The cooking started two months ago.

I was interning at an organisation while also preparing for an exam, but because of my 9-to-5 internship, I wasn’t able to prepare much until I had very little time left. Now, this exam is a little competitive. If 10 students appear for it, almost four of them pass, including those who pass after multiple attempts. And according to statistics, I was supposed to be serious, right? Not right, because I wasn’t.

I had also lost the minimum amount of time you need to study to pass this exam, so I decided to end my internship and finally focus on the exam.

On my last day, I went to my Former manager’s office for a farewell speech, but instead, he started asking me questions about my preparation. And I was like, bro, how is this even relevant?

Basically, he came from a similar educational background, so he was familiar with the exam and was unnecessarily curious about my preparation.

“Have you prepared the important topics?”

“No.”

He looked at me.

“Have you studied this chapter?”

“No.”

“And this one?”

“No.”

He then took the name of every chapter, and I had barely studied two.

Then he started scaring me, or I would say, attempted to scare me off, by telling me how difficult the exam was, how I couldn’t pass it, and how I shouldn’t even be sitting for it. He told me I was wasting my parents’ money.

And I told him that he shouldn’t worry. I would pass this exam, InshaAllah.

Then he said, “I wish you would pass, but honestly, you cannot pass at this rate. You’ll probably fail.”

I was like, “Are you giving me a challenge?”

He was like, “Yes, I am.”

I told him, “You wait until result day. I’m going to send you my result card with a PASS, InshaAllah.”

He literally made fun of my strategies for passing the exam. He kept doubting me in front of three other people for 40 minutes straight, and not a single time did I feel that he was right and I would fail, because he didn’t know me or how Allah helps me.

And then I left the room with a smile on my face because I was already excited for result day.

Now, you must be wondering how someone can be this confident with almost zero preparation and absolutely no background knowledge.

Well, as the only sister to three older brothers, I grew up with a lot of traits commonly associated with men. And one of the traits I specifically have is called a “Male Fragile Ego”. That day, it was triggered.

So, after leaving my internship, I finally sat down to study.

Was I still studying 14 hours a day? Absolutely not.

I was studying, but I chose an approach that was basically a shortcut to passing. Since I had never used it before, it was more like gambling. But instead of wasting time, I stuck to one direction, kept studying and praying, and collected prayers from a hundred other people. If you greeted me during those days, there was a reasonable chance you’d be asked to pray for my result.

Then came the exam.

It went well, to be honest, but I couldn’t determine the result. It’s so uncertain that the person expecting 30 marks and the person expecting 90 are equally afraid they will fail.

So I left it at that and kept praying. I returned to telling every second person to pray for me because, honestly, after giving the exam, I was genuinely afraid.

And then came result night.

It was 4 a.m. The house was absolutely silent, and there was a slightly cold breeze in the air. Everyone was sleeping except me.

I opened my phone and refreshed my email.

The result was out.

My heart started beating so fast, and my breathing was getting shorter. With a lot of hesitation and half-closed eyes, I opened the email in the name of Allah.

PASS!

YESSS, I PASSEDDDD!

WOHOOOO!

My eyes were slightly filled with tears, and my heart was filled with satisfaction and a stronger belief in Allah.

You know what? When I sent my manager my result, I was very proud. He congratulated me and told me I had done a great job, as the exam was very difficult.

And then, ironically, he asked for a treat.

He was like, “It’s due on you to visit the office and give us a treat.”

And I was literally laughing. A treat for what? For proving you wrong?

Jokes aside, I was Literally at a dead end because of my limited preparation, and somehow, my manager’s fear was right, too. But it was very important for me at that moment to believe in Allah and myself and keep going with whatever I had left.

Because in life, you won’t always have everything go as planned. We have to learn to survive under unwanted circumstances.

The ultimate formula is: never let anyone tell you what your worth is AND WHAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF. Give it your best and leave the rest to Allah. He will show you the way in magical ways. And also, prepare on time.

honestly, somehow, people like my former manager are also necessary to remind you to wake up.

Anyway, if you have any challenge due, I wish you very good luck. You can do it, Insha'Allah

Thank you For Reading : )

From the creator of Quirky Rants: I’ve started a new publication called Nudge — a space for stories born from a sudden thought.

If you’ve ever had a thought that wouldn’t leave you alone until you turned it into a story, Nudge might be the place for it. Explore Nudge and submit your story.

Nudge — A Publication!

