my love

i dont even know why im writing this maybe because i cant say this to your face maybe because every time i look at you i forget what i wanted to say and i just look at you and think how can i ever hurt this girl

you made me so happy you know that right

there was a time when just seeing you was enough for me i used to wait for your calls your messages your stupid little stories about your day and even when you were talking about something i didnt understand i still wanted to listen because it was you

i loved having you around

i loved coming back to you after a bad day i loved knowing that there was someone waiting for me someone who would ask if i ate someone who would notice when my voice sounded different someone who knew when i was pretending to be okay

you became a part of my life so naturally that i dont even remember when it happened

and maybe thats why i am so scared now

because for the past few days something feels wrong

i dont know what happened

nothing happened between us actually thats the worst part

you didnt do anything wrong

you are still the same girl i fell in love with

you still smile the same way you still annoy me the same way you still look at me like im the only person in the room

but when i look at you now i dont know what is happening inside me

i keep waiting for that feeling

that warmth in my chest that feeling which used to come whenever you were near me

but its not coming

and i feel horrible saying this

sometimes you are sitting right next to me and im holding your hand and everything looks exactly like before but inside my head there is just silence

nothing

and i keep asking myself what the hell is wrong with me

because i still want to be with you

i still want to wake up next to you

i still want to know how your day went

i still want to hear your voice before i sleep

i still want to make plans with you

then why does a part of me keep saying that maybe i dont love you anymore

i hate that thought

i hate it so much

because how can i not love you when you have given me so much love

how can i look at the person who stood beside me through everything and suddenly question what i feel for her

sometimes i literally sit alone and try to force myself to feel something

i look at our pictures

i read our old messages

i remember our first meeting

our first stupid fight

the first time you held my hand

the first time you said you loved me

and i smile

i actually smile

but then when the memories end there is this emptiness again

and yesterday i cried because of it

not because you hurt me

you didnt

i cried because i was scared that maybe im becoming a stranger to the person i love

i kept thinking maybe if i cry enough maybe my heart will understand something

but it didnt

and i dont know how to tell you this without breaking you

i dont want to lose you

god i dont want to lose you

the thought of you with someone else makes me sick

the thought of you not calling me anymore hurts

the thought of coming home and knowing you are not there hurts even more

so why

why do i still feel like something is missing inside me

maybe im just tired

maybe life has been too much lately

maybe love isnt supposed to feel the same every single day and im just overthinking everything

maybe this is just a phase

i keep telling myself that

because the other possibility scares the shit out of me

what if i really dont love you anymore

what if i am just holding onto you because i am scared to let you go

what if i am staying because i remember how happy you once made me

and not because my heart still wants you

i dont want that to be true

i really dont

i want to love you

i want to look at you and feel that stupid happiness again

i want to miss you when you are gone

i want my heart to race when you walk into the room

i want to feel something

anything

but i cant force it

and thats what is killing me

you deserve someone who looks at you and doesnt have to question whether he loves you

you deserve someone who chooses you without sitting alone at night wondering if he is lying to himself

and i hate that i cant be that man right now

maybe tomorrow i will wake up and everything will be okay

maybe i will look at you and finally understand

maybe i will hold you and feel that warmth again

i really hope i do

because despite everything

somewhere inside me there is still a part that doesnt want a life without you

and maybe thats love

or maybe its just attachment

i dont know anymore

and im sorry

im so fucking sorry

i wish i could give you an answer

i wish i could tell you exactly when something changed inside me

but i cant

all i know is that i still want you

i still care about you

i still want to protect you

i still want to see you happy

but deep down there is this horrible little voice asking me

do you actually love her

and every time i hear it

i break a little

because i dont know the answer

and i am scared that one day

you will ask me the same question

and I will have to look into your eyes

and finally tell you the truth

I don’t know when it happened exactly. Maybe it was during the years when studying slowly stopped being something we did and became something we had to do. Maybe it happened when every hobby started feeling like a distraction, when every hour spent doing something for ourselves started looking like an hour wasted. I just know that one day I looked at the things I used to love and thought, “I don’t have time for this anymore.” And somehow, that sentence became normal.

We grow up hearing the same things again and again. Study well. Get good marks. Get into a good college. Build a career. Earn well. Become independent. Make your parents proud. And honestly, who doesn’t want that? Of course we want to be successful. Of course we want money. We want to give our parents the life they dreamed of giving us. We want to look at ourselves one day and say, “yeah, I actually made it.” There is nothing wrong with wanting any of that.

But somewhere between wanting a good life and trying to build one, we started losing pieces of the life we already had.

The weirdest part is that nobody tells you when it’s happening. There is no dramatic moment where you suddenly stop being creative. It happens quietly. You stop painting because you have an exam. Then you stop writing because you have assignments. Then you stop cooking because you’re too tired. Then you stop reading because you tell yourself you’ll do it after finishing your work. And then one day, months have passed, and you can’t even remember the last time you did something just because you wanted to.

And when you finally do get some free time, you don’t know what to do with it anymore.

You just sit there.

Scroll.

Think about everything you haven’t done yet.

Feel guilty for resting.

And somehow even your free time becomes stressful.

That’s the part nobody really talks about.

We have become so obsessed with being productive that sometimes we don’t even know how to exist without producing something. If we are not studying, working, learning, exercising, planning, improving or achieving something, we start feeling like we’re falling behind. Like everyone else is moving and we’re standing still. So we keep pushing ourselves, even when the thing we actually need is to breathe for a second.

And creativity suffers first.

Because creativity doesn’t always look productive.

Painting doesn’t necessarily give you a degree. Writing a random paragraph at 2 a.m. doesn’t pay your bills. Cooking something new doesn’t improve your resume. Sitting with music and making up stories in your head doesn’t help you clear an exam. So we start putting these things at the bottom of the list because they don’t have an obvious “result.”

And that’s such a sad way to look at the things that once made us happy.

I remember how creativity used to feel like an escape. You could have the worst day and still sit down with a notebook and somehow feel lighter. You could paint something ugly and still be proud because you made it. You could write absolute nonsense and somehow it would still feel important because those words came from somewhere inside you.

There was no pressure to be good.

There was no pressure to monetize it.

There was no pressure to turn it into a career.

There was no one asking, “Okay, but what will you get from this?”

You just did it.

And maybe that’s why losing that version of ourselves hurts so much.

Because the creative version of us wasn’t perfect, but she was free.

She didn’t care if the painting looked professional. She didn’t care if the story was good enough to publish. She didn’t care if the food looked pretty enough to take a picture. She just wanted to try. She wanted to experiment. She wanted to make something with her own hands and then sit there looking at it with that stupid little feeling of, “wait... I made this.”

Now everything feels like a task.

Even the things we love.

You open your notebook and instead of feeling excited, you think about how much time it will take. You pick up a paintbrush and start wondering if you are even good anymore. You think about writing and immediately start comparing yourself to people who have already published books. You want to cook but you’re tired, and suddenly ordering something feels easier.

It’s not that we stopped loving these things.

We’re just exhausted.

And there is a huge difference.

Sometimes I think we mistake exhaustion for losing interest. We say, “I don’t like writing anymore,” when what we actually mean is, “I haven’t had the mental space to write.” We say, “I’m not creative anymore,” when maybe our brain has just been running on deadlines, stress and expectations for so long that it doesn’t know how to play anymore.

Because creativity needs space.

It needs a little emptiness.

It needs time to wander.

And how are we supposed to wander when our mind is constantly screaming about the next exam, the next assignment, the next goal, the next responsibility?

We’re always somewhere else.

Studying for tomorrow.

Worrying about next month.

Planning for five years from now.

Trying to become the person we think we are supposed to become.

And somewhere in all of that, we forget to ask a very simple question:

What do I actually enjoy anymore?

Not what is useful.

Not what will make money.

Not what will make my parents proud.

Not what will look impressive.

Just...

What makes me happy?

That question can feel surprisingly difficult.

Because sometimes the answer is buried under years of “be practical.”

We’ve been taught to choose practical things so often that choosing something simply because we love it starts feeling irresponsible.

And I hate that.

I hate that a young person can spend hours studying and everyone calls them hardworking, but if that same person spends three hours painting, suddenly someone asks, “Why are you wasting your time?”

I hate that we are taught to be proud of our achievements but almost embarrassed about the things that bring us joy.

Maybe that’s why so many of us have two versions of ourselves.

There is the version everyone sees.

The productive one.

The responsible one.

The one with goals.

The one who studies even when she’s tired.

The one who says, “I’ll rest later.”

The one who keeps going.

And then there is the other version.

The one who wants to write at midnight.

The one who wants to paint flowers badly.

The one who wants to cook something random just to see how it turns out.

The one who wants to sit by the window and think about absolutely nothing.

The one who doesn’t need an achievement at the end of the day to feel worthy.

And honestly?

I miss her.

I miss the person I was before everything had to have a purpose.

Before every hobby needed to become a skill.

Before every skill needed to become a career.

Before every career needed to become success.

Before success became the thing we were constantly chasing.

Because the truth is, I don’t want to choose.

I want to be successful.

I want to study.

I want a career.

I want financial independence.

I want my parents to look at me and feel proud.

But I also want to write things nobody reads.

I want to paint something ugly and still love it.

I want to cook when I feel like it.

I want to spend an afternoon doing absolutely nothing useful and not feel guilty about it.

I want that version of me too.

And maybe that’s where we need to start.

Not by throwing away our ambitions.

Not by saying education doesn’t matter.

Not by pretending money and success aren’t important.

They are.

But maybe we need to stop sacrificing every beautiful part of ourselves just to reach them.

Because what is the point of becoming everything we wanted to be if, by the time we get there, we don’t recognize ourselves anymore?

Maybe we don’t need to become less ambitious.

Maybe we just need to remember that we are human beings before we are students, employees, future professionals, successful people, or someone’s pride.

And humans need to create.

We need to make things.

We need to play.

We need to mess up.

We need to do pointless little things that make us smile for no reason.

Maybe that isn’t laziness.

Maybe that’s life.

And maybe the creative version of us isn’t gone.

Maybe she’s just tired of waiting for us to give her some time.

Maybe the saddest thing about losing your creative self is that you don’t realize how much you miss them until you accidentally find them again.

Maybe it’s an old sketchbook lying somewhere in a drawer. A half-finished story saved on your phone. A recipe you wrote down months ago because you were so excited to try it. A painting you made when you were younger, when you didn’t know enough about art to be scared of being bad at it. You look at those things and suddenly remember how you used to be.

And for a second, you’re like, wait... I used to love this.

Not in a dramatic way.

Just quietly.

Like your heart recognized something your brain had forgotten.

And then comes that weird little pain of realizing how long it’s been since you did something just because it made you happy.

You start remembering all the excuses.

“I’ll do it after exams.”

“I have too much work this week.”

“Maybe during the holidays.”

“I’m too tired today.”

“I need to focus on my future right now.”

And every single excuse made sense when you said it.

That’s what makes it worse.

You weren’t choosing to abandon yourself. You were choosing your responsibilities. You were choosing your future. You were choosing the things everyone told you mattered.

And yet somehow, the person you were doing all of this for was slowly disappearing.

There is something almost cruel about being praised for the exact thing that is exhausting you.

People tell you, “You’re doing so well.”

“You’re so hardworking.”

“Look how much you’ve achieved.”

“Keep going.”

And you smile because you’re proud too.

Of course you are.

But sometimes there’s another thought sitting quietly behind that smile.

I’m tired.

Not “I don’t want my future.”

Not “I don’t want to succeed.”

Just...

I’m tired of constantly having to earn the right to feel proud of myself.

Because that’s another thing we learn.

We start believing that we are allowed to feel good about ourselves only when we’ve accomplished something.

Good grades? Proud.

Finished assignment? Proud.

Got selected? Proud.

Won something? Proud.

Worked for ten hours? Proud.

But what about the day you spent painting?

What about the evening you wrote three pages of something nobody will ever read?

What about the afternoon you cooked for yourself and actually enjoyed it?

What about the day you rested because you were tired?

Why don’t those things count?

Why does happiness have to justify itself?

I think we have become so obsessed with building a successful life that we forgot a successful life is supposed to be a life we actually enjoy living.

And I’m not saying every day has to be beautiful.

Real life isn’t like that.

There will be stressful days. There will be exams. There will be deadlines. There will be responsibilities that we can’t escape. Sometimes we genuinely won’t have the energy to paint or write or cook, and that’s okay too.

The problem isn’t being busy.

The problem is when being busy becomes our entire personality.

When we stop having anything that belongs only to us.

When every part of our day is controlled by what we have to do.

That’s when life starts feeling strangely empty.

You wake up, study, attend classes, complete work, eat, scroll for a little while because your brain needs an escape, sleep, and then do it again.

And technically, you’re doing everything right.

But something still feels missing.

You can’t explain it properly.

You’re not necessarily unhappy.

You’re just... not you.

And that feeling is terrifying.

Because you can survive like that for a long time.

That’s the scary part.

You can become extremely good at functioning while quietly losing yourself.

You can get good grades while feeling creatively dead.

You can build a career while forgetting what you used to dream about.

You can become financially successful and still miss the person who used to sit on the floor with a paintbrush and no plan.

And maybe that’s why we need to stop treating creativity like a hobby that can be picked up only when life becomes easy.

Life might never become easy in the way we’re waiting for.

There will always be another responsibility.

So maybe we have to make space for ourselves inside the chaos.

Not huge amounts of time.

Maybe twenty minutes.

Maybe half an hour.

Maybe one Sunday afternoon.

Maybe one page before bed.

Maybe one terrible little sketch.

Maybe cooking something without worrying whether it turns out perfect.

It doesn’t have to become another goal.

Please don’t turn creativity into another productivity challenge.

Don’t make a schedule saying, “I must write 500 words every day or I’m failing.”

That’s exactly how we lost it in the first place.

Let it be messy.

Let yourself be bad.

Let yourself start something and never finish it.

Let yourself write something cringe.

