Love
Guard Your Battery, Lose Your Humanity
I used to think my phone was my lifeline. In Amsterdam, where rain slicks the cobblestones and bikes fly by like they're late for something important, my screen was the one constant: notifications buzzing through tram rides, endless scrolls while waiting for koffie at a brown café, quick checks at red lights on the Keizersgracht. It felt safe. Controlled. Connected. Until it didn't. By early 2026, I was exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix. My anxiety had crept up quietly — heart racing in crowds, that low hum of dread when the battery dipped below 20%. I blamed the city, the weather, work. But deep down, I knew the truth: I'd outsourced my presence to a rectangle in my pocket. I was here, but never really here. So on a drizzly February morning, I made a rule that felt ridiculous: no phone in public for 30 days. Pocket, bag, or leave it at home — but never in hand when outside my apartment. If I needed directions or music, tough. The goal wasn't total detox; it was forcing myself to look up, be bored, and — if the moment felt right — talk to someone. One stranger conversation a day if it happened naturally. No forcing, just availability. What broke first was the fidgeting. Days 1–10: The Withdrawal Hits Hard The first week was brutal. At the Albert Cuyp Market, my hand kept reaching for my pocket like a phantom limb. Without the screen to hide behind, every line felt exposed. I noticed things I'd ignored for years: the way an old man feeds pigeons near the Nieuwmarkt, the precise rhythm of bike bells, the smell of fresh stroopwafels mixing with canal water. I also noticed people. Everyone else was doing what I'd been doing — heads down, thumbs moving. On the 2 tram toward Centraal, a carriage full of silent faces lit by blue light. No one spoke. No one looked up. It hit me: we're all in our own little bubbles, floating through the same beautiful city. By day 5, boredom turned into restlessness. Waiting for coffee at a spot on the Prinsengracht, I had nothing to do but watch. A woman in a red coat struggled with her umbrella in the wind. Our eyes met. She laughed first. "This weather," she said. I replied, "It builds character, right?" We chatted for two minutes about nothing — the rain, the best waterproof jackets. It felt awkward, electric, alive. That tiny exchange cracked something open. My anxiety didn't vanish, but it lost its grip for a moment. Days 11–20: The City Starts Talking Back Halfway through, the experiment shifted from punishment to curiosity.
By Shoaib Afridi7 days ago in Fiction
As Wise As an Owl
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By George’s Girl 2026 8 days ago in Fiction
Sixteen Hundred Dollars of Salvation
Oleksandr trudged through the sleet-slicked streets toward the modest bungalow of Pandit Yad Adnan, that curious exile whose name evoked both a sage and a jest, while the cold probed his marrow with the insidious persistence of an ancient, half-forgotten reproach.
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I Found Your Old Jacket and Everything Came Back
I Found Your Old Jacket and Everything Came Back I wasn’t looking for it. That’s the strange thing about memories—they rarely arrive when you invite them. They appear quietly when you’re doing something ordinary, like cleaning out a closet on a quiet Sunday afternoon.
By Ihsanullah8 days ago in Fiction
The Last Message You Never Sent
At 11:47 p.m., my phone buzzed. I remember the time because I was staring at the clock when it happened, lying on my bed with the lights off, listening to the quiet hum of the ceiling fan. The room smelled faintly of rain drifting in through the open window.
By Ihsanullah8 days ago in Fiction
We Sat in Silence Until the Truth Finally Arrived. AI-Generated.
The café was quieter than usual that afternoon. Outside, a thin October rain slid slowly down the windows, blurring the city into soft gray shapes. Cars passed like distant whispers. The smell of roasted coffee beans hung warmly in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of cinnamon pastries cooling behind the counter.
By Ihsanullah8 days ago in Fiction
The Text I Never Sent—and the Regret That Followed. AI-Generated.
The message sat on my phone for three days. Three days of staring at the blinking cursor. Three days of typing, deleting, retyping. Three days of wondering if a few simple words could change the direction of a life—or quietly destroy what was left of it.
By Ihsanullah8 days ago in Fiction
Don’t Let Me Fall in Love With You
I knew I would lose you the moment I started praying for you. Love didn’t arrive like a storm. It came quietly — in the way your name felt softer on my lips, in the way the world seemed calmer when you stood beside me. And that is what terrified me most. Because the most dangerous loves are not the loud ones… they are the ones that feel like home.
By imtiazalam9 days ago in Fiction