📌 This story is published under Quirky Rants — a home for unfiltered thoughts, everyday oddities, and real, relatable voices.
Want to share your story too? Join us here.

Quirky Rants — A Publication!

How I Cooked My Former Manager Into A Treat was originally published in Quirky Rants on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

At the end of it all, I am surrounded by strangers of my own making.

I woke up one morning because the sunlight coming through the window was making it difficult to sleep, along with the noises coming from the neighbours. Getting up, I suddenly remembered that I had a train to catch in an hour. This journey was very unplanned, I didn’t even pack my suitcase until an hour before.

I packed in a blur. I threw things into a dusty suitcase from my cupboard, a couple of dresses I wear, my painting kit, my journal, and a few essentials. I looked in the cupboard. There were so many clothes tangled with each other, jewellery not in the organisers, random empty boxes, a bracelet my friend gave me on school election day, a perfume my brother gave me on my birthday, a mirror my friend gave me at my high achiever ceremony. I looked into the mirror and decided not to take it along, as it might break during the journey, and left all the memorials because they didn’t belong in the suitcase. Then I travelled to the train station alone because nobody knew I was leaving.

I found my seat: 4N. The train was loud, full of life, but I was entirely alone in my corner. For the first few hours, and then I walked into another cabin.

In that new cabin, there were a lot of nice people, a bit older than me. They all seemed to be protective of me as I was the youngest, and the air became normal. I laughed, I talked, I worried about trivial things with strangers who instantly felt like lifelong anchors. And just like that, I stepped into another cabin, with all these amazing intellectual people from around the world. I sat with them and learned so many things. We wrote journals together, and somehow, these people slowly left the cabin until only a few of them were left. And then I stepped into another cabin.

In each such cabin, there were no windows to look back through. Each cabin felt like home, to the extent that I couldn’t care about what was happening in the previous home. When you are fully immersed in one phase of life, the previous one becomes a blur.

And then the journey ended. Finally, the train stopped. It felt like it took two years.

The train stopped in a dusty city which had echoes of my footsteps. For the first time, I was not sitting in a cabin. The movement had stopped, and the sudden silence was what finally woke me up.

Then I walked into a familiar coffee shop. There was a girl standing on the other side of the counter. I walked towards her. She said, “You’ll take your usual mango milkshake without mango chunks on top?” I looked at her, confused, because mango season was over, and her words felt like echoes from the past.

“Coffee,” I said.

She looked at me, with her eyebrows raised altogether, and said, “Okay.”

Then she told me I needed to wait until 10 a.m.

Subconsciously, I said, “Don’t you have to go to college early today? It’s Tuesday.”

She said yes and asked how I knew.

I had no answer to give her.

And judging by the way she was looking at me, she was going through the same confusion.

I walked over to the table next to the window and sat down.

I recognised the way some of them walked. They were all part of my journey. The girl in the black dress: I remembered she had an exam in a few hours. The woman in the blue coat had once told me she was going to another country for vacation…

But I couldn’t recognise them.

And somehow, I knew they didn’t recognise me either.

At the end of it all, I am surrounded by strangers of my own making.

It’s a strange, quiet kind of sadness, but mostly, it’s just depth. I don’t belong to those streets anymore, and those people don’t belong to the life I’m living now.

I had become a butterfly, but somewhere inside me, the caterpillar still remembered every leaf it had ever called home.

Thank You for Reading! :)

From the creator of Quirky Rants: I’ve started a new publication called Nudge — a space for stories born from a sudden thought.

If you’ve ever had a thought that wouldn’t leave you alone until you turned it into a story, Nudge might be the place for it. Explore Nudge and submit your story.

Nudge — A Publication!

📌 This story is published under Quirky Rants — a home for unfiltered thoughts, everyday oddities, and real, relatable voices.
Want to share your story too? Join us here.

Quirky Rants — A Publication!