Let yourself paint the same flower twenty times.

Let yourself cook something that tastes absolutely horrible and laugh about it.

Let yourself do things without asking whether they’re worth your time.

Because sometimes the things that are “worthless” on paper are the things that keep us alive inside.

And maybe we need to stop waiting for our old creative self to magically come back.

Maybe we need to go looking for her.

She’s probably still somewhere inside you.

Buried under assignments.

Under expectations.

Under comparison.

Under stress.

Under the constant pressure to become better, smarter, richer, more successful.

But she’s still there.

Maybe she is the reason you still feel that tiny ache whenever you see someone painting.

Maybe she’s the reason you save writing prompts but never use them.

Maybe she’s the reason you stare at recipes online even when you don’t cook them.

Maybe she’s the reason an old notebook can make you emotional for absolutely no reason.

She’s not dead.

She’s just been ignored for too long.

And I think she deserves to come back.

Not because creativity will make you more productive.

Not because it will look good on your college application.

Not because you can turn it into a business.

Not because someone else will praise you.

Just because you deserve to have something that belongs to you.

Something that doesn’t need to be useful.

Something that doesn’t need to become successful.

Something that exists simply because your heart wanted it to exist.

Maybe that’s what we forgot.

We were never meant to be productive every second of our lives.

We were never meant to turn every interest into an achievement.

We were never meant to measure our worth by how much we accomplished before going to sleep.

We’re human.

Sometimes we create.

Sometimes we fail.

Sometimes we study.

Sometimes we rest.

Sometimes we do absolutely nothing.

And none of those things make us less worthy.

I still want the successful life.

I still want the degree, the career, the money, the independence. I still want to see my parents proud of me. I still want to become someone who can look back and say, I did something with my life.

But I don’t want success to cost me everything.

I don’t want to reach the place I’ve been working toward and realize that I left every beautiful part of myself behind on the way there.

I want to arrive there with my creativity still breathing.

I want my notebooks.

My paintings.

My unfinished stories.

My random recipes.

My stupid ideas.

My messy little hobbies.

I want the ambitious version of me and the soft version of me to exist in the same body.

Because maybe growing up doesn’t mean killing the person you used to be.

Maybe it means learning how to carry her with you.

And maybe tomorrow, after studying, after the assignments, after everything that needs to be done, we can give ourselves twenty minutes.

Just twenty.

Open the notebook.

Pick up the brush.

Go into the kitchen.

Write something.

Draw something.

Make something.

And don’t ask what it is going to give you.

Don’t ask if it will make you successful.

Don’t ask if you’re good enough.

Just make it.

Because maybe the point was never to become a perfect, productive version of ourselves.

Maybe the point was to become someone who is successful and still knows how to feel alive.

And honestly, I think that version of us is worth fighting for.

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There is something strange about being human. We spend our entire lives chasing freedom. We don’t want people controlling us, deciding how we should live, what career we should choose, or who we should become. We believe freedom means not being anyone’s servant.

Yet somewhere along the way, we become servants anyway. Not to one person, but to something much larger—society.

Think about it for a moment. Who decided that someone with a high IQ is intelligent? Who decided that a 9 CGPA makes a better student than someone with a 7? Who decided that earning more money automatically means living a better life? More importantly, why did we accept these definitions without ever questioning them?

From the day we are born, society hands us labels. A good student gets high marks. A successful person earns well. A good daughter knows how to cook, clean, obey, and achieve. A beautiful person has fair skin, long hair, or certain features. We grow up believing these are universal truths, when in reality they are simply definitions created by people.

The strange thing about definitions is that they come after reality. First, humans observe something. Then they give it a name. Over time, the name becomes more important than the thing itself. Eventually, we stop asking what intelligence, beauty, or success actually are, and instead spend our lives trying to fit the definitions that others created.

Imagine growing up in a world where nobody has ever heard of a bungalow. You wouldn’t dream of owning one because you wouldn’t even know such a thing existed. Desire often begins the moment comparison begins. We don’t always want things because we truly need them; sometimes we want them because society taught us they were worth wanting.

Now imagine living in a small house where you grow your own food, cook your own meals, and have enough time to spend with your family. You don’t work endless hours chasing promotions or comparing yourself to strangers online. You have enough to eat, enough to sleep peacefully, and enough time to enjoy life. Would you really be poor, or would you simply be following a different definition of wealth?

Perhaps wealth was never just about money. Perhaps success was never just about status. Perhaps we allowed society to define these words for us, and then spent our entire lives trying to earn the right to be called successful.

The same thing happens with beauty. One generation says fair skin is beautiful. Another celebrates darker skin. One generation praises long hair, another prefers short hair. Beauty changes with cultures, trends, and time. If its definition keeps changing, was it ever an absolute truth, or were we simply following the opinions of the majority?

Even our value as human beings has become tied to definitions. If you don’t score high marks, people call you average. If you don’t earn enough money, they assume you’ve failed. If you don’t know how to cook, someone might call you a bad daughter. But who decided that these abilities determine your worth as a human being?

Imagine someone who never works for a company but grows food with their own hands, feeds their family, and lives honestly. Are they less valuable than someone with a prestigious job title? Or have we simply learned to respect salaries more than character?

Family gatherings often reveal this mindset. People say, “You’ve changed,” or “You used to be smarter.” But changed compared to what? Smarter according to whom? Sometimes what they really mean is that you’ve stopped fitting the version of yourself they expected. Difference becomes failure simply because it doesn’t match the definition they already accepted.

The saddest part is that we rarely question these definitions. We spend years trying to prove that we are intelligent, beautiful, successful, productive, or worthy. We chase grades, promotions, followers, and approval, believing that once we collect enough of them, we will finally deserve love and respect.

But if I don’t earn a lot of money, am I less human? If I fail an exam, am I less worthy of kindness? If I can’t cook or fix things, have I somehow lost my value? Deep down, most of us know the answer is no. Yet we continue living as though society’s labels determine our worth.

Perhaps that is how society gains its greatest power. It doesn’t chain us. It gives us definitions. Then it convinces us that unless we fit them perfectly, we are somehow incomplete.

The irony is almost heartbreaking. We proudly say we don’t want to be anyone’s servant, yet every day we wake up serving invisible masters—the fear of being average, the fear of not earning enough, the fear of looking different, the fear of disappointing expectations we never chose for ourselves.

Maybe freedom isn’t about rejecting society completely. Maybe it begins with asking a simple question: Who decided these definitions were true?

Because the moment we stop confusing society’s definitions with reality, we stop becoming servants of them.

Perhaps definitions were meant to serve humanity.

Humanity was never meant to become the servant of definitions.

I. Do You Know What a Woman Is?

Before you answer that question, pause for a moment.

Do not answer as a husband.

Do not answer as a father.

Do not answer as a brother.

Do not answer as a son.

Answer as a human being.

Who is a woman?

Is she merely a daughter waiting to become someone’s wife? Is she a wife whose existence revolves around serving her husband? Is she only a mother whose identity begins and ends with her children? Or is she, before all these titles, a human soul created by Allah, deserving of dignity, respect, dreams, and purpose?

Somewhere along history, we stopped asking this question honestly.

Instead, we gave women roles before we gave them rights. We praised their sacrifices but ignored their struggles. We celebrated their patience while expecting their silence. We admired their beauty while questioning their intelligence. We wanted their loyalty but rarely offered them the same freedom we demanded for ourselves.

Then, when a woman speaks about injustice, people ask, “Why are you making this about gender?”

Because for centuries, gender has determined how she is treated.

Ironically, this prejudice often exists in societies that claim to honor women the most.

People proudly say, “Islam gave women rights fourteen hundred years ago.”

They’re right.

Islam did.

But the painful question is...

Did we?

Because there is a vast difference between what Islam teaches and what people practice.

Religion is perfect.

People are not.

And perhaps that is where our greatest mistake begins.

Today, many women are blamed for problems they never created. They are told they are too emotional, too ambitious, too loud, too educated, too independent, or sometimes simply... too visible.

It makes me wonder—

When did existing become a crime?

When did being seen become shamelessness?

When did having dreams become rebellion?

Perhaps the real tragedy isn’t that women have forgotten their worth.

Perhaps it’s that society has forgotten who women truly are.

This article is not written to declare war against men.

Nor is it written to deny the beauty of marriage, family, or traditional roles.

It is written to challenge a mindset—a mindset that mistakes control for protection, silence for modesty, and obedience for righteousness.

Because a woman is not asking to become greater than a man.

She is asking to be treated as a human being before anything else.

And that should never be controversial.

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II. Islam Honored Women. Why Don’t We?

Whenever discussions about women’s rights arise, many people become defensive.

“We respect women.”

“Islam already gave them rights.”

“Our religion honors mothers.”

All of these statements are true.

Islam does honor women.

But honoring women with our words is meaningless if our actions contradict those very teachings.

When Prophet Muhammad ﷺ was nearing the end of his life, among his final public advices to the Muslim community was to fear Allah regarding women and to treat them well. These were not casual words spoken in passing. They were among the final concerns of the Messenger of Allah ﷺ before he left this world.

Imagine that.

A man who carried the burden of an entire nation, who worried about faith, justice, prayer, and humanity, still reminded his followers about women.

Yet centuries later, many Muslims remember his words but forget his example.

The Prophet ﷺ never treated women as burdens.

He consulted them.

He listened to them.

He laughed with them.

He raced with his wife.

He accepted advice from them.

He never believed that masculinity meant domination.

His strength was shown through mercy.

Allah did not create women to be invisible.

The Qur’an speaks repeatedly of believing men and believing women, righteous men and righteous women, patient men and patient women. Again and again, Allah addresses both as morally responsible human beings.

Long before many civilizations allowed women to own wealth, Islam gave women the right to inherit, own property, conduct business, and control their own earnings.

History itself bears witness.

Khadijah bint Khuwaylid (رضي الله عنها), the beloved wife of the Prophet ﷺ, was among the most successful merchants of Makkah. She employed men, managed caravans, and built an empire through honesty and wisdom. Her wealth never diminished her honor.

Nor was she the only example.

Women transmitted hadith.

Women taught scholars.

Women participated in caring for the wounded during battles.

Women contributed to society intellectually, economically, and spiritually.

Islam never confined women to worthlessness.

It elevated them.

So when someone says,

“A good woman should never work.”

or

“A woman’s place is only inside four walls.”

we should ask a simple question:

Is this Islam speaking?

Or is this culture speaking in the name of Islam?

Because the two are not always the same.

Too often, cultural traditions wear the mask of religion, and people accept them without question.

In doing so, they end up defending customs while believing they are defending Islam.

That does injustice not only to women—but to Islam itself.

III. Protection Is Not Possession

There is something deeply troubling that has quietly become normal.

Control has begun calling itself love.

Possession has begun calling itself protection.

Authority has begun calling itself care.

Many women hear statements like these:

“Don’t wear that.”

“Lower your voice.”

“Don’t laugh too loudly.”

“Don’t speak to other men.”

“Don’t speak too much to other women either.”

“Don’t go there.”

“Don’t study this.”

“Don’t work there.”

“Don’t dream about that.”

Every instruction is presented as concern.

Every restriction is justified as protection.

And slowly, a woman’s world becomes smaller and smaller until she begins confusing isolation with modesty.

But there is an important difference between modesty and disappearance.

Islam teaches ḥayā’—modesty.

It does not command women to erase themselves from society.

Lowering one’s gaze is different from never looking at the world.

Speaking respectfully is different from remaining silent forever.

Protecting dignity is different from imprisoning someone’s existence.

There are husbands who genuinely care for their wives, encourage them, support them, and protect them with compassion. Such care is beautiful and reflects the Prophetic example.

But there are also those who confuse ownership with marriage.

To them, love sounds like this:

“You are mine.”

“You don’t need anyone else.”

“Only I should see you.”

“Only I should hear your voice.”

“Only I should decide where you go.”

At first, these words may sound romantic.

Eventually, they become a cage.

A woman does not stop being a daughter because she gets married.

She does not stop being a sister.

She does not stop being an aunt, a niece, a friend, or a member of her community.

Marriage changes relationships.

It does not erase them.

Some men become uncomfortable when their wives greet relatives, attend family gatherings, pursue education, or simply exist beyond the walls of the home.

The irony is painful.

A woman can remain modest, respectful, and committed to Islamic boundaries while still participating in society.

She can pursue knowledge.

She can teach.

She can work.

She can contribute.

She can speak.

She can smile.

She can be present.

Because modesty was never meant to make women invisible.

It was meant to preserve dignity—for both men and women.

If your love requires another human being to disappear from the world so that only you can see her, then perhaps it is not love.

Perhaps it is fear disguised as affection.

And fear has never been the foundation of a healthy marriage.

Protection should make a person feel safer.

Possession makes them feel smaller.

There is a profound difference between the two.

One nurtures the soul.

The other slowly suffocates it.

IV. “This Is Not Your House”

There is a sentence countless girls hear while growing up.

Sometimes it is spoken jokingly.

Sometimes lovingly.

Sometimes harshly.

But no matter how it is said, it leaves the same wound.

“This isn’t your house.”

At five years old, she doesn’t understand it.

At ten, she laughs it off.

At sixteen, she begins to question it.

By twenty, she has heard it so many times that she starts believing it.

The house where she took her first steps...

The room where she learned to read...

The walls that witnessed her tears, her laughter, her prayers...

One day, she is told they were never truly hers.

She is reminded that she is only a guest.

That one day she will leave for “her real home.”

Then she gets married.

And suddenly, the place she is supposed to call “home” also comes with conditions.

“If things don’t work out, where will you go?”

“Don’t come back over small arguments.”

“This is your husband’s house now.”

If she is divorced, people whisper.

If she is widowed, people pity her.

If she returns to her parents, society questions her presence.

So where exactly is her home?

If her father’s house is temporary...

And her husband’s house is conditional...

Where does a woman belong?

Perhaps that is one of the cruelest realities many women experience—not homelessness in the physical sense, but homelessness in the emotional one.

