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When Help Hides: A Story of Reaching Out and the Unseen Wounds

When Khayati, a bright woman in her 30s, finally found the courage to seek support for her hidden scars, she wasn't prepared for the silence that would greet her. This story isn’t just about healing from trauma but from the wounds inflicted when support was met with disbelief, judgment, or averted gazes. Navigating this emotional maze, Khayati finds that healing often requires battling the world’s apathy as much as one’s inner demons. 1. "Did you think seeking help was the hardest part?" “Did you hear that?” I turned to Khayati, who was deeply engrossed in her latte. “They’ve made it illegal to have a good mental health day without a 48-hour notice!” She rolled her eyes, smiling. “You’re being dramatic again.” “Always,” I admitted, waving a hand around the cafe where the usual crowd of wannabe poets and coffee connoisseurs sat, each trying to look more important than the other. But Khayati, with her wild, curly hair, her oversized glasses, and her penchant for wearing clo

Stop Suffering in Silence: Is Kindness Worth the cost?

In a bustling café in the heart of a nameless city, Maya, a kind but frustrated woman, learns a life-altering truth: kindness is no excuse for self-sacrifice. Amidst coffee cups and conversations, she meets Alex, an unlikely friend who helps her navigate the rocky terrain of self-respect, challenging society’s warped ideas about kindness, sacrifice, and silent suffering. "Kindness is not about letting people walk over you." Now, those words would have been music to my ears... if I’d heard them back then. But like most epiphanies, it came a little late for me. Back when I was blissfully unaware that my “kindness” could be my undoing, I was just Maya, a nice girl, sitting alone in a quaint café in the city, staring into my third cup of tea. I remember it was raining outside, a kind of soft, gentle drizzle that perfectly matched the soft, steady erosion of my own boundaries. If only my story had ended with a lovely scene of raindrops and chamomile tea, but no, it took a long, me

Sometimes, You Meet Someone Who Feels Like Home

When you meet someone who instantly brings calm, joy, and warmth into your life, it feels like a rare gift. This is the story of that kind of relationship—one built on love, loyalty, and true companionship. With a few life lessons sprinkled in, this story will tug at your heartstrings, while making you smile at the little quirks of life. --- Meeting Someone Who Feels Like Sunshine—Is It Real or Just a Dream? They say that sometimes in life, you cross paths with someone who instantly makes you feel calm, refreshed, and like you’re finally breathing easy. Well, they never say where you’re likely to cross paths with this person. A park? A coffee shop? Maybe, a garden centre while shopping for plants you probably won’t water? Trust me, the last one is truer than you think. It was one of those days when life felt a little too heavy, and I had escaped into my usual weekend ritual of "shopping for houseplants and pretending I know how to care for them." The air was heavy with the sm

The Mirror and the Compass

In a world divided by reactions to childhood trauma, narcissists and empaths choose opposite paths. Narcissists turn their pain outward, focused on revenge and self-preservation, while empaths channel their suffering into compassion for others. This story explores how human beings respond differently to the same wounds. Who will come out stronger? How does trauma shape us? "Trauma is just like that Syngonium plant in the corner," my therapist said one afternoon. It was her favourite, with its bright arrowhead leaves brushing against the glass window in her office. "You plant it, but you don't know how it will grow. Some bend towards the light. Others, well... they end up strangling themselves." She had this way of comparing life’s complexities with houseplants that made me feel introspective and slightly guilty for the shriveled cactus on my windowsill at home. I wondered if it was an extension of my deeper issues—my inability to nurture myself, perhaps? But mor

Why did I keep getting gifts instead of love?

Wrapped in gifts, starved of love: A journey through emotional neglect Growing up in a materially comfortable but emotionally desolate household, Elsa navigates her life burdened by gifts but starved of connection. Her journey of self-discovery, supported by honest conversations, reveals the depth of damage caused by emotional neglect. With romanticism and raw vulnerability, she explores the consequences of a hollow upbringing. --- "Where do you see yourself in five years?" That dreaded interview question. At 28, I found myself staring at the HR manager, genuinely stumped. Where did I see myself? I didn't know where I was now, let alone in five years. When you grow up being showered with stuff — toys, gadgets, and pretty much everything money can buy — but deprived of emotional connection, your inner GPS goes haywire. My name is Elsa, by the way. Named after the Disney character by my mother, who fancied herself a modern-day queen, always too busy managing the 'kingdo

Do we ever really listen?

Thursday, January 11, 2007 In a charming café, Anjalika and I discover that quietly listening is an art, more powerful than voicing opinions. Through conversations and humour, we explore the depths of communication, where silence speaks volumes. Sometimes, the best thing we can offer is our attention—making someone feel heard, understood, and validated. Have you ever tried to really listen to someone? Not just nodding along while internally planning your next grocery list or mentally constructing a winning argument, but actually giving them your full attention. I had no idea how hard that was until I met Anjalika. And let me tell you, it is both an art and a challenge. It all started on a Tuesday, in one of those quaint cafés where the air smells like fresh coffee, burnt toast, and a pinch of procrastination. You know the type—wooden tables, potted plants hanging like they belong in a Pinterest board, and overly enthusiastic baristas who refuse to believe you just want black coffee. I

Can we really expect a "Sorry" from our toxic parents?

Sometimes, the fragile hope that our toxic parents will change keeps us trapped. This humorous yet deeply poignant tale follows the journey of a protagonist who learns that seeking apologies from those who wronged them can delay healing. Through witty conversations and vibrant storytelling, we explore how moving forward without waiting for closure brings peace and self-acceptance. The universe would probably implode if my mother ever apologized for anything. She once over boiled  the milk but spent two decades insisting I had distracted her by breathing too loudly . Classic Mum. But despite her stellar track record of not owning up