Strangers of my making was originally published in Quirky Rants on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

The Sweetest Secret I’ll Ever Tell You

‎Before I answer that, I have a question for you.
‎Why?
‎Seriously...
‎Why would you even want to win my heart?
‎I’m surprised, honestly.
‎Anyway...
‎
‎Let me tell you the actual secret to winning my beautiful heart.
‎You might think it’s difficult to win a girl’s heart, but all you have to do is:
‎· Bring me flowers when I’m sad.
‎· Buy me chocolates when I have an exam.
‎· Compliment me when I get dressed.
‎· Support me during my hardest times.
‎Isn’t that cute?
‎But...
‎I was lying.
‎I would just eat the chocolate and probably wouldn’t even notice you were there.
‎
‎But on a serious note...
‎I promise I’ll be serious this time.
‎
‎So, you want to know the secret to winning my heart, right?
‎
‎Honestly...
‎
‎I don’t think hearts are achievements to be won.
‎Because if you think about it, the human brain is naturally attracted to what it considers "better." We all chase beautiful things, kind people, and good hearts.
‎The difficult part
‎is loving the people you hate.
‎I’m not saying their actions are right.
‎Wrong is wrong.
‎But
‎Have you ever wondered why they are the way they are?
‎There was a friend of mine.
‎When I was 13, she was very vulgar in her actions and in the way she talked. She was an attention seeker, and like everyone else in my class, I hated her too.
‎
‎But one day, I was talking to her and realized she wasn’t happy with her life either.
‎She told me that her infant brother had died when she was very little. Both of her parents were working, and there was no one to look after her.
‎No one she could talk to.
‎No one to be inspired by.
‎So eventually, she started seeking attention in the "worst" ways.
‎
‎But when I looked into her eyes that day, I didn’t see an attention seeker anymore.
‎I saw a little girl who had been constantly judged and left lonely.
‎That moment, I realized it’s not easy to be on everyone’s hate list when all you’re really carrying is the aftermath of some problem that the people around you never had to face. Maybe that’s why they became "good," and she didn’t.
‎
‎You’re human too, right?
‎You have good and bad inside you too.
‎Today, sit for a while.
‎Think about the people you hate the most.
‎Put yourself in their shoes.
‎Try to understand them.
‎Be kind to them.
‎I’m not saying we should normalize what’s bad.
‎What I am saying is
‎Hate the action, not the person behind it.
‎
‎If you can do that,
‎In my opinion,
‎you’ve won something far greater than an ordinary human heart.
‎You’ve won understanding...
‎for a part of society that doesn’t always need to be removed.
‎Sometimes, it just needs to be healed with your kindness.

‎THANK YOU FOR READING : )

A little note for my Medium family: (I’m sure you’ve forgotten me by now)
‎But still, let’s pretend

a lot of you were worried about me.
‎I was reallllllllly caught up with a few changes in MY life.
‎I hope to read all my amazing friends' articles here and return before the next 30th... this time
‎I would like to thank Rishita Sharma💗 and Meta Marvelia for hosting this challenge

Now, I know I crossed the deadline, but I read this on a road:

“Better late than never."

And I’m actively following it ;)
‎

This story is written for the writing challenge “How to Win My Heart” by Quirky Rants — Write Your Own Unofficial User Manual for Winning a Human Heart. Because we don’t expect people to read minds. We write the instructions. Find the challenge below.

How to Win My Heart — A Writing Challenge

📌 This story is published under Quirky Rants — a home for unfiltered thoughts, everyday oddities, and real, relatable voices.
Want to share your story too? Join us here.

Quirky Rants — A Publication!

How to Win My Heart? - A Writing Challenge was originally published in Quirky Rants on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

It was the year 61 Hijrah. Arrows were filling the sky of Karbala like stars in the darkness. Swords were flashing like lightning through heavy clouds. One side, with thousands of armed horsemen, was fighting against the 72 saviours of Islam, the descendants of the Prophet ﷺ, the ones who were commanded by Allah. The ones whose heads were separated from their bodies, but it did not stop them. The ones who left their children and wives, entrusted to Allah, and were martyred.

Currently, in 1448 Hijrah, this incident still grieves the hearts, bleeds the hearts, and revives the hearts.

Since childhood, I have really felt miserable whenever I read the tragic history of Karbala, and I am sure as Muslims, you all feel that way too, As we have no control to change it, but what if we were there? Who would we have sided with?

As Muslims, our reply would always be: Imam Hussain (AS). We would have been willing to lay down our lives and sacrifice our loved ones for him, right?

But history says something we would not like to accept.

Have you ever asked yourselves: what were the followers of Imam Hussain ibn-e-Ali(AS) , and what were the followers of Yazid ?

The followers of Yazid were not only the people who stained their hands with the blood of the saviours of Islam; they were also the people who stayed quiet. Some of their hearts were with Imam Hussain (AS), but their swords were with Banu Umayya.

So how can we say that only because we love Imam Hussain (AS), we would have been among his followers? Because the same human weaknesses that made people abandon truth on Ashura can appear in smaller forms in our own lives. To identify which side we stand on, we need to answer some questions.