A man proudly says,

“This is my father’s house.”

Later he says,

“This is my house.”

Rarely is that privilege questioned.

A woman spends twenty years building memories in one home, only to be reminded that she was never meant to stay.

Then she spends the rest of her life trying to earn permanence somewhere else.

Home should never be something a woman has to deserve.

It should be something she is allowed to feel.

Because every human being deserves one place in this world where they never have to wonder,

“Do I belong here?”

V. The Working Woman and the Double Standard

One question follows women almost everywhere.

“Why do you want to work?”

Notice something interesting.

Rarely does anyone ask a man that question.

Nobody asks,

“Why do you want a career?”

“Why do you want financial independence?”

“How will you balance your future children?”

Instead, these questions are reserved almost exclusively for women.

The assumption is simple.

A man’s career is expected.

A woman’s career is suspicious.

If she chooses to stay at home, people say she has no ambition.

If she chooses to work, they ask whether she cares about her family.

If she succeeds, she is called selfish.

If she struggles, they say,

“We told you so.”

It is a game designed so that she can never truly win.

What makes this even more heartbreaking is that history tells a completely different story.

Khadijah (رضي الله عنها) was one of the most successful businesswomen of her time.

She employed men.

Managed trade.

Built wealth through integrity.

Her business was never seen as a threat to her womanhood.

Rather, her character elevated everything she did.

Across Islamic history, women taught scholars, narrated hadith, treated the wounded during battles, and contributed to their communities in countless ways.

They were active participants in society.

Not invisible spectators.

So when someone says,

“A good woman shouldn’t work.”

The question is not whether women can work.

The real question is,

Who decided they couldn’t?

Islam gave women the right to own wealth.

To inherit.

To conduct business.

To control their own earnings.

Yet today, some women still need permission to use money they earned themselves.

That contradiction deserves reflection.

This is not an argument that every woman must pursue a career.

Many women genuinely find fulfillment in raising children, managing a home, or supporting their families in ways that are not measured by a paycheck.

There is immense honor in that.

Likewise, there is honor in pursuing education, building a profession, leading a business, or contributing to society through one’s skills.

Neither path makes a woman more valuable than the other.

The problem begins when one choice is respected while the other is condemned.

Choice disappears.

Judgment takes its place.

VI. “Busy Mother?” Then Why Not a “Busy Father?”

Perhaps one of the strangest criticisms directed toward working women appears when motherhood enters the conversation.

The moment a woman becomes successful, someone inevitably asks,

“But what about your children?”

It sounds like concern.

Yet strangely, the same concern rarely appears for men.

Nobody looks at a father leaving for work every morning and asks,

“Who is raising your children?”

Nobody tells him,

“Your career will make you a bad father.”

Nobody questions whether ambition has made him neglectful before he has even become a parent.

But women hear these questions long before they ever have children.

The expectation is clear.

She must build a career.

But not too much of one.

She should pursue her dreams.

But only if they never interfere with everyone else’s.

She should be educated.

But not so educated that people call her intimidating.

She should be independent.

But not enough to challenge traditional expectations.

And if she somehow manages to become both a loving mother and a successful professional?

People still ask,

“How do you manage everything?”

Rarely do they ask her husband the same question.

Why?

Why is parenting automatically considered a woman’s responsibility while fatherhood is often treated as optional participation?

Children deserve present mothers.

That is true.

But they also deserve present fathers.

The responsibility was never meant to rest upon one pair of shoulders.

Motherhood is not the end of a woman’s identity.

Nor is fatherhood the end of a man’s.

Both are human beings with responsibilities, dreams, strengths, and limitations.

A woman can lead a company and still kiss her children goodnight.

She can conduct research and still attend school events.

She can build a business and still build a loving home.

Will it be difficult?

Of course.

Parenthood is difficult for everyone.

But difficulty should not become an excuse to discourage only one parent from pursuing their aspirations.

Instead of asking women,

“How will you manage?”

Perhaps society should start asking families,

“How can we support both parents?”

Because equality is not achieved by making women work like men.

It is achieved when both parents are recognized as equal partners in raising a family, supporting one another, and building a home together.

A child does not only need a nurturing mother.

A child also needs an involved father.

And perhaps the greatest gift parents can give their children is not proving which role matters more—

but showing them that respect, partnership, and compassion can exist under the same roof.

VII. Before She Was Your Wife, She Was Allah’s Creation

Somewhere along the way, we began introducing women by their relationships.

She is someone’s daughter.

Someone’s sister.

Someone’s wife.

Someone’s mother.

As though her existence only gains meaning through the people around her.

But let us ask ourselves something.

Before she became anyone’s daughter...

Who created her?

Allah.

Before she became anyone’s wife...

Who knew her before anyone else?

Allah.

Before she carried a child...

Who breathed a soul into her?

Allah.

Her first identity was never someone’s responsibility.

It was Allah’s creation.

That is why reducing a woman’s worth to the roles she performs is deeply unfair.

Yes, motherhood is honorable.

Yes, being a loving wife is beautiful.

Yes, caring for parents is among the greatest acts of righteousness.

But these roles should add to her identity—not replace it.

She is allowed to have dreams.

She is allowed to seek knowledge.

She is allowed to build something meaningful.

She is allowed to laugh, to think, to create, to question, to heal, and to grow.

Her humanity does not disappear because she wears the title of “mother.”

Nor does her individuality end because she becomes someone’s wife.

We often praise women only when they sacrifice everything.

The woman who gives up her ambitions for her family is called selfless.

The woman who chooses both family and career is asked to justify herself.

The woman who prioritizes her own well-being is called selfish.

It seems that no matter what she chooses, someone is waiting to tell her she chose incorrectly.

Perhaps that is because society has become more comfortable seeing women as caregivers than as complete human beings.

But Islam never reduced women to servants of society.

The Qur’an addresses believing men and believing women alike. Both are accountable before Allah. Both are promised reward for righteousness. Both are capable of faith, intellect, patience, leadership, compassion, and sacrifice.

Allah never questioned whether a woman’s soul mattered.

Why do we?

A woman is not merely someone’s responsibility.

She is Allah’s servant before she is anyone else’s family.

Remembering that changes everything.

VIII. If Women Are the Curse... Then Who Created the Curse?

Now we return to the question that inspired this article.

Are women a curse?

Some people speak about women as though they are the source of every problem.

If a marriage fails, blame the wife.

If children struggle, blame the mother.

If society declines, blame women’s freedom.

If temptation exists, blame women’s appearance.

It is astonishing how often responsibility is shifted onto women while accountability quietly escapes everyone else.

But let us think honestly.

Was it women who taught society that daughters have no permanent home?

Was it women who decided that a man’s ambitions are natural while a woman’s ambitions are selfish?

Was it women who confused protection with possession?

Was it women who decided that motherhood should erase individuality?

Or did we, as societies, create these expectations ourselves?

The easiest thing in the world is to blame a person.

The hardest thing is to question a culture.

Islam came to reform societies.

It challenged injustice wherever it appeared.

It condemned oppression regardless of who committed it.

If our customs contradict justice, perhaps it is our customs that need to change—not Allah’s guidance.

A woman is not dangerous because she is educated.

She is not dishonorable because she earns a living.

She is not disobedient because she has an opinion.

She is not immodest because she exists in public with dignity.

And she is certainly not less worthy because her life extends beyond the walls of a home.

The problem has never been women.

The problem is the lens through which many people have chosen to see them.

When a society views women as property, it produces control.

When it views them as burdens, it produces discrimination.

When it views them as human beings created by Allah, it produces justice.

Perhaps that is the choice before us.

Not whether women deserve dignity.

But whether we are willing to live according to the dignity Allah already gave them.

IX. The Curse Was Never Womanhood

So...

What is a woman?

She is not a burden.

She is not an object.

She is not a machine built only to cook, clean, bear children, and quietly disappear behind everyone else’s happiness.

She is not a temporary guest in her father’s home.

She is not a permanent servant in her husband’s home.

She is not a shadow whose existence depends on someone else’s permission.

She is a soul.

A mind.

A heart.

A believer.

A daughter of Adam and Hawwa.

A servant of Allah.

She deserves respect not because she is someone’s mother.

Not because she is someone’s wife.

Not because she raises children.

She deserves respect because Allah honored every child of Adam.

That honor is not earned through marriage.

It is not earned through motherhood.

It is not earned through sacrifice.

It is given by the One who created her.

Perhaps the greatest tragedy of our generation is not that women have forgotten who they are.

It is that many societies have forgotten.

We teach girls to shrink themselves before they even discover who they are.

We tell them where they can go, what they can wear, how loudly they may laugh, what dreams are acceptable, and what ambitions are “too much.”

Then we wonder why so many women spend years searching for themselves.

Imagine a world where daughters grow up knowing they are blessings rather than burdens.

Where wives are treated as companions instead of possessions.

Where mothers are appreciated without being expected to sacrifice their entire identities.

Where fathers raise sons who understand that leadership begins with mercy, not control.

Where men and women stand beside one another—not in competition, but in partnership.

That world is not impossible.

It begins with a simple realization.

A woman was never the curse.

The curse is every belief that strips her of the dignity Allah gave her.

The curse is every culture that speaks louder than justice.

The curse is every mindset that mistakes domination for love and silence for virtue.

And perhaps the greatest question we should ask ourselves is no longer,

“What is a woman?”

But rather,

“Have we forgotten how Allah taught us to see her?”

For on the Day of Judgment, Allah will not ask whether we preserved our customs.

He will ask whether we upheld justice.

And justice begins by recognizing every human being—man and woman alike—as creations worthy of dignity, compassion, and respect.

Because a woman was never created to be a curse.

She was created by the Most Merciful.

And that alone is enough to know her worth.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

To the girl I once called mine,

I don’t know if this letter deserves to reach you.

Maybe it belongs in the same place where I left your tears—ignored, unanswered, and forgotten.

I never understood what I did to you.

Not really.

Back then, I thought cheating was just a mistake. A bad decision. Something people eventually moved on from. I convinced myself that time would heal what I had broken, and that your silence meant you were finally okay.

I was wrong.

Life has a cruel way of teaching the lessons we refuse to learn.

I met someone.

I loved her in ways I didn’t know I was capable of loving. I saw a future with her. I trusted her with every fragile part of me. And then... she betrayed me.

The day I found out, something inside me died.

It wasn’t just the betrayal.

It was the questions.

The endless questions.

“Was I not enough?”

“When did she stop loving me?”

“Did she ever love me at all?”

“Was I just someone she kept around until someone better came along?”

Every night, those questions sat beside me in bed.

Every morning, they woke up before I did.

And somewhere between all those sleepless nights...

I saw you.

For the first time in years...

I saw you.

I imagined you sitting on your bedroom floor, crying so hard you couldn’t breathe.

Reading our old messages, hoping I would tell you it wasn’t true.

Waiting for a call that never came.

Blaming yourself for wounds that I created.

Wondering why the person you loved chose someone else over you.

I finally understood.

Not because you explained it to me.

But because life made me live it.

Now I know what betrayal feels like.

It isn’t loud.

It doesn’t always scream.

Sometimes it’s terrifyingly quiet.

It’s looking in the mirror and no longer recognizing the person staring back.

It’s doubting every compliment you’ve ever received.

It’s hearing “I love you” and wondering if those words are nothing more than beautiful lies.

It’s carrying someone else’s decision as if it were proof that you’re unworthy.

I handed you that pain.

With my own hands.

And I walked away while you carried it alone.

I wish I could tell you that I was young.

That I was immature.

That I didn’t know any better.

But none of those excuses bring back the version of you that existed before I broke your heart.

Some apologies arrive years too late.

This is one of them.

I’m not writing because my heart was broken.

I’m writing because only after mine shattered did I realize how brutally I had shattered yours.

Karma isn’t revenge.

It’s understanding.

It’s being forced to feel the exact weight you once placed on someone else’s chest.

And now...

I carry it every day.

If there was a way to take back every tear you cried because of me, I would.

If there was a way to erase every moment you questioned your worth because of my selfishness, I would spend the rest of my life trying.

But I can’t.

Some damage doesn’t disappear.

It simply becomes part of someone’s story.

I don’t expect your forgiveness.

In fact, I hope you never feel obligated to give it.

Some people deserve to live with what they’ve done.

Maybe I am one of them.

I just hope...

Wherever you are...

I hope someone loves you gently.

I hope someone chooses you even when life becomes difficult.

I hope no one ever makes you wonder whether you’re enough.

And if by some miracle you’ve forgotten my name...

Please don’t remember it because of this letter.

Remember it as the chapter that taught you to never settle for someone who treats your heart like it can be replaced.

You deserved honesty.

You deserved loyalty.

You deserved a love that never made you question yourself.

I gave you none of those things.

For that...

I will always be sorry.

I finally understand your pain.

I just wish it hadn’t taken my own heartbreak to open my eyes.

Do you remember what you used to call me whenever I hurt you?

“Rascal.”

Back then, I used to laugh it off.

I thought you were just angry.

Today, after everything life has shown me...

I realize you weren’t wrong.

I was a rascal.

And that word will forever echo louder than my own name.

—The man who broke your heart, and only now understands what that truly meant.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Hello, Mumma.
I have a question. I’ve wanted to ask this from so long, Mumma.
Am I adopted, Mumma?

I know this question is wried to you but I kept feeling this, Mumma.
I know I am not a good child.
I know I keep annoying you.
I know I always hurt you.
I know I don’t do much work
I know I always disappoint everyone

But atleast please, please once just be gentle with me; say things out of love not taunts.
I hold back my tears I never showed you.
But it literally chokes me.

Mumma, please, if I am your child, then love me
You think I am lazy
You think I work slow
You think I am avoiding household chores

But I am already tired
I loved someone and now we are nototgether

If you even find out that I had a relationship in the past, I know earlier I was worst child, but now if you get that I was in a relationship, even though it’s not something I am continuing, we are not together I still love that person but I know if you get all this i will become a failure child
I don’t want that, Mumma.

