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Today started like any other casual conversation. A group of friends, random topics, laughter drifting in and out. One of them spoke about a girl he likes—how her eyes pulled him in. Sharp eyes, innocent eyes. The kind that make you pause mid-sentence. I had seen her too. Barely two days. Not long enough to know her, but long enough to notice something rare—an honesty in the way she looked at the world. And then today, we saw her again. She was sitting beside a boy. Sharing food. Laughing softly. Close—not the distant, harmless closeness of colleagues, but something warmer, something familiar. I don’t know why, but the innocence I had noticed earlier felt… absent. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe it was overthinking. I do that a lot. I know. But here’s the thing—I’ve wanted to be wrong so many times in my life. Desperately. Yet somehow, I’m right every damn time. Maybe that’s why I trust so few people. Not because I think everyone is bad, but because I see patterns before others admi...

People often ask me why I love riding. They look at the machine beneath me and see danger. They look at the speed and see risk. They look at me and ask,  “Why would you choose something that can hurt you?” And they’re not wrong. Bikes  are  dangerous—especially when ridden fast. And yes, I ride fast. When the air slams against my face and the speedometer crosses 100, something strange happens. The world slows down. Sounds soften. Lights blur just a little. The weight I’ve been carrying—deadlines, disappointments, unanswered questions, unspoken pain—falls off my shoulders for a few seconds. In that moment, I’m not overthinking. I’m not anxious. I’m not broken or waiting to be understood. I’m just present. That’s where loyalty begins for me. Loyalty, to me, is not perfection. It’s not safety. It’s not the promise that you’ll never get hurt. Loyalty is what stays when things  do  hurt. People today talk about loyalty like it’s a badge, but they drop it the moment i...

Cheating, to me, has never been limited to bodies or moments behind closed doors. It lives in quieter places—subtle, invisible spaces where emotions wander before actions ever do. For me, cheating begins the moment something meant to be  ours  is offered to someone else. It’s emotional before it is physical. It’s attachment before it is touch. If you look at someone the way you look at me—the softness, the interest, the unspoken comfort—that is cheating to me. Because that look carries history, intention, and possibility. It carries  us . And when that is shared elsewhere, something sacred is diluted. If you are more friendly with someone else than you are with me, that is cheating to me. I believe, deeply and unapologetically, in being her first true best friend. Before the world, before others, before everything else— us  comes first. Love isn’t just romance; it’s priority. It’s choosing each other even in the smallest interactions. Everything else should fall seco...

She calls whenever she needs something from me. That’s the pattern. No message in between, no small talk, no casual “how have you been?” Just silence… until there’s a requirement. And every time her name flashes on my screen, a part of me still hopes this time it’s different. This time maybe she just wants to talk. This time maybe she remembered me, not the things I can solve. But the conversation always bends in the same direction. Slowly, gently, almost innocently… but unmistakably. It’s like I can predict the moment it’s coming — the slight pause, the shift in tone, and then the ask. And I don’t know what hurts more: the request itself, or the realisation that the call probably wouldn’t have happened without it. It leaves me wondering what exactly I am to her. Am I a person she thinks of, or a number she dials? Is she finding excuses to talk to me because she doesn’t know how to start a normal conversation… or am I fooling myself with that possibility? Sometimes I try to convince my...