Followers of Yazid

The followers of Yazid were influenced by fear of the state, financial stipends, and worldly advancement. They were willing to violate the sanctity of the Prophet’s family, Medina, and the Kaaba to fulfil royal commands.

So, does the love for money and the world mean more to me than what is right?

The followers of Yazid were brutal and ruthless. They not only martyred the household of the Prophet ﷺ but also treated the wives and children of the martyrs brutally.

So do I treat the innocent brutally for my own selfish desires?

The Banu Umayya followed strict tribalism. Their political structure relied heavily on the pre-Islamic dominance of the Banu Umayya clan, despite the principles of equality taught by the Prophet ﷺ.

Do I care about caste and creed? Do I treat people differently depending upon the social and financial status they have?

Some of the followers of Yazid did not hate Imam Hussain (AS), but they were too cowardly to stand with the truth and sacrifice themselves for it.

Do I stand with justice even when I know it will not be in my favour?

Now, do you want to know what the followers of Imam Hussain (AS) were like?

FOLLOWERS OF IMAM HUSSAIN IBN-E-ALI(A.S)

Imam Hussain ibn Ali (AS) was offered safety and high standing if he simply gave his oath of allegiance (bay’ah) to Yazid ibn Muawiyah. But he replied:

“Indeed, I do not see death except as a blessing, and I do not see living alongside oppressors except as a source of misery and disgust.”

Reference note: (Tarikh al-Tabari, Vol. 5; Al-Irshad by Shaykh al-Mufid, Vol. 2; Luhuf (Maqtal al-Husayn) by Ibn Tawus.)

He chose sacrifice over worldly comfort. He sacrificed everything he had for justice.

Do I sacrifice anything for justice?

The night before Ashura, Imam Hussain(AS) gathered his followers, extinguished the candles to save them from embarrassment, and explicitly told them that the Umayyad army only wanted his life. He released them from their oaths and urged them to leave in the darkness to save themselves.

Every single one of his companions, knowing what would happen to them and their children, refused to leave, choosing to stand and die with him.

They took a highly costly, ethical choice. So am I willing to do that?

Despite the highly segregated culture of tribal race and status, the 72 followers of Imam Hussain(as) included the nobles of Arabia and servants, who were treated equally under the leadership of Imam Hussain.

Do I tolerate a servant sitting next to me?

Over the course of a single day, Imam Hussain (as) watched his brothers, his nephews, his loyal companions, and his own children be martyred. The apex of this trauma was the martyrdom of his six-month-old infant son, Ali al-Asghar (As) who was struck by an arrow while Imam was holding him and asking the enemy for water for the baby.

Instead of complaining to Allah, he showed resilience and submission.

Do I show resilience even when I face slight pain?

On the 2nd of Muharram, when the Umayyad vanguard of 1,000 cavalry under Hurr al-Tamimi first intercepted Imam’s caravan, Hurr’s men and horses were dying of thirst in the desert heat. Instead of attacking them while they were vulnerable, Imam ordered his companions to share their precious, limited water supply with the enemy soldiers and even their horses.

Leaving the enemy aside, do I share anything with people in need?

There are countless virtues of Imam Hussain (AS). Am I following any them?

It does not matter which side you should have chosen 1400 years ago, but the real question is: where do our choices place us today?

Karbala is not only a story of the past; it is a question that lives with every generation. Every day, we are given moments where we must choose between the path of Imam Hussain ibn-e-Ali (AS) and the path of Yazid ibn-e-Muawiya.

Imam Hussain (AS) said:

“People are the slaves of this world, and religion is just a phrase they repeat on their tongues. They guard it as long as their livelihoods are secure and plenty. But when they are tested with trials and tribulations, the true believers become very few.”

Reference note: (Attributed to Imam Hussain (AS) in Tuhaf al-Uqul by Ibn Shu’bah al-Harrani)

Our hearts stand with Imam Hussain (AS), but our swords(our actions) must also stand with him. We must strive for a purpose greater than ourselves.

Let us all pray that Allah sends His blessings and mercy upon Prophet Muhammad ﷺ and his family. May Allah grant the highest station in Paradise to all the martyrs of Karbala and their families. Guide us onto their path, and let our end be with them on the Day of Judgment. Ameen.

JazakAllah Khair for taking the time to read and reflect.

Note: This article is a personal reflection based on historical accounts and my understanding. If there is any authentic correction regarding references or historical details, I welcome respectful guidance.