I love you
Please love me too, Mumma.
I literally have no one who is wtih me
No one
I am really lonely
Please love me
Atleast once.

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Slowly turning myself into qais bhat from Laila Majnu. 😌😋

Sometimes the more you love someone, the quicker you lose them. ✨🤍

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

Short Note From Author

Sometimes the more you love someone, the more they feel loved, and they still love you, even if you won’t know it. Just need some patience, some gentleness, some time to better meet again, to love again, to be together again in a better way.

Not everything that hurt us is bad for us.

Not everything that made our day go worse is bad for us.

Not everything we hate is bad for us.

God is making everything fall in the correct place like a piece of a puzzle; if you add it in wrong place, it will look bad even though that piece is a part of the puzzle but if you step back mke things fall in right place, it will become a beautiful artwork

I hope you will understand

People are there who love you and pray for you, and you don’t get out of their mind even in sleep.

Make yourself better; people love you.

──── ❤︎ ────

Hello, love.

I hope you are doing well.

I know I am not a good person. I hurt you a lot. There were days in the past when I said things I shouldn’t have. I know I hurt you deeply.

I won’t ask for forgiveness because I understand it may not matter to you anymore. It feels selfish that after everything, a simple sorry cannot change what happened.

I love you. I love you a lot.

I am truly sorry for everything—for every trouble I caused. I am sorry I ever came into your life if it only brought you pain. I always said I wanted to go away, but that was never the truth. I was just afraid—afraid of losing you.

Now my days feel lonely. I have no one to talk to, no one to share things with.

I love you, but I don’t want to be in something forbidden with you.

I know I may sound selfish. But will you come back to me? Will you forgive me? Will you give this another chance?

I don’t have the courage to say this directly. I never wanted to destroy your life again by staying in it.

I love you, my Batman.

──── ❤︎ ────

──── ❤︎ ────

There are words we never say.

Not because they aren’t important, but because life doesn’t always give us the chance. Sometimes we lose people before we find the courage to speak. Sometimes silence feels safer than honesty. And sometimes, even years later, we still find ourselves replaying conversations that never happened.

We all carry letters that were never written, messages that remained in our minds, and feelings that quietly settled into the corners of our hearts.

This is why I created The Corner of My Heart.

It is more than a collection of letters. It is a space for the words that never reached their destination. A place where memories, confessions, apologies, gratitude, regrets, and hopes can finally be given a voice.

Here, you can write to anyone.

Write to someone you’ve lost.

Write to a friend you’ve drifted away from.

Write to a parent.

Write to a younger version of yourself.

Write to the person you never stopped loving.

Write to the dream you had to leave behind.

Or write to yourself.

Your letter doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be poetic. It only has to be honest.

Every submission is treated with care and respect. You may choose to remain completely anonymous or include your name if you wish. Minor edits may be made for readability, but your voice and the heart of your letter will always remain your own.

My hope is that this becomes more than a series of posts. I hope it becomes a place where strangers discover that they are not alone—that someone else has carried the same silence, the same grief, the same love, or the same unanswered question.

Perhaps your letter will help someone feel understood.

Perhaps someone else’s letter will help you.

If you’ve been holding onto words that never found their way into the world, this is your invitation.

Leave a piece of your heart here.

Welcome to The Corner of My Heart.

When Faith Becomes an Identity

For the past few years, I have found myself observing the world around me more carefully than ever before. Whether it is through conversations, social media, news, or my own personal experiences, I keep noticing the same pattern repeating itself.

People no longer seem satisfied with simply believing in something. Instead, there is an overwhelming desire to prove that what they believe is the absolute truth. It does not matter whether the topic is religion, politics, culture, nationalism, or even morality.

Everywhere I look, I see people turning their beliefs into a public performance, as though faith only becomes meaningful when everyone else can see it. Watching this happen has left me with one question that I have never been able to answer: Why do people feel such a strong need to prove what they believe?

When I use the word faith, I am not talking only about religion. Faith exists in many forms. We place faith in political ideologies, social movements, traditions, philosophies, our countries, and even ourselves. Every human being carries beliefs that help shape their identity and guide their decisions.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. In fact, beliefs are necessary because they give our lives direction. The problem begins when beliefs stop guiding us and start controlling us. The moment a belief becomes more important than our humanity, we stop seeing people as individuals and begin seeing them only as labels.

For me, faith has always been something deeply personal. I have never believed that it needs to be displayed like a trophy or defended in every conversation.

If I truly believe in kindness, I should not have to announce it every day.

My actions should speak for themselves. If I truly believe in honesty, people should recognise it through my character rather than through my words. The same applies to religion.

If someone genuinely believes in God, that belief should naturally be reflected in the way they treat others—with compassion, humility, patience, and respect. I have never understood why some people feel the need to constantly advertise their faith, as though the volume of their voice somehow determines the strength of their belief.

Two Kinds of Believers

Over time, I have realised“and that people usually fall into two categories. The first group consists of those who believe in something but remain open to discussion.

They may passionately defend their ideas, yet they are also willing to listen, ask questions, and accept that they might not always be right.

Conversations with these people are meaningful because both sides leave having learned something new. Disagreement does not threaten them because they understand that questioning an idea is not the same as attacking a person.

The second group is very different. These individuals do not simply hold beliefs—they become emotionally attached to them. Their beliefs slowly transform into their entire identity. Once that happens, even the smallest disagreement feels like a personal insult.

If someone points out a flaw in their ideology or challenges their perspective, they immediately become defensive. Instead of asking, “Could this person have a point?” they begin thinking, “How dare they question me?”

The conversation is no longer about discovering the truth; it becomes about protecting their ego. In my opinion, this is where extremism quietly begins—not with violence, but with the inability to separate ourselves from what we believe.

I did not arrive at this conclusion by reading psychology books alone. Much of it comes from my own experiences.

There was a time in my life when I personally experienced what it feels like to be judged, misunderstood, and reduced to nothing more than a stereotype because of my faith.

Those experiences changed the way I look at society forever. They taught me that prejudice rarely begins with hatred. More often, it begins with certainty—the certainty that our beliefs are so unquestionably right that everyone else’s must be wrong.

My High School Changed the Way I Saw the World

Until today, whenever I think about why this topic affects me so deeply, my mind always goes back to my high school years. It was one of the first places where I truly understood what it feels like to be judged before anyone even knows who you are.

The school I attended was associated with a particular organisation that strongly promoted its own ideology. Every school has the right to teach values, and I have never had a problem with that.

The problem begins when values slowly turn into ideology, and ideology is presented as something that should never be questioned. Education is supposed to teach students how to think, not what to think. Unfortunately, that wasn’t always the environment I experienced.

As someone who belonged to a different faith, I constantly felt like I was being watched through a different lens. It wasn’t something that happened once or twice; it became part of my everyday life.

The clothes I wore were questioned. My choices were questioned. Even though I dressed modestly, there were always comments, assumptions, or opinions about whether I was dressing the “right” way.

It was as if people had already created an image of who I was based solely on my religion, and every action of mine was judged against that image instead of being judged for what it actually was.

I have never had a problem with people asking questions about my beliefs. In fact, I believe asking questions is healthy.

Curiosity is one of the best ways to understand another person. If someone genuinely wants to know why I believe what I believe, I am more than willing to have that conversation. What hurt me was not curiosity—it was accusation disguised as curiosity. T

Here is a significant difference between someone asking, “Can you help me understand your faith? ” and someone asking questions only because they have already decided that your faith is wrong. One seeks understanding; the other seeks confirmation of prejudice.

Judged Before I Was Known

There were moments that I still remember vividly. People looked me in the eyes and made statements about my religion as though they were unquestionable facts.

Some said that people from my faith were “the worst”. Others casually associated my religion with terrorism, as though an entire community could be judged by the actions of a handful of extremists.

I remember sitting there wondering how someone could confidently make such a statement without ever asking me what I actually believed. They didn’t know my values, my principles, or the way I had been raised. Yet somehow, they believed they knew everything about me because of one label.

The thing that hurt me the most was not that people disagreed with my beliefs. Disagreement is natural, and I have always respected everyone’s right to think differently. What hurt was realising that, for some people, I had already been found guilty before I had even spoken.

My identity had become my introduction. Before they saw me as a student, a classmate, or simply another human being, they saw me as someone who belonged to a particular religion. Everything else came later—if it came at all.

There were also times when people spoke about me behind my back. Rumours spread easily, and assumptions spread even faster.

If I stood up against something I believed was wrong, my opinion was often dismissed before anyone considered whether I actually had a valid point. It sometimes felt as though my arguments were never being judged on their own merit.

Instead, they were judged based on who people assumed I represented. That feeling is difficult to explain unless you have experienced it yourself. It makes you question whether people are really listening to you or whether they are only listening to the stereotypes they have already created in their minds.

Looking back today, I realise that none of these experiences made me hate anyone. Instead, they made me curious.

I kept asking myself the same question over and over again:

Why?

Why do people become so certain about someone they have never tried to understand?

Why is it so easy to believe a stereotype but so difficult to have a conversation?

Why do we judge an entire community by the actions of a few individuals while asking to be judged as individuals ourselves?

The more I thought about these questions, the more I realised that the problem was much bigger than religion.

It was about the way human beings become attached to ideas until those ideas become more important than the people standing in front of them.

Why does this happen psychologically?

After leaving that environment, I spent a long time trying to understand what had actually happened.

At first, I believed that maybe those experiences were simply the result of ignorance. I assumed that perhaps people behaved that way because they had never met someone from a different background or because they lacked education.

But the more people I met and the more I observed society, the more I realised that the answer was not that simple. Some of the people who judged me were not uneducated at all. They were intelligent. They scored well in examinations, spoke confidently, and had access to books, the internet, and every opportunity to learn.

Yet despite all that education, many of them still held beliefs that were built on stereotypes rather than understanding.

That realisation completely changed the way I looked at education. We often assume that education automatically creates open-minded people, but it doesn’t.

Education can teach someone mathematics, science, history, or literature, but it cannot teach empathy if a person has already decided that they know everything.

A degree may increase someone’s knowledge, but knowledge and wisdom are not the same thing. Wisdom requires humility—the willingness to admit that you might be wrong, that there is still more to learn, and that another person’s perspective may contain truths you have never considered.

Without humility, education simply gives prejudice a more sophisticated vocabulary.

The more I reflected on my experiences, the more I noticed a pattern. People who were comfortable with their beliefs rarely felt threatened by questions. They could explain their opinions calmly, listen to criticism, and continue the conversation without feeling attacked. But there were others who reacted very differently.

The moment someone questioned their ideology, their entire attitude changed. They became angry, defensive, or dismissive. It was almost as though the discussion had stopped being about ideas and had become about protecting themselves.

I think this happens because many people unknowingly allow their beliefs to become their identity.

There is a significant difference between saying, “I believe this idea is right,” and saying, “This idea is who I am.”

In the first case, a person can change their opinion if they discover better evidence or gain a new perspective. In the second case, changing their opinion feels like losing a part of themselves.

Every disagreement becomes personal because their self-worth is tied to the belief they are defending. Once that happens, the goal is no longer to discover the truth. The goal becomes winning the argument at any cost.

This is, perhaps, how extremism quietly begins. Contrary to popular belief, extremism does not usually start with violence. It starts with certainty.

It starts when people stop asking questions because they believe they already possess every answer. It starts when they surround themselves only with those who agree with them and begin viewing every different opinion as a threat rather than an opportunity to learn.

Slowly, disagreement becomes disrespect, criticism becomes hatred, and eventually anyone who thinks differently is seen as an enemy instead of another human being.

What frightens me the most is that this process is not limited to religion. We often hear the word “extremism” and immediately think of religious violence, but the truth is that extremism can exist anywhere.

It can exist in politics, where supporters refuse to acknowledge the mistakes of the leaders they admire. It can exist in nationalism, where love for one’s country turns into hatred for every other nation.

It can exist in social movements, where people stop listening to anyone who asks difficult questions. It can even exist in everyday life when we become so attached to being right that we forget to be kind. Extremism is not defined by what someone believes; it is defined by how unwilling they are to question those beliefs.

Perhaps the greatest irony is that every major religion and every meaningful philosophy teaches humility. They teach compassion, patience, forgiveness, and justice.

Yet history shows us that human beings have repeatedly used those very teachings to justify hatred and division. The problem, then, is not faith itself. The problem is what happens when we place our ego above our faith.

The moment proving that we are right becomes more important than treating another person with dignity, we have stopped practising faith and started worshipping our own certainty.

Faith Was Never Meant to Divide Us

After everything I experienced, I never walked away from faith. If anything, those experiences forced me to understand it more deeply.

I spent a long time asking myself whether faith was really the problem or whether the problem was the way people used it.

The more I reflected, the more I realised that faith itself had never hurt me. What hurt me was the arrogance that people sometimes attach to it. Somewhere along the way, many of us have confused devotion with superiority. We begin to believe that following a particular religion, ideology, or philosophy automatically makes us better than those who think differently. The moment that happens, faith stops being a source of guidance and starts becoming a weapon.

For me, faith has always been something deeply personal. It is the quiet voice that shapes my decisions when nobody is watching. It reminds me to be honest when lying would be easier, to show compassion when anger feels justified, and to treat people with dignity even when we disagree. I have never believed that faith needs an audience.

It does not become stronger because it is announced to the world every day, nor does it become weaker because it is practiced in silence. In fact, I believe the strongest faith is often the quietest. It is reflected in a person’s character rather than their slogans.

The Difference Between Conviction and Extremism

There is nothing wrong with believing strongly in something. Every meaningful change in history began with people who had conviction. The problem begins when conviction leaves no room for humility. A person with conviction says, “This is what I believe, and I will always remain open to learning.” An extremist says, “This is what I believe, and anyone who disagrees must be wrong.” That single difference changes everything.

Humility allows conversations to happen. Extremism ends them.

