the word,” he breathed. “And I’ll let you go.” I didn’t. I tilted my head, exposing my neck without meaning to. That was all it took. His mouth found my skin—slow, claiming, dangerous. Not rushed. Like he wanted to memorize every reaction, every gasp. My hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screamed warnings. This wasn’t soft love. This was hunger. He kissed me like he was afraid I’d disappear again. Like the world might end if he didn’t take this moment. When his lips met mine, it wasn’t gentle—it was controlled, deliberate, full of restraint barely holding together. “I hate how much I want you,” he murmured against my mouth. “I hate that I came back,” I replied, breathless. We kissed anyway. Time blurred. The storm raged louder. Candlelight flickered wildly, shadows dancing around us like witnesses. His hand rested on my waist, thumb pressing into my skin like a promise and a threat. Then he stopped suddenly. Forehead against mine. Breathing uneven. “If we keep going,” he said, “this won’t end clean.” I looked at him. Really looked. At the man who ran because he cared too much. At the darkness he carried. At the way he still held me like I mattered. “Nothing about us ever was,” I said. The power came back on with a sharp click. Light flooded the room. Reality rushed in. We stepped apart instantly. I smoothed my clothes. He ran a hand through his hair. The moment shattered, but the damage was already done. I walked to the door. “Don’t disappear again,” I said without turning around. “I won’t,” he replied. I believed him. That was the most dangerous part.
By Rosalina Jane27 days ago in Humans
The Unseen Power of Words
Words are among the few things humans create that outlive their creators while still carrying their breath. Long after a voice goes silent, its words continue working quietly, shaping beliefs, framing memories, and steering decisions. We often treat language as a simple tool for communication, a neutral bridge between minds. But words are not neutral. They never were. They are forces.
By noor ul amin28 days ago in Humans