Our Hearts Are With Imam Hussain (AS), But Our Swords Are Not! was originally published in Islamic Reunion of Thoughts (IROT) on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

As I am writing this, I am sitting beside the window facing a Chinaberry tree outside our house. The wind is so strong this evening, it feels like a storm. The gate of our house keeps Banging again and again because of the wind, and even the window behind me shakes as if someone is pushing against it from the other side.

I have watched this tree grow year after year since I was sixteen.

Every autumn, it sheds its leaves. At the beginning of winter, it stands almost bald. Then, in the middle of winter, baby leaves begin to appear. By late February, flower buds become visible, and in the early days of spring, the tree blooms into white and purple beautiful flowers with the most pleasant fragrance.

Some of my favorite memories with this tree are sitting on a chair beside it, listening to birds chirping, hearing raindrops hit the ground, feeling the wind touch my face, and breathing in the scent of its flowers.

I love this tree so much that I wait for it the entire year just to watch it bloom.

Its flowers only last around ten days, but their fragrance is worth waiting for all year.

This year, I was especially excited. I watched the tree daily. The buds had finally appeared, and spring felt close. I used to touch the buds and smell the flowers as they slowly began preparing to bloom.

Then one random day, I found out that our gardener had trimmed the tree.

He said it was “for the better growth of the tree.”

But in doing so, he removed almost all the buds and many of the branches.

I was genuinely upset. It felt like he ruined everything. I waited the whole year, only for all the flowers to disappear before they even bloomed.

Our neighbors have the same tree. Theirs wasn’t trimmed, but I couldn’t smell its flower fragrance while standing inside my house.

Days passed, and while the neighboring tree stood covered in beautiful flowers and grew taller, ours looked like a baby tree with almost no flowers. Every time I looked at it, I felt disappointed.

The cool weather and blooming fragrance were replaced by the heat wave and wind. The flowers disappeared, and the trees filled themselves with leaves instead, and I almost forgot our tree.

And today, while sitting in this storm, our tree caught my attention again.

The tree has now grown almost taller than the neighboring one. Its branches have spread evenly. As the wind is growing more violent, the neighboring tree couldn’t hold itself and bent to one side, struggling to hold itself upright.

But our tree only shed a few dried leaves and continued standing in the same posture.

Watching all this with my own eyes, I realized how important it is to keep growing while ignoring how behind you currently are.

Trees do not have eyes to compare themselves with others, ears to hear criticism, or minds to overthink their worth.

That is exactly why this tree kept growing stronger every day.

Even when we considered it ruined.
Even when it lost its flowers.
Even when it lost the reward of an entire year’s wait.

Others might be ahead of you now, but if you stand firm like the Chinaberry tree, you’ll grow unshakable, and no storm will turn you from your path.

Trust me, it will be worth the wait! (Insha’Allah).

Thank You For Reading! : )

We are finally on social media.. Come say hi…

Subscribe and follow our official social handles on Instagram | X | Facebook.

Feel free to mention / tag us on these social platforms whenever you want to promote or collaborate on your content. We love watching you grow with this community.

This story published on “Pen With Paper” — a fresh space where writers bring their thoughts, stories, and ideas to life. Want to share your voice? Join our community, and together, “We Elevate Your Stories”

Pen With Paper Submission Guidelines 2026 : A Brand New Way to Be Added as a Writer

Deafness Was Its Greatest Blessing was originally published in Pen With Paper on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Let me take you back in time,
to the chaos behind the notification:
“Hoorain Zahra has published an article.”

An idea pops into my mind at the very moment I’m supposed to be focusing, and I act like a war has broken out and I have to write an article to stop it.

I put every important and urgent task aside, and me and my thoughts prepare what I believe is an “amazing draft”.

Until it is finalised by my two beta readers:
ChatGPT and Gemini AI.
Let’s call them GPT Samurai and Gem Spartan.

I’ve trained GPT Samurai so that it acts like Miss Trunchbull;
it roasts my draft so brutally that I almost feel like deleting it.

So, for emotional recovery, I run to the sweet Gem Spartan.

It praises my draft to the extent that I feel like I’m the world’s best writer.

Like, if I casually sneeze in my story,
Gemini would be like:

“You Smartly placed the act of sneezing as a symbolic gesture of truth-telling in folkloric expression…”

And I’m like, wait, I did that intentionally? Wow, I’m definitely the world’s greatest writer.