Humility encourages questions because it believes that truth can withstand examination. Extremism fears questions because it mistakes disagreement for disrespect. Humility builds bridges between people. Extremism builds walls.

I have come to believe that the strength of a belief should not be measured by how loudly someone defends it. It should be measured by how they treat people who disagree with them. Anyone can speak passionately about justice, compassion, or morality. The real challenge is living those values when faced with someone whose opinions are completely different from our own.

What My Experiences Taught Me

Looking back, I do not remember my school years only because of the prejudice I experienced. I remember them because they changed the way I see the world. They taught me that stereotypes are often passed down more easily than understanding.

They taught me that education without empathy can still produce intolerance. Most importantly, they taught me never to judge another person before hearing their story.

The people who judged me believed they knew who I was because of my religion. Ironically, those experiences taught me never to make the same mistake. I never want to reduce another human being to a single label because I know how painful it feels when someone does that to you. We are all far more complex than the identities society places upon us.

A Final Thought

If there is one thing I hope people take away from this article, it is this: never let your beliefs become more important than your humanity.

Believe in your religion. Believe in your values. Love your country. Stand firmly for what you think is right. But never become so certain that you stop listening, stop questioning, or stop seeing the human being standing in front of you.

The world does not need more people proving that their faith is the greatest. It needs more people proving that their faith has made them kinder, more compassionate, more humble, and more just.

Because at the end of the day, faith is not measured by how many arguments you win, how many people you convince, or how loudly you defend your beliefs. Faith is measured by the life you live and the way you treat those who believe differently from you.

Perhaps that is the only proof that has ever truly mattered.

Unedited

There is a common misconception that loneliness is simply the absence of people. It isn’t. I’ve sat alone in libraries surrounded by hundreds of students and felt like I didn’t exist. I’ve been at family gatherings where everyone laughed while I silently questioned whether anyone truly knew me. I’ve replied to messages, smiled in conversations, attended classes, and still gone to bed feeling as though I had spent the entire day invisible.

Loneliness is not measured by how many people surround you. It is measured by how many places you can put your heart down and know it will be safe. Some people can walk into a room full of strangers and immediately feel at home. Others can spend years surrounded by family and still feel abandoned. I belong to the second group.

I have always been someone who gets emotionally attached far too easily. People often tell me that’s a weakness. I don’t think it is. I think it’s exhausting.

A few months ago, there was a stray cat living near my library. Every afternoon before studying, I would buy food for her. At first she kept her distance, watching me carefully from behind parked motorcycles or beneath benches. Trust doesn’t come easily to abandoned creatures. Perhaps that’s why I understood her.

Day after day she came a little closer. One afternoon, instead of eating immediately, she walked toward me, climbed into my lap, circled twice, and fell asleep as though she had already decided I was safe. She would purr while I revised chapters for my exams. Sometimes I’d stop reading simply to listen to that sound. It was strange how something so small could quiet the chaos inside my mind.

I talked to her constantly. Looking back, it probably sounds ridiculous—someone sitting on a library bench having long conversations with a stray cat. But I never talked to her because I expected answers. I talked because she never interrupted me. She never judged me. She never compared my pain to someone else’s or told me I was overthinking. She simply stayed. Sometimes silent companionship heals wounds that words cannot touch.

I wanted to bring her home. I begged my parents almost every day, but they refused. They weren’t being cruel—they simply didn’t want the responsibility, and they worried about having another animal in the house. My fear, however, wasn’t responsibility. It was losing her. There were stray dogs nearby, and every night I imagined something terrible happening to her. Every morning before entering the library, I looked around hoping she was still there.

Eventually my uncle agreed to adopt her and take her to his city. Everyone told me I should be happy because she would finally be safe, and I was. But relief and grief can exist together. She was alive, yet I felt as though I had lost something irreplaceable.

Even today, whenever I see videos of people cuddling their cats, I pause. I wonder if she still curls herself into a little ball before sleeping. I wonder whether she found another lap to sleep on. Sometimes I imagine visiting my uncle one day just to see her. Then another thought quietly enters my mind: What if she doesn’t remember me? Perhaps she has forgotten those afternoons outside the library. Perhaps I’m the only one carrying them like treasured memories.

That is the tragedy of emotional attachment. The person who loves deeply doesn’t simply remember people; they preserve entire worlds. We remember tiny habits, random conversations, favourite places, small gestures, and ordinary afternoons that everyone else has long forgotten. We don’t choose to remember. Our hearts simply refuse to let go of anything that once felt like home.

The truth is, this isn’t just about a cat. I become emotionally attached to people just as easily. When someone consistently checks on me, remembers little details about my life, or simply makes me feel seen, my heart quietly builds a place for them. I never consciously decide to become attached. It happens naturally, almost against my own will.

Then life changes. They become busy. Messages become shorter. Conversations become less frequent. Calls are replaced with “maybe tomorrow”, and tomorrow quietly becomes next week, then next month. Nothing dramatic happens. There is no fight, no betrayal, no final goodbye. The relationship simply fades until one day you realise you’re the only one trying to keep it alive.

I think distance is one of the cruellest forms of loss because it happens so slowly that you don’t notice it until it’s already over. One day you find yourself rereading old conversations, wondering where those people went. The strange part is that they are still alive, still somewhere in the world, yet they no longer exist in your everyday life. Sometimes people don’t leave all at once. They disappear one unanswered message at a time.

People often believe heartbreak belongs only to romantic relationships. I don’t. Heartbreak happens every time someone who once made you feel important slowly stops making space for you. It happens when a friendship quietly dies, when family members stop listening because they assume you’ve grown up, or when someone who once knew everything about your day suddenly knows nothing at all.

Loneliness doesn’t feel like emptiness. It feels crowded. My mind feels divided into two different people. One version of me studies, laughs, finishes assignments, smiles at people, and appears completely fine. Everyone sees that version and assumes everything is okay. The other version sits somewhere deep inside me collecting broken pieces of itself. It remembers every goodbye, every rejection, every forgotten promise, and every conversation that slowly disappeared. It constantly asks questions that have no answers. Was I too much? Was I not enough? Did they ever care as deeply as I did?

The strongest part of me spends every day trying to protect that broken part, but pain behaves like rust. Leave it untouched for long enough, and it slowly spreads into every healthy part of your life. Eventually food loses its taste, music becomes heavier, sunsets stop feeling beautiful, and sleeping becomes easier than staying awake. I don’t always sleep because my body is tired. Sometimes I sleep because my mind has been carrying too much for too long.

My parents often think I’m simply exhausted from studying. Sometimes they tell me I’m lazy or compare me to other people. I don’t blame them entirely because emotional exhaustion is invisible. You can point to a broken arm, and people immediately understand the pain. You cannot point to a tired heart.

Growing older has also made me question something else. As children, we believe love is unconditional. As adults, it slowly begins to feel like a reward that must be earned. Society hands us an endless checklist. Earn more money. Get higher grades. Learn to drive. Cook properly. Clean perfectly. Be responsible. Be successful. Never cry. Never complain. Never fail.

For men, self-worth is often measured by income. If you don’t earn enough, people assume you have failed. For women, the expectations seem endless. You must study, build a career, cook, clean, take care of everyone, remain emotionally available, and somehow perform each role flawlessly. It feels as though society expects ordinary people to become perfect machines. Even machines fail. Artificial intelligence makes mistakes. Computers crash. Yet human beings are expected to carry impossible standards every single day.

I don’t want perfection. I want permission to be human.

People constantly divide the world into good people and bad people, successful people and failures. But who created those definitions? If someone earns a high salary, buys a large house, gets married, and has children, society quickly calls them successful. But what if another person earns very little, never marries, never owns a luxurious home, and still spends their life treating everyone with kindness? What if they sleep peacefully every night because they never betrayed anyone? Why does society value achievements more than character?

Sometimes I think society mistakes popularity for truth. If enough people agree on an idea, it becomes a definition, even when that definition leaves millions of genuinely kind people feeling inadequate.

The deepest loneliness rarely comes from strangers. It comes from the people we expected to understand us the most. As children, our parents teach us to depend on them emotionally. Whenever we’re scared, we run to them. Whenever we cry, they comfort us. They become our first home. Then adulthood arrives, and suddenly we’re expected to stop needing reassurance, stop crying, stop depending on anyone. It feels like wrapping a delicate cotton cloth around a tree covered in thorns and then trying to pull it away years later. The cloth cannot come away whole. It tears. That is what growing up sometimes feels like. Not becoming stronger, but learning how to survive while carrying pieces of yourself that never healed.

Perhaps people like me don’t become attached too easily. Perhaps we simply love without calculating risk. We don’t just meet people; we build homes inside them. And when those people leave, we don’t merely lose a person. We lose a place where part of our heart once lived.

Maybe that is why loneliness hurts so much. It is not the absence of people. It is the absence of belonging. And perhaps the hardest lesson adulthood teaches us is that the home we’ve spent our entire lives searching for inside other people is one we must slowly learn to build within ourselves.

Image By ChatGpt

܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

I read a question in my journal

“Do you love yourself?”

And I started wondering, “Do I love myself?” The answer would be “No”. In fact, if there were another question

“Do you hate yourself?”

I would say, “Yes, a 100% yes”.

Without any hesitation, it would be ‘Yes’.

I am not writing this article to inspire you all or something like that

Nope

This isn’t an article about self-love.

This is the real me

I’m not going to tell you to look in the mirror and repeat affirmations until you believe them.

I’m not here to inspire anyone.

I’m here because I want to tell the truth.

I avoid mirrors.

I avoid my reflection in windows.

Even puddles after the rain make me look away.

I started avoiding everything and every mirror, even the water‘s shadow; I avoid it, I hate it.

When I saw my reflection, I felt that, why God, why am I this ugly?

Every glimpse of my own face feels like evidence against me.

Not only ugly by face, but also by heart, but also in love, and in every single thing that exist in this life

I am ugly in everything

People always say, “Love yourself.”

How?

How I ove myself when I find not a single reason to fall in love with myself

What do I have?

Nothing, not a special talent, not a beautiful face, not a beautiful voice, not any skill, not a good person, not a lover, not a talent, nothing.

I have nothing

All I have are just broken pieces of everything.

Why?

Am I some sort of machine or something that is needed to solve issues of others but can’t repair itself?

I think I am

But no, I’m worse than that

Do you know even that machine that repairs other people? People love it, respect it, value it, give priority to it, and need it in their lives.

But when it comes to me, no one needs me, no one loves me, and no one gives any priority to me

When I look at other people, they get everything. Good parents are proud of them; whatever they have become, they are proud of their child

A lover who lives her, who prioritises her, who gives her whatever she asks for without even begging

A kid and siblings who values her even if she did nothing much in her life

A friend who cares for her

Money, success, love, friends, parents, kids, brothers and sisters – everything they have

God is so strange to some people; he gives everything

And some people like me who begs for it but don’t get anything

Not a parents who are proud of us

Not a lover who loves us as if I am not a world of his

Not a friend

Not a family

Not a money success, fame

Nothing

All I have are broken pieces, which I have to mend to look good in front of people.

I really don’t know how people fall for themselves

Because when I look at myself

All I found is UGLINESS

I FREAKING HATE MYSELF.

܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁.

Image by ChatGpt

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We have never been this connected.

A person sitting thousands of kilometres away can become the first person we text every morning and the last person we think about before sleeping.

Yet, somehow, this has become the loneliest generation.

How did technology that promised to bring us closer make intimacy feel so fragile?

When phones and technologies were rare and we are less and less connected to each other, there was no direct connection between us, yet people were not lonely; they used to share their thoughts, feelings, emotions and all their problems to other people without having a feeling of getting judged and, I think, zero trust issues.

Although it was not right to say that in the previous generation there were zero trust issues because earlier people’s trust was also broken and more badly than ours.

But they have something which this generation lacks; they do have emotional intimacy, physical connection and better people around them.

In our generation we have lots and lots of people around us, but we dont have emotion intimacy with someone and we have lots and lots of trust issues

Digital connection is easy.
Emotional security isn’t.

What happens in this generation is this: we find people on Instagram, and then we get connected to them, and or vines start matching with them. We start feeling that yes, they are so good, and they understand us so, so much, and gradually, unknowingly, they start becoming part of our lives.

Every event that happen in our life

Every problem that we faces

Every happiness that we saw from our eyes

Every small thing that we bough

Every small or big secret that we try to hide from world

We started telling each and every thing to them, and this leads to another type of connection that is

DIGITAL CONNECTION

Someone you’ve never met can become the first person you think about every morning.

Around the corners of the world you met someone that became the part of your routine.

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But what will happen

If they slowly disappear?

Now when they are involved in your life to this extent, even a single day when they are not active, you start overthinking. Your brain is filled with thousands of unanswered questions that make your heart go crazy.

You woke up in the morning, checked your phone and found out there is no single message of theirs, and your morning became cranky.

You freshened up, and again you checked your phone – still no message

You ate your breakfast, and there’s no update form them

your mind started filling the gap of waiting to questions that have no answer and your body start loosing you

You texted them:

“Hello, where are you???”

Still no reply, you just sat quietly with your phone in front of you and started waiting and waiting.

And honestly I am the same person like this, and this is one of the unpleasant parts of life: to wait continuously without a single message.

I started feeling like

“He will leave me too?”

“What if he got an accident?”

“What if he is not alive yet?”

“What if he is a criminal and police caught him?”

I know you all were thinking, ‘Such a stupid thought it is’, but this is how brains work when you have to wait for someone without knowing till when.

And then you have nothing to do and your brain needs answer till when I have to wait and you dont have answer of it

Your brain started answering it.

The human brain dislikes uncertainty. When it doesn't have information, it starts creating stories to fill the empty spaces. Most of those stories are based on fear rather than facts.

And trust me, these answers are more dreadful than we assume.

Phone have trained us so much that we need instant reply from the person and the moment we started to wait for that person, we have to face

Overthinking

Anxiety

Panick attack

Emotional dependency

Hatred

Anger

Frustration

Irritation

and every single emotion…

that can ruin us.

And honestly

There is two cases that can come in infront of us when we actually wait for someone

1. They are actually busy

2. They are ghosting us

And the awfulness of this situation is we don’t know what that person actually is until and unless we are actually invested our time in them, and there we get to know what that person actually is.

Sometimes people don’t change. Sometimes they simply stop pretending. The version you meet in the beginning isn’t always the version that stays forever.

As time passes and they become more comfortable around you, they slowly stop hiding parts of themselves.

That’s when you begin to see who they really are.

But that doesn’t mean everyone is pretending. Some people genuinely change with time.

Life changes them.

Experiences change them.

Pain changes them.

The difficult part is...

You never know which one you’re dealing with until enough time has passed.

And their raw version, you will see it once you are really interested and comfortable with them.

The two situations that I said

first is they are actually busy

you know we are so so much connected our life to social media and we take so much relationship advice to social media, that it also become a cause of breaking many beautiful relationships.

There are no official statistics that pinpoint exact breakup percentages caused directly by "social media advice”. However, data confirms that social media severely disrupts modern relationships. Studies indicate that roughly 33% to 61% of adults report social media has negatively impacted their romantic relationships, and 21% have considered leaving a partner due to repeated social media issues.

And Why I said ‘for case 1’ because when they are genuine, because we think

(according to the narrative of social media, your partner have to reply you even if they are busy.)

Yeah, for some cases it is possible but when they are actually busy we have to understand that they are busy rather than filling the uncertainty gap with something that never happened

and then there is second case – when they are ghosting you

I think it’s my personal opinion that this case is actually worse one and we genuinely fall for this trap; they are not busy, but still they say

‘Agh, baby, I was busy.’

And we forgive them.

The distressing thing is we are so much emotionally and digitally connected to them that it felt like our entire world will destroy if thy leave us

And we all know this type of relationship will not work any longer so when it break

It not only break the relationship, but it breaks so, so many thing that we never even thought of

The brain carries its past wounds into every new connection. So when it is asked to trust again, it brings back old pain and ends up destroying the present while trying to protect itself from the past.

And that’s how trust issues never left us.

And then there is another thing that silently destroys so many beautiful relationships.

Social media.

Whenever we have a fight with our partner or the person we love, instead of talking to them, we open Instagram just to distract ourselves.

But instead of relaxing, we see reels saying,

“Never trust men.”

“Never trust women.”

“Everyone cheats.”

“Love isn’t real.”

“Relationships always fail.”

At first, we ignore them.

But slowly...

One reel becomes ten.

Ten become fifty.

Fifty become hundreds.

And unknowingly, we start believing them. The scary thing is social media doesn’t know our relationship. It doesn’t know our partner. It doesn’t know what actually happened between us. Yet we start believing strangers more than the person sitting in our chat box.

Algorithms don’t care whether the advice is right or wrong. They only care whether we keep watching. And fear keeps us watching. The more we consume this type of content, the more we start seeing every relationship from the lens of fear.

I want to give an instance

You have a small argument with your partner. You open Instagram to calm yourself down. The first reel says, 'If they loved you, they would never make you cry.' The second says, 'Never beg for attention.' The third says, 'He's cheating.' Within five minutes, your argument is no longer about what actually happened—it's about what strangers on the internet told you to believe.

And then fights start happening for reasons that never existed before.

Late replies.

Seen-zoned.

Dry texting.

Active but not replying.

Following someone new.

Watching someone else’s story.

Removing a reaction.

These look like very small things. But for someone who is already overthinking, they become huge. Sometimes the fight is not because of what the other person did. The fight is because of what our brain assumed.

And assumptions have destroyed more relationships than reality ever did.

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Then comes another problem. Our phone slowly becomes our source of happiness. The first thing we do after waking up is check our phone. The last thing we do before sleeping is check our phone.

Every few minutes we open WhatsApp.

Instagram.

Telegram.

Messenger.

Just to see...

Did they text?

Did they reply?

Did they remember me?

And without even realising it, our mood starts depending on notifications.

One message can make our day.

One unanswered text can destroy it.

Our emotional state slowly becomes controlled by someone else’s online status.

And this made me think about something. Have we confused accessibility with love? Just because someone is online doesn’t mean they are free. Just because someone replies late doesn’t mean they stopped loving us.

Technology made communication easier.

But it never taught us patience. It never taught us trust. And it never taught us emotional maturity.

Maybe technology never created loneliness.

Maybe it only exposed it.

Maybe the problem isn’t our phones.

Maybe the problem is that we have started measuring love through reply times...

Trust through blue ticks...

Care through online status...

When love was never meant to be measured that way.

Perhaps intimacy isn’t disappearing.

Perhaps we are simply searching for it in places that were never designed to hold it.

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Created by Chatgpt

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Are you a reader?

If yes, then this article may help you understand your frustration.

I am a reader myself, and I spend most of my time reading novels—both fiction and non-fiction (although not too much non-fiction; self-help books are... agh!).

A few days ago, I was scrolling through Wattpad looking for a new book to spend my time on. There, I found a book cover that looked kind of interesting (I’m not going to mention the name of the book or the author).

When I opened the book, I read the first chapter, then the second, then the third. And the more I read, the more I kept thinking:

“Why, dude? Why?”

Why did the writer just copy and paste the words of AI?

While reading, I genuinely felt like:

“Dude, this is not a novel. This is not literature. This is not fiction. It’s just the words of AI hiding behind the name tag of a novel.”

Now, before anyone misunderstands me, let me say this:

I am the type of person who loves art in any form. If something is created by AI and it is beautiful, I can still appreciate it.

Because for me, art is art, no matter who created it.

I don’t believe art must only come from humans. Art can come from anywhere.

And honestly, I was never against using AI.

In fact, I use AI myself. I use it to edit my novel, organise my ideas, brainstorm scenes, and create character sketches.

The problem starts when writers begin using AI not as an assistant but as the writer itself.

What I mean is that some people use AI to write the entire novel and then hide behind it while taking all the credit.

And that is where I have a problem.

In real life, when someone creates a beautiful piece of art, we appreciate the artist. But when the same kind of art is created by AI, many people immediately dismiss it by saying:

“Blah, it’s AI-generated.”

Personally, I don’t think that’s fair.

AI was also created by people. It learns from data. It exists because countless individuals built it.

If AI creates something beautiful, I think it deserves acknowledgement too.

But nowadays, many people use AI to create art and then never mention it. They take all the credit for themselves.

They say:

“This is my novel.”

“I wrote it.”

But deep down, they know they’re lying.

They didn’t write it.

The AI did the work.

Their only task was:

“Copy it. Paste it. Publish it.”

The idea is simple:

I am not against using AI.

Years ago, people became great writers by practising. They read books, wrote stories, made mistakes, received feedback, and slowly improved.

There were teachers, mentors, editors, writing groups, and experienced people helping them grow.

Some writers were naturally gifted.

Not everyone has access to those resources today.

And honestly, AI can fill that role.

AI can be a teacher.

AI can be an editor.

AI can explain concepts, point out mistakes, and help someone become a better writer.

The problem is that many young writers aren’t using AI to improve their writing.

They’re using AI to do the writing for them.

They type a short prompt, receive a complete article, chapter, or story, and then copy-paste it.

After that, they present it as their own work.

And that bothers me.

Not because AI can write.

Not because AI can sometimes generate beautiful content.

It bothers me because it feels dishonest.

Writing requires effort.

Not perfect effort.

Not genius-level effort.

Just effort.

The effort to think.

The effort to struggle.

The effort to rewrite.

The effort to understand why a scene works and why another doesn’t.

And the thing that bothers me most is seeing people take credit for a beautiful piece of writing they never actually wrote.

They get praised.

They get appreciation.

People admire their work.

But they weren’t the ones who spent days and nights creating it.

They weren’t the ones who fought through writer’s block.

They weren’t the ones who stared at a blank page wondering what to write next.

And that’s the truth.

This trend is creating two major problems.

The first problem is that AI is constantly improving.

Right now, people use AI to become writers.

But one day, AI may become so capable that it won’t need someone to copy, paste, and publish for it.

The second problem is even bigger.

People are losing their creativity.

They’re losing their effort.

They’re losing the ability to write.

They’re losing the ability to express emotions.

They’re losing the ability to make others feel something.

They’re losing the ability to share their own thoughts.

They’re losing themselves.

Because they never learn how to write that first messy draft.

They never learn how to spend hours brainstorming.

They never learn how to develop those lovely characters.

They never learn how to make readers fall in love with their writing.

They become writers in front of the world without ever writing their first draft.

And that is sad.

The only thing I want to say in the end is this:

Please, young writers, remember that your first draft can be messy.

It can be incomplete.

It can be terrible.

But it will be yours.

All yours.

Use AI as a teacher.

Use AI as an editor.

Use AI to help develop your outline.

Use AI to learn.

But write your first draft with your own hands.

Not with a prompt.

Not by letting a tool do everything for you.

We are waiting for genuine work, no matter who creates it.

And if you are using AI to write something, tell your readers.

Let them know.

The true artist behind the art deserves appreciation.

Whether that artist is human, AI, or both working together.

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Have you read my previous article?

Is Love a Verb or a Sentence?

In that piece, I explored how love is not merely something we feel but something we do. When we love someone, we try to make them feel loved. Sometimes through words. Sometimes through actions. And sometimes through both.

But there is another side of love that we rarely talk about.

What happens when we love someone deeply yet carry a weight in our hearts that they know nothing about?

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The truth is, no matter how much we love someone, there are things we choose to hide.

Things we never speak about.

Things we bury so deeply within ourselves that we begin to pretend they never happened.

A mistake.

A regret.

A sin.

An unspoken feeling.

Something we are afraid will change the way people see us if it ever comes to light.

But if we love them so much, why do we hide it from them?

Perhaps because not every mistake is made with bad intentions.

Not every wrong choice comes from a bad heart.

We are young. We are learning. We are exploring life while trying to understand ourselves. We make decisions without fully understanding their consequences. We fall. We fail. We hurt others. Sometimes we even hurt ourselves.

I am not writing this to justify our mistakes or our sins.

Some mistakes are easy to confess. We tell our friends. We tell our family. We laugh about them years later.

But some mistakes never leave the darkness.

We hide them from our loved ones.

We hide them from the people who trust us.

And eventually, we try to hide them from ourselves.

Yet the strange thing about buried truths is that they never truly disappear.

In trying to forget them, we carry them.

In trying to silence them, we hear them more clearly.

And slowly, without realising it, the past stops being a memory and starts becoming a burden.

The burden that slowly kills us.

The Weight of Silence

As time passes, we are so much involved in burning it that we start losing ourselves.

We lose parts of our identity.

Parts of who we once were.

And these untold secrets got so heavy, so painful and so suffocating that taking a single breath would become difficult for us.

It follows us everywhere.

It sits beside us in moments of happiness.

It waits for us in moments of silence.

And no matter how much we try to bury it, it refuses to stay buried.

These untold secrets are like a broken mirror and we try to hold it tightly, hiding it from the world and we try to stop looking in that broken mirror.

Why?

Because every time when we look at it

it only shows us, our mistake, our sin

And in trying to escape them, we end up hurting ourselves far more than anyone else ever could.

We suffocate ourselves so much eventually that the broken mirror would cut the very fragile vein of our hand that parts the soul from its body.

The strange thing about hidden truths is that they follow us everywhere.

No matter how much we run away from it, it comes toward us and stands in front of us.

And when our brain look at it

He won’t make us go towards righteousness but rather ask hundreds and thousands of questions that we can’t answer.

We started imagining characters in our head, the unnecessary conversation, the non-existent events.

we started imagining the entire conversation never ever took place

and the worst part

we started overthinking about the day when things will be revealed.

when people know who you really are

when your loved ones know what you did

when they know what sin you performed

And then again we started hiding it

Because we never wanted to face that day

We do not want to lose the people we love.

We do not want to break the relationships we have spent years building.

We do not want to destroy the image they have of us.

Yet in trying to protect everything around us, we slowly begin destroying ourselves.

Perhaps hiding things from strangers would be easier.

After all, they do not know us.

They do not know our stories, our struggles, or the person we are trying to become.

But when we hide things from the people closest to us, the burden becomes different.

Heavier.

More personal.

More painful.

Because these are the people with whom we have shared our lives.

The people who have watched us grow.

The people whose opinions matter the most.

And that is exactly why the secret hurts.

Sometimes I find myself wondering the following:

Why can’t I just tell them?

Why am I still hiding it?

They love me.

Perhaps they would understand.

Perhaps they would be disappointed.

Perhaps they would scold me.

But deep down, I know they would not simply stop loving me.

So why does the truth remain trapped inside my chest?

Maybe the answer is fear.

Not fear of them.

But fear of what comes after.

The difficult conversations.

The uncomfortable silence.

The uncertainty.

The possibility that things may never feel the same again.

Because once a truth is spoken, it cannot be taken back.

And although we desperately want freedom from the burden, we are often more afraid of the consequences than the burden itself.

So we stay silent.

Not because we trust the secret.

But because we do not trust ourselves to face what may happen when it is finally revealed.

We are afraid of uncertainty.

Afraid of disappointment.

Afraid of losing the people we love.

And in trying so hard to protect our relationships, we continue carrying a weight that grows heavier with every passing day.

And perhaps the most exhausting part of carrying a secret is living between certainty and uncertainty.

Because deep down, we know that some truths cannot remain buried forever. No matter how much we hide them, no matter how much we avoid them, there is always a possibility that one day they will come to light.

And that is where the uncertainty begins.

We do not know when that day will come.

We do not know how it will happen.

We do not know how people will react when they find out.

Everything starts feeling difficult.

Everything starts feeling unpredictable.

Our minds become trapped between what is real and what might happen. We start imagining conversations that never took place, creating scenarios that may never exist, and preparing ourselves for disasters that only live inside our heads. The secret follows us everywhere. It sits beside us when we laugh. It waits for us before we sleep. Sometimes it even follows us into our prayers.