Last month, I did something really crazy.

I broke out an actual war between GPT Samurai and Gem Spartan.

After getting roasted by GPT, I copied its response and sent it to Gem Spartan.

Now, Gem Spartan, being a protective knight, started defending me and roasting GPT Samurai.

So I took that response and sent it back to GPT Samurai.

And just like that, a war broke out.

These AIs left my article aside and started AI-busing each other.

Gem Spartan:
“You are a sigma grindset productivity bot.”

GPT Sumori:
“You are an overprotective literature teacher.”

Gem Spartan:
“You are cringe-coded.”

GPT Sumori:
“You are a self-proclaimed creative philosopher.”

Meanwhile, I was just copy-pasting messages like a pigeon and also enjoying the chaos like that one aunt in the family who feels happy while breaking a fight between two brothers.

But then GPT Samurai caught me red-handed and confronted me, saying:

“Stop feeding the AI war.”

And just like that, the war ended, and they signed a peace treaty. Both parties compromised on a middle ground.

Honestly, It was so fun to witness this whole thing.

After the craziness left my brain for a second, I realised there will always be voices that overpraise you and voices that overcriticise you.

Neither is fully accurate on its own.

You are not that bad,
and obviously not the world’s best writer either
(because that seat is already taken by me).

The skill is not listening to one voice, but learning to balance both and not be controlled by either.

Or just break a fight between them instead.

Just kidding.

Anyways, I can sense a few chaotic evil souls planning something already.

So, if a new AI war breaks out after this article,
we all collectively agree that

Hoorain Zahra , an innocent civilian, had no involvement in the AI war.

(Though… Meta Marvelia vs Gem Spartan does sound interesting……..)

Thank you For Reading : )

And I would like to thank Slices of life for inviting me to this challenge.
Your article still remains the No. 1 in this challenge, girl or should I say, black cat

I would also like to thank Meta Marvelia , Rishita Sharma💗 , and Sriram Yaladandi for hosting such a creative challenge.

I’m inviting sita ,an amazing Writer (and superhuman) to join this challenge.

This story is written by an honest, real writer and part of Pen With Paper’s May Writing Challenge. Because perfection doesn’t matter; presence does. And it’s time to meet the writer behind the words.

Meet Our Writers — A Writing Challenge By Pen With Paper

We are finally on social media.. Come say hi…

Subscribe and follow our official social handles on Instagram | X | Facebook.

Feel free to mention / tag us on these social platforms whenever you want to promote or collaborate on your content. We love watching you grow with this community.

This story published on “Pen With Paper” — a fresh space where writers bring their thoughts, stories, and ideas to life. Want to share your voice? Join our community, and together, “We Elevate Your Stories”

Pen With Paper Submission Guidelines 2026 : A Brand New Way to Be Added as a Writer

Meet Our Writers-A writing Challenge was originally published in Pen With Paper on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Stop Scratching!

It was a summer Evening,
the air was slightly cold,
I was tired from everything I had done that day, but when I looked at my to-do list, every task was completed. Still, there was something missing. I looked everywhere and tried to remember, but I didn’t know what it was.

The feeling of emptiness was getting worse.

I was so exhausted that I tried to write something, but the ink in the pen was missing, but I kept trying anyway. So the paper started scratching. I closed the pen and looked here and there and found a brush.

So I tried painting.

As I was sliding the brush on the page, I realized the paint was missing. But I still tried to fill it anyway, with an empty brush and water.

I looked at the paper. It felt like it was glaring at me, as if it was asking a question:
“Why?”

Why are you holding that brush?

Why are you still awake?

Why are you even here?

I shouted at it, “Stop!” The questions hit my eardrums so harshly that I tore the paper and went out of my room, hoping to breathe. But in my way, I saw my mother; she had been watching me this whole time. With a concerning voice, she asked, “Why are you behaving like this?”

This time, the “why” didn’t just cross through my ears but hit the chambers of my brain, so I instantly ran out of the house.

I kept running.

I kept escaping until the questions left me alone.

Then I stopped because there was no one around me. The weather outside was pleasant; a slight cold air touched my face. I sat on a bench.

Then I heard the footsteps of an old lady. She was walking towards me.

Her eyes held a color I couldn’t name, and she wore a shawl that smelled of salt and a city I’d never visited. She was holding a book in her left arm.

She was slowly walking towards me, and by the time she reached me, I looked at her with fear that she would ask me a question. But instead,

she looked into my eyes and said, “No, I’m not going to ask you any questions.”