At first, we think we are carrying the burden.

But slowly, the burden starts carrying us.

It shapes the way we think. It shapes the way we see ourselves. It shapes the way we interact with the people around us. A mistake that belonged to the past somehow finds a way to live in the present.

And then comes the thought we fear the most.

The day everything is revealed.

The day people finally know.

The day our loved ones discover the truth we spent years hiding.

The day they learn about the mistake.

The regret.

The sin.

For many of us, it would feel like a Qayamat in our own world.

Not because the sky would fall.

Not because the earth would split apart.

But because the image we spent years protecting might disappear in a single moment.

The people we love may look at us differently.

The trust we spent years building may suddenly feel fragile.

And the future we imagined may no longer look the same.

That is the day we fear.

That is the day we spend years running from.

But sometimes I wonder whether carrying the burden forever is truly any better.

Because while we are busy protecting ourselves from that one painful day, we end up suffering a thousand painful days in silence.

We convince ourselves that hiding is easier.

That tomorrow will be a better day to deal with it.

That one more week, one more month, or one more year won’t make a difference.

Yet the burden remains.

Growing heavier.

Growing deeper.

Quietly taking pieces of us with it.

Perhaps the heaviest burden is not the mistake itself.

Perhaps it is waking up every day knowing that the people who love us most only know part of who we are.

And so we continue carrying it, wondering whether the day we fear the most may also be the day we finally become free.

Is Carrying It Forever Really Better?

But sometimes I wonder.

Is carrying it forever really better?

We spend so much of our lives convincing ourselves that hiding it is the safer option. We tell ourselves that the burden is easier to bear than the consequences of the truth. We tell ourselves that silence protects us, that secrecy keeps everything intact, that if nobody knows, then nothing has to change.

Yet if hiding it is truly easier, then why does it hurt so much?

Why does it follow us into our happiest moments?

Why does it appear when we are alone?

Why does it still occupy a corner of our minds after all these years?

Perhaps the burden was never as temporary as we imagined. Perhaps the day we decided to hide it was the day we unknowingly agreed to carry it with us.

And maybe that is the question none of us want to answer.

What is heavier?

One difficult conversation?

Or a lifetime spent fearing that conversation?

One painful day?

Or years of silently carrying its weight?

I do not know.

Maybe some secrets are meant to stay between us and Allah.

Maybe some truths deserve to be spoken.

Maybe every situation is different.

But I cannot help wondering whether the burden grows heavier the longer we refuse to look at it.

Perhaps the heaviest burden is not the mistake.

Not the regret.

Not even the sin itself.

Perhaps the heaviest burden is waking up every day knowing that the people who love us most know only a part of who we are.

Knowing that there is a version of ourselves hidden behind every smile, every conversation, every “I’m fine.”

A version that we protect from the world while it quietly consumes us from within.

And so we continue carrying it.

Not because it is light.

Not because it is easy.

But because we are afraid of what might happen if we finally put it down.

Yet somewhere between fear and freedom, certainty and uncertainty, silence and truth, a question continues to remain.

What if the day we fear the most is also the day we finally stop carrying the burden?

What if the day we fear the most is the day we finally become free?

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Created by Chatgpt

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Many people find this topic cringey.

I was one of them if I had read that article few years back but now in present I felt like I am more and more invested in this question

What actually is love?

Have you ever seen love with your own eyes?

Have you ever wondered what love actually looks like?

Not in movies.

Not in poems.

Not in wedding vow

I am talking about reality.

Many people says, “I had fallen in love with someone.”

And then after love we see the instance of it through the relationship

The question keeps lingering in my mind.

I had seen everywhere on social media post, on Instagram and on Facebook the relationship advisor used to say, “Action matters more than words,” and i do believe in this sentence.

ACTION DOES MATTER

Then why, when we get tired from the word, do we need words rather than action?

Why every time when we are lonely do we need someone we could say some words to?

Why, every time when we struggle to spend a day, do we need someone to share our words with too?

Why do we run behind words when action matters most?

The answer is

“ITS LIFE; LIFE WILL BE COMPLICATED.”

Huh? What type of answer is this?

In real life when we fall in love with someone and when we commit to them, people assume that love should become easy. After all, we already have friendships. We already know how to care for people. How different can a relationship be?

The reality is far more complicated.

When they get stuck with reality, everything feels suffocated because if we look at the universe (it’s kind of controversial though), we see average couple with heterosexual gender; there body, their mind, their emotion, their feelings, the way they think, the way they feel in any relationship is totally different

Some men feel loved when they are reassured through words and presence.

Some women feel loved through emotional connection, consistency, and effort.

But love is rarely that simple.

At the end of the day, every human being wants the same thing: to feel seen, valued, and chosen.

People assume that a relationship is easy, so why make it complex when we already love someone?

But the thing is, if something is complex, it does not means we stop loving it

That is how the human nature is built; we look around ourselves, and we find many, many tonnes of examples how complex things survive far, far more better way than easier things.

and how we spend more and more time doing complex things and go away from easier ones.

but a relationship is not like solving any sum or solve any issue and then getting a reward.

It’s far more difficult complex and, on the other hand, easier too (with the right partner)

The thing is it become difficult when people assume saying “I LOVE YOU” in any real relationship will be maintained, but what about other things

A relationship is tested when both people are already busy in their lives, but still at the end of the day they choose each other rather than choosing silence and loneliness.

When you are saying “I love you”, what about constant efforts? It’s not about blaming someone; everyone has their own ways to show love, but words without action are nothing.

Anyone can say ‘I love you’ to you daily, but only a few and very rare people are out there who think about you, who think about your life, your difficulty, your issues, your problems, and your happiness; who will think twice before saying something that will hurt you; who will come behind you again and again no matter how much you push them away until you get tired and give up in their arms, and then they hold you tightly but gently as if they are taking care of the fragile flower that will die with angry shouts and screams, and they try their best to not hurt you.

And there come the second people who say, “Action matters more than words.” Correct, very true, action does matter, but how will you let them know that you love them?

No words?

than how you going to say, “My heart belongs to you”

How will your partner know that you love them if you never ever tell them “how you had fallen in love with them and how till now every single day your love is only increasing and increasing for them”?

The thing is, any relationship survives if you both put constant efforts towards the relationship. A man would feel more loved when he becomes a real man in this relationship, and I am not talking about those fragile-ego men’s definition given by society; I am talking about those men who won’t feel afraid to share their thoughts, their vulnerability, their emotions, and their weaknesses. They open up completely towards you so that whenever you look at them, you will have a sense of emotion in your heart and you heart will everytime tell you

and for a woman when she felt constant emotion, and when she felt a sense of safety, when she felt that “Yes, there is someone, and now matter how much i try to push him, he will come to me”; when for her action she doesn’t have to give explanation every single time when she shows little anger and she knows someone will come and make her up; when she shows little tantrum and she knows there is someone who will held her tantrum like a treasure; when she actually become a child with you and whenever you look at her, your heart will tell you

That’s when any love is going to survive.

Love is not something that is dependent on words or action; it just happens. But when you come in relation and when you become committed to them, then that requires both the action that would be justified with words and the words that will become the verse of an action.

Anyone can say “I love you”.

But only a few people will think about your life, your struggles, your fears, and your happiness.

Only a few people will choose their words carefully because they know a careless sentence can become a permanent wound.

Only a few people will keep showing up, even on the days when love feels less like a feeling and more like a decision.

That is why words alone are not enough.

But neither is silence.

Because no matter how deeply we love someone, they are not mind readers.

They cannot hear the promises we never speak.

They cannot feel the emotions we never express.

Perhaps that is why love needs both.

Words tell us we are loved.

Actions convince us of it.

Love is not words.

Love is not actions.

Love is the rare moment when what a person says and what a person does become the same thing.

Honestly, if you try to understand what actually love is, you will never be able to understand it.

Why?

Because something in our life needs to be felt, not to be read, and love is one of them.

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Created By ChatGpt

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When a child is born, obviously the child’s first language is crying, but the most of the parents when they look at their newborn, usually say

“Oh, how pretty he/she is.”

“He looks like you.”

‘She looks like her mother.’

“She is naughty.”

“Aghhh, how much he is crying!”

And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.

In fact, it’s beautiful.

A couple has just become parents. For the first time, they hold a tiny human being in their arms. They stare at every little detail—the eyes, the nose, the fingers wrapped around theirs. The scent of a newborn fills the room, and suddenly their world feels different.

How could they not describe what they see?

How could they not try to put their love into words?

In fact, when I become a mother, I will do the same, maybe more than that.

But what an irony is

when the child was newborn in my life, I never heard that new parent came and say

“Oh, how smart my kid is.”

I dont think so

Have you all ever seen this event?

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But the same kid, when he started growing up, solved maths sums better than other kids. He got the best grades in his high school, and then slowly the unknown word became his identity, which he has to carry his entire life until he breaks this identity by himself.

He scores higher marks.

He answers questions in class.

He becomes the student teachers praise and relatives talk about.

And slowly, almost without anyone noticing, a description becomes an identity.

“The smart kid.”

An identity they carry for years, sometimes long after it stops feeling like a compliment.

Can anyone tell me if there is any proper definition of being a smart person?

A person who can solve sums fast, a person who can learn fast, a person who becomes successful fast, a person who passes entrance exams like NEET and all in his first attempt – is that the one who is smart?

I roam the internet, and till now I haven’t found the exact definition of being smart because if being smart is this, then why is that person, when he has everything and he is kind of an inspiration for other people, sad and demotivated?

I think the answer is society.

How?

In a society, every single person gets a label. And for a society, you exist in only two categories: either you are with them or against them, and you know how a person would become if he/she went against the society.

Either you will be dumb or smart; you can’t be both, and you can’t be anything other than that.

My words are kind of confusing.

It’s because I am confused myself too.

When i was born, “I don’t remember anyone had given me compliment of like you are smart.’”

but now everyone say

“Huh, you are smart; it’s impossible that you will ever fail an exam.”

Like, why? I am not born smart. I build this identity either by myself or by force. I dont know from bith to till now; I always got grade A+, never ever failed in any exams, and never faced what a failure looks like, and if this is what happiness is

than NO

A big NO

It’s seriously not.

At the moment I feel like I should just run away. I don’t know where, just away from this society, like

According to society if you got any identity you have to carry it all your life, and it’s either knowingly or unknowingly you are the one who build this identity around yourself, so it’s better that you carry it; otherwise you are the worse child

AM I?

I dont know

It’s not like that, being a topper is a problem for me. although many times in a day i have to study for more than 8 hours, the problem is when I say I am weak, I am tired; no one will listen

Why?

Because you are a topper, you have never failed in life, so how are you thinking that you will fail this exam?

And now you will assume I have no one arround me who will listen to me

Actually I do have.

I have one person in my life, and that person never left me alone, and look, he came in my article too 👀 (agh, why?).

(but you are a bad person.) Just kidding. 👀

The thing I want to say is that many people around me and you are labelled as ‘toppers’, and everyone thinks it’s so easy for them to pass any exam, to be top in any exam, to become successful, and to get any job.

But in reality it’s far more different. Those who dont get a title of being a topper, even if they score less, no one will question them; no one will ask

“Oh, why did you score less?”

“You are doing wrong.”

“You have potential; don’t waste it.”

But for a topper if in any exam they got a lower exam

The entire media will come to ask a question

“WHY”

And honestly no one have an answer to why, but everyone expect us to reply that

“Why this time did I score fewer marks compared to my previous exams?”

And about Indian parents’ education, scoring marks being topper is the ultimate goal for there child

I won’t blame them because they think they are middle class because they won’t be able to study, so they think if their child studies properly, he or she will succeed in life.

But in the start of life when we were young, getting good marks was easy and it was not burden at all because we were child that time; that time we could cry, we can share our pain, we can tell that

“Mumma, I can’t learn it. Can I learn this after a while?”

And now the label that we created by our own is that “WE ARE TOPPER”

Now this become a burden because no one is there to whom we can share our pain that

“I can’t score good marks this time; I want a break. Can I please?”

The burden of being a topper is not studying.

The burden is that everyone believes you are strong enough to carry the pressure forever.

Maybe that is the curse of being the smart kid.

Not the exams.

Not the grades.

Not even the endless hours of studying.

The real burden is that people stop seeing the human behind the achievement.

They see the marks.

They see the rank.

They see the report card.

But they don’t see the fear.

The exhaustion.

The nights spent wondering whether this will be the exam where everything falls apart.

The funny thing is that when I was a child, nobody called me smart.

I was simply a child.

Somewhere along the way, I became “the topper”.

And somewhere along the way, I forgot that I was allowed to be both.

A topper and a human.

Successful and scared.

Capable and tired.

Strong and struggling.

Maybe I don’t need people to stop calling me smart.

Maybe I just need them to remember that being smart doesn’t make me invincible.

Because even the students who score the highest marks sometimes want to put their books away and say,

“I am tired.”

And sometimes, that should be enough.

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One whole year.

Yes, it took me one whole year just to start. Isn’t it weird? Everyone says, “Start writing.” “Start focusing on yourself.” “Start working out.” “Start creating.” But nobody tells us how. Nobody tells us where to start or how to fight with our lazy, stupid brain. Because if we already knew that, we would’ve started a long time ago, right?

And I’m not here to tell you either.

There are already millions of videos giving advice, tips, routines, productivity hacks, and strategies. LUCK that. (Yes, LUCK, because I can’t say the F word.) I watched them for hours. Guess what? Nothing worked.

At one point, I genuinely started wondering what I was even doing with my life. Hours of scrolling, tutorials, reels, and YouTube videos, and somehow I ended up further away from starting than when I began. I didn’t even know what I was doing anymore. What was I going to do? Did I even have a goal in life?

Maybe not.

And by that, I don’t mean I don’t have dreams or goals. I do. Tonnes of them. I’m just so lazy to do any of them.

Why?

Because my brain is comfortable. On that one irritating chair.