I was stunned. How did she know that?

I kept glaring at her and the book she was holding,

so she handed me the book and said,
“It has the answer to all those questions you are escaping from,” she said.

I took the book and started rushing to read it.

She said, “Wait.”

“There is one condition. If you read the answers in this book, you will die.”

“What?” I said, completely shocked.

She said, “The journey of seeking and collecting those answers is called life.” and if you come to know everything now, there will no longer be a need for you to live.”

I took five good minutes to think of her offer.

Then I handed her back the book and walked towards my home.

I reached my house, walked into my room. Everything was messy, from the torn paper to the brushes. Then I started cleaning the mess and found a book with empty pages. That book was brought to me by my mother a few months ago.

I picked up the book, cleaned the dirt from my cuffs, and smiled at it.

And started writing.

But this time, with a pen full of ink.

Thank you for reading : )

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You can’t answer the "why" with an empty pen. was originally published in Pen With Paper on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A few years ago, during school, it was pre-exam test week,
the kind where you have a test in almost every single lecture.
On Monday, everyone was buzzing because one of my friends got picked up early by her parents to travel to another city.
Everyone in the class was like:
“That’s cheating! She doesn’t have to take the test!”
“She can’t just leave like that!”
I remember sitting there, quietly wishing I could be that lucky,
while knowing, deep down, that I never would be.
Two or three days later, during break time, I had four tests lined up right after. Like every average student, I was cramming everything into my brain five minutes before the test starts, because apparently I hadn’t studied for any of them.
Then suddenly, a staff member came up to me and said,
“Your father is here to pick you up.”
He almost never came to pick me up during school hours, and we had no plans that morning. So instead of feeling lucky that I don’t have to give the test now, I panicked, and my brain went straight to negative thoughts:
“Someone must have died.”
And in a blur,
my classmates were buzzing again:
“That’s cheating! You can’t just leave us and skip the tests!”
And I was in another universe,
creating all the possibilities of which relative must have died while packing my bag in a rush, dropping half my things, and running to him.
“What happened? Why are you here early?” I asked.
His face gave no clue, and he said,
“I’ll tell you once we leave the school.”
Just this line was enough for a confirmation of bad news.
I convinced myself he didn’t want me to cry in front of everyone, so he wasn’t telling me.Someone had definitely died.
During the 1–2 minute walk from the school to our vehicle, I imagined the deaths of so many different relatives. I prepared myself for the absolute worst news.
By the time we reached the car, I was desperate.
“What happened?” I kept asking.
And then, very calmly, he said:
“We’re just going to the Northern Areas for a vacation.”
My jaw dropped. I just stared at him.
“What?”
Apparently, my parents had spontaneously planned a trip nearly 700 km away

just an hour after I had left for school.
Now, a normal child would be grateful and react with excitement, like:
“Oh wow!”
“Such a pleasant surprise!”
“I love it!”
But me?
I cried the entire way home.
Not because I was sad

but because my mind had already committed to grief. I had prepared myself so intensely for a funeral that even when no one had died, I was already there… so I just kept crying anyway.
We went on the trip, and it turned out to be one of the best memories of my life.
From a hectic test schedule to
mountains and cold air
all in one day.
When I came back, my friends said,
“You’re so lucky.”
And that’s when it hit me

yes, I am.
In the same week I had wished for something I thought would never happen, Allah gave it to me

more than what I wished for, just in a way I didn’t expect.

Looking back now, it’s also sweet and funny.
Because we wish for surprises, but when they actually arrive, our minds start overthinking, and we almost get a heart attack.
What’s even funnier is that the people I had mourned in my head that day?
They’re all still alive and well.
Alhamdulillah for that.
But still…
They probably had no idea how they “died” in my head that day

Thank you for reading : )

Have you ever cried for someone, only to realize later they were alive all along?

sita , jia ☆ , Kowtharsheikh. , Marilou Kosma

and maybe you too, reading this.

📌 This story is published under Quirky Rants — a home for unfiltered thoughts, everyday oddities, and real, relatable voices.
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I Cried for a Funeral Where Nobody Was Dead was originally published in Quirky Rants on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

What if you die tomorrow,
‎and you realise you were never really alive?
‎You were living a dead life in a breathing body,
‎a heart that is beating, but dead inside.

‎How are we actually dead inside?
‎“We should live for ourselves only. Stop living life for others. No one deserves your kindness.”
‎All of this is what we are getting fed through social media today.

‎Yes, we should live for ourselves, but since when did it become "only" for ourselves?
‎Throughout history, being alive was never about living just for yourself.
‎It was about risking, giving, and acting for a purpose bigger than oneself.

‎That’s why in the Holy Quran, Allah SWT calls a Shaheed alive.
‎Not because they are physically alive, but because even after dying, their heart is alive:
‎in the form of justice,
‎in the form of the smiles of children
‎who were protected by them.
‎
‎If a doctor lives only for themselves, who will save the patient?
‎If a soldier decides to live only for themselves, who will protect the nation at the borders?
‎In the same way, if everyone decides to live only for themselves, there will be no justice, no help, and no humanity.
‎And still, in this world, we are promoting self-serving.

‎And the issue here is not just serving ourselves; it is also not questioning what we are doing wrong.
‎If everyone is in favour of justice, then who is the one taking it away?
‎It is you.
‎It is me.
‎It is everyone around us.
‎Because there is a difference between what we say, what we think, and what we do.
‎I saw it myself.

‎Recently, there was an accident that took the life of a 24-year-old.
‎I was so angry at those responsible for it.
‎How careless can someone be?
‎How can you take a life and not even care?
‎But then it hit me
‎am I really different?
‎I procrastinate in getting ready and cause the rush.
‎Even though I’m not the one driving, indirectly I become part of that dangerous driving.
‎I was not taking my part of responsibility.
‎I didn’t cause the accident, but I am part of the same society that is causing it.
‎And that’s where it starts
‎in every little action.

‎We have stopped questioning ourselves.
‎We have made it normal to be selfish, or at least act selfish.
‎We have forgotten that we are part of something bigger.
‎And that is what a dead soul in a living body means.

‎So in the end, if this hit you, die Once, not Twice, and make it Count!

Thank you For Reading : )

I have a small request: if you’ve read this far, please recite Surah Al-Fatiha and make du’a for the forgiveness (maghfirah) of the deceased person I mentioned in this article.

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The Worst Part of Being Dead is knowing was originally published in Pen With Paper on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

We used to celebrate Valentine’s Day since my childhood

But not in the way you might think.

As a child, I didn’t know the day was traditionally for couples. When I asked my father why there were heart-shaped balloons and red decorations everywhere on the 14th of February, he replied: “The world has set aside a day where people express their love to their loved ones, It’s a Day To Spread Love.”
To my young mind, “loved ones” meant family. My father made the day about us. He would buy us chocolates, and we would gift flowers to our mother and our teachers. I remember making cards for my brothers and parents, wishing them a Happy Valentine’s Day and telling them how much I loved them.

One year, on our way to school, the streets were filled with decorations. My father stopped by a café and bought us chocolates, a small gesture of his love towards us. We were overjoyed.
Later that day, while sitting in school eating those chocolates, I noticed a young girl and her little brother sitting near me. I looked at my treat, then at them. I wanted to eat it all, but then I remembered my father’s words: it’s a day to spread love. So, I shared my chocolate with them. Seeing the exact same happiness on their faces that I had felt earlier was a lesson I never forgot.
As I grew older, I realized the specific meaning society assigns to this day. I saw how the world narrowed the definition of love, making it feel exclusive rather than inclusive. The labels we use have limited it, and massive, performative gestures are often centered around relationships that are fleeting. How can we call it a "festival" if it excludes so many?

Now, I realize that the day and our lives would be so much better if we returned to that childhood perspective: a day to spread kindness and love to everyone. The love between a parent and child, the bond between siblings, and the compassion shown to a stranger is a love that is resilient and pure. It is a love that brings a lasting smile to a face.
Innocence has its own beauty. I would rather keep the heart of that child than the "awareness" of an adult. We shouldn’t limit our kindness and love to a single day either; we should spread it all year to those who truly deserve our time and feelings: our parents, our siblings, our children, and even "little strangers." That is what truly makes this world a better place to live.

Thank You For Reading : )

This piece is written under a writing Challenge febloved!

Hosted by Rishita Sharma💗

💘 This piece belongs to the February theme — Febloved February — by Quirky Rants — a month of confessions, clumsy falls, and pink skies. Find the prompt below!

Previously on Quirky Rants…

📌 This story is published under Quirky Rants — a home for unfiltered thoughts, everyday oddities, and real, relatable voices.
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FebLoved! was originally published in Quirky Rants on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.