Yes, that chair is real.

That stupid chair where I spend most of my hours scrolling through reels and pretending to work. My mom thinks I’m studying. Spoiler alert: I’m not.

Then came the scariest moment.

I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise myself. I wasn’t looking beautiful. My face, my body, that belly fat... ugh. And then my brother asked me a question. A super simple one. And me, the girl who used to be a topper, didn’t know the answer.

That broke me.

Who was I even becoming?

I wanted to change, but I didn’t know how. So what did I do? I scrolled. I planned. I overthought. And then it hit me.

It’s the same damn cycle.

The truth is there is no perfect way to start, and honestly that’s the best part. Because when we don’t know where to begin, we get to create our own path. We get to move at our own pace. That journey becomes ours. Unique.

So I stopped waiting.

Instead of searching for the “how”, I just started.

Or at least I thought I did.

You all know what starting actually means, right? Some may know. Some may not. But for me, the actual way I started was by doing nothing.

Yes.

You heard me right.

Nothing.

Our brain is honestly amazing at making us fool ourselves. Like seriously. Sometimes I think I should learn from my brain how to fool people because it is THAT good.

I built a goal. Planned everything the night before. Did journaling. Yupp. A good start.

Then morning came.

I woke up, and immediately my brain said:

“Bro, it’s already late. Take a little break and then we’ll do the work. Promise. We will surely do the work.”

And yes.

We did.

I sat on my PC fully motivated. Today I was finally going to write.

Then suddenly:

Wait.

I don’t have software.

Where am I supposed to write?

Which software should I use?

And instead of writing for even a little while, even though I could literally write in Notepad, the Pinteresty girlllyyy inside me wanted something aesthetic.

And just like that, my entire day disappeared.

I spent hours searching for the best software and the best template, only to end up using lovely old Google Docs with a template I made myself.

Huh.

Then I went to bed thinking, “Yupp. Productive day.”

The next day?

Same thing.

Then the day after that.

Again.

And again.

And again.

I woke up late. Did everything late. Somehow convinced myself I was making progress.

Then one of my friends made fun of me.

“Hey Arwa, what about your book? Dude, it’s been a year. Seems like I’ll read your book in heaven.”

And I wanted to scream.

Because yes, I had worked on it.

Or at least I thought I had.

How was I supposed to explain that I had character templates, timeline templates, scene templates, publishing research, worldbuilding notes, and every template imaginable?

But no actual scenes.

No actual chapters.

No actual book.

All I had was aesthetic software, aesthetic templates, and the perfect writing vibe.

And that’s what hurt the most.

Because I genuinely believed I was being productive.

For almost a month I spent my time researching software, templates, publishing, physical books, book formats, and every possible thing related to writing.

Everything except writing.

That day I realised something.

Our brain is way too good at fooling us.

We think we’re learning.

We think we’re preparing.

We think we’re being productive.

But sometimes we’re just creating the illusion of productivity.

We’re performing work instead of doing work.

We’re making ourselves feel productive without actually moving forward.

That realisation hurt.

Because I wasn’t fooling other people.

I was fooling myself.

So that day I closed everything.

The templates.

The software.

The aesthetic setups.

The perfect writing vibe.

Because they had become distractions.

I opened a blank page.

And started writing.

And you know what happened?

I wrote 10,000 words in one sitting.

The ideas were attacking me.

The scenes were creating themselves.

The words just kept coming.

It felt like every scene already existed somewhere inside my head. The problem wasn’t a lack of ideas. The problem was that I spent so much time searching for the perfect environment that I never gave myself a chance to actually work.

That’s the day I realised something else.

The setting matters.

The environment matters.

But not nearly as much as people think.

You just have to sit down and work.

You want to lose weight? Don’t spend three weeks watching fitness videos pretending you’re being productive. Stand up and move your body.

You want to study? Open the book and sit down.

You want to write? Open a blank page and start writing.

Because if you keep trying to create the perfect vibe, the perfect setup, and the perfect environment, your brain will fool you again.

And again.

And again.

You’ll think you’re being productive.

But you’re not.

And trust me, your brain is a master at making you believe otherwise.

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Have you ever pet a bird?

When I was young in my old granny‘s house, there was a bird – a parrot. From birth he was always in a very beautiful cage, and in that cage he got everything: food, water and sometimes tasty dishes, and he never faced hardship as other birds do. He never ran, and he doesn’t even know how to fly.

But he gets everything he wants and whatever he shouts for. Unlike other birds, he never had to search for food, survive storms, or worry about predators.

One day my grandmother saw there was a bird flying, and then it sat on our terrace. The thought came to her mind: why not let the parrot get away from the cage and fly in our house and outside of our house?

When she opened the cage for him, he didn’t come out.

We thought he might be afraid of us; we all are just waiting for him to come out of the cage but he didn’t, so we left the cage open so that he will come out

But after an hour when we went to his cage again, he was sitting comfortably on the rod but did not come outside of his beautiful cage.

My grandmother got furious, and she went away, leaving him like that, but after a while she came back and opened up the cage and brought him out of it. And this is not easy at all; he struggles a lot. He even bit my grandmother’s fingers and scratched her, but he tried so hard to not get out of it.

He resisted with everything he had.

Not because he was being forced back into the cage.

Because he was being taken out of it.

And why?

I was young that time, and there I was thinking, “Huh, what a stupid parrot he is. He is getting a chance to roam the world, and looking this stupid is not coming out of his small little cage. It’s ugly.”

And now when I’ve grown up and when I remember that incident again, I felt like he is not stupid; actually, he was very smart, if he went outside of the cage, he wouldn’t even know how to gather food, how to survive in temperatures, how to run away from the predators how to hide from them; eventually, he also forgot how to fly

Why will he go outside of this beautiful attachment when everything outside seems to have only struggles and threats?

Isn’t what we do?

Afraid to leave the beautiful attachment because we don’t know what will happen afterwards, exactly like that parrot.

And to make it more realistic and unerring, we human sometimes name it “LOVE”

But is it really “LOVE”?

When we look from far, “attachment and love look identical“, and it’s not something to explain using words until and unless you experience it by yourself. And I hope you never experience attachment, but you will feel love.

In start of any relationship

The attachment says, “I love you, and I want you to be with me for the rest of eternity.”

and Love says, “I love you, and I want you to be with me for the rest of eternity.”

Wait, what?

How ironic it is that they both look the same?

Yes, it is.

Both make us stay.
Both make us care.
Both make us afraid of losing someone.

At first glance, they seem impossible to separate.

So why do they feel so different when life becomes difficult?

Attachment and love may look similar when everything is easy.

Both hold hands.
Both make promises.
Both say, “I need you.”

The difference appears when hardship arrives.

Attachment is like fragile glass. It shines beautifully under the light, but its beauty depends on remaining untouched. The moment pressure becomes too great, cracks begin to appear. Soon the glass shatters. Some pieces wound us, some are left there, and then one day every piece becomes a bad chapter of the brain that we wish would vanish.

Now you will think, ‘What is love?’

Tough glass?

Or something made from wood?

Or maybe something made from cement?

Or maybe a glue?

Nope, not at all.

It does break.

This is what makes love so frightening.

Love is not the absence of cracks. It is what happens after them.

When love breaks, two people kneel beside the shattered pieces. They cut their hands trying to gather what remains. They carry those broken fragments through heat and fire. They reshape them into something new. Not the same glass as before, but another one born from the damage.

The attachment asks:

“Can I still get what I need from you?”

Love asks:

“Can we rebuild what has been damaged?”

Attachment fights until it can no longer win.

Love fights and then chooses to stay.

Again and again.

Not because staying is easy.

But because the person becomes more important than the comfort of leaving.

Perhaps that is the difference.

Attachment survives on satisfaction.

Love survives on commitment.

One remains only while it is being fed.

The other remains even when it is hungry.

Attachment is something we fight again and again, and in the end its will break and end completely. Love is something we fight but choose to stay in; we again fight, and we again choose to stay, and this will go on till death.

But often we also say love ends.

Yeah, we can see the couple who love each other, but they are not together anymore.

But is this what you actually say love is?

When you see people together with each other, laugh with each other, play with each other, and cry with each other – you say, “This is love.”

But what about yearning for someone when you are lonely and no one is around you and you are asking for that person?

Is this what not loving is?

There is no proper definition of “ what is love”

But I am sure it’s not something that is “if you both are together, then there is love, but if you are not together, then you don’t love each other.”

I don’t think so. Love has many, many stages, and each couple goes through their own phase, their own stages we can’t justify by words. W

When they are together, their love is seen; when they are not together, their love is hidden, hidden from the world, but does that mean it ends? '

Their hearts don't know each other; no, their hearts know each other. The thing is the universe played and they are not together anymore but it doesnot means they are not in love anymore

The world measures love by proximity.

The heart may measure it differently.

The world sees two people who are no longer together.

The heart remembers a language only those two once spoke.

Perhaps love does not always die.

Perhaps sometimes it simply becomes invisible.

We can love someone but there is no way to unlove someone.

I often think about that parrot now.

As a child, I laughed at him.

I thought he was foolish for refusing freedom when it was placed right in front of him. I thought the cage was the problem.

Years later, I realised the cage was never the problem. The door was open. The real problem was that the cage had become familiar. It had given him safety for so long that freedom began to feel frightening. And perhaps we are not very different.

We stay inside relationships that no longer allow us to grow.

We cling to people who have already left.

We call it loyalty.

We call it devotion.

We call it love.

But sometimes it is simply attachment wearing a beautiful mask.

The difference, I think, appears when the door opens.

Attachment stays because it is afraid of what exists outside the cage.

Love stays because it has the freedom to leave and chooses not to.

The attachment says,

“I cannot live without you.”

Love says,

“I can, but I would rather share this life with you.”

And maybe that is why love survives what attachment cannot.

Not because it never breaks.

Not because it never suffers.

Not because it guarantees two people will remain together forever. But because love is not a prison built from fear. It is a choice made in spite of it. A choice repeated after every disappointment. After every misunderstanding. After every crack.

Again.

And again.

And again.

So perhaps the question is not whether you love someone.

The question is this:

If the door of the cage were open today, would you stay because you are afraid to leave?

Or would you stay because, after seeing the entire world, you still choose them?

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Have you ever fallen in love?

Do you know what the best part of being in a relationship is? It is that the person you love is loyal to you. The moment we enter any relationship, the first agreement between two people is “the agreement of being loyal to each other”

But being loyal to someone justifies it: “The loyalty is a favour to the other person.”

I don’t think so.

Let’s go through an instance: there is a fight between a couple like a normal one, but one partner ends up saying,

“Look, I am getting this many proposals. We are at a long distance. I can tell you that I am busy today, and even if I go and marry someone else, no one is going to know, not even you, but I am not going to do such things. Why? because I love you.”

Sounds romantic, right?

But for a sensitive person like me, no, it’s not.

If that person stayed loyal and committed to that relationship with all hardship, is this by choice or is it a favour to the other person?

From far, it looks romantic, but when you see it from your own heart, it feels deeply, deeply hurtful.

The statement appears to be about love, but hidden inside it is something else:

“Look at all the things I could have done.”

“Look at all the opportunities I gave up.”

“Look at how much I am sacrificing for you.”

The focus quietly shifts away from love and toward debt.

Suddenly, loyalty is no longer a personal choice. It becomes a favour.

And every favour comes with an expectation.

The strange thing about loyalty is that people often misunderstand who carries its weight.

When I choose to be loyal, that choice belongs to me.

It reflects my values, my promises, and the kind of person I want to be.

My loyalty is my responsibility.

It is not a debt that another person must spend the rest of their life repaying.

The moment loyalty becomes an invoice, love becomes a transaction.

Every disagreement turns into an opportunity to present receipts.

“I stayed.”

“I sacrificed.”

“I rejected others.”

As if commitment itself deserves a standing ovation.

But isn’t that what commitment was supposed to mean in the first place?

A person deserves appreciation for their loyalty.

What they do not deserve is ownership over another person’s guilt.

There is a difference between saying:

“Being loyal has been difficult.”

And saying:

“You owe me because I was loyal.”

One seeks understanding.

The other seeks leverage.

The strongest loyalty is often the quietest.

It doesn’t constantly remind people of what could have happened.

It doesn’t keep score.

It doesn’t collect emotional interest.

It simply remains loyal because that is the promise it chose to make.

And perhaps that is the uncomfortable truth:

If your loyalty requires constant recognition, validation, and repayment, then maybe it was never a gift of love.

Maybe it was a transaction waiting for its bill to be paid.

I am not a relationship expert. In fact, I am probably the last person who should be giving relationship advice.

But there is one thing I have noticed. Most relationships do not fail in the honeymoon phase. The honeymoon phase is easy.

Everything is beautiful.

Their flaws look adorable.

Their mistakes feel forgivable.

Their presence alone is enough to make your day better.

Love feels effortless because you are still in love with the idea of each other.

The real relationship begins when that phase ends.

When the butterflies become ordinary.

When daily life replaces excitement.

When disagreements become frequent.

When you start seeing the person not as a fantasy, but as a human being.

That is where relationships are truly tested.

Not when everything is perfect.

But when both people are disappointed, frustrated, tired, or angry.

Anyone can say “I love you” when they are happy.

The difficult part is choosing your words carefully when you are hurt.

Because anger has a strange way of turning temporary emotions into permanent wounds.

A harsh sentence takes only a few seconds to leave someone’s mouth.

The memory of it can remain for years.

Some words become scars.

And the unfortunate thing about scars is that they heal without ever completely disappearing.

This is why I believe that if you cannot control your anger, you should control your distance.

Leave the conversation.

Take a walk.

Remain silent for a while.

Return when your emotions have stopped demanding a victim.

Because the people who love us are often the people most vulnerable to our words.

And sometimes the greatest act of love is not speaking until you are capable of speaking with kindness.

After all, relationships rarely end because two people stopped loving each other.

Many end because anger repeatedly said what love never meant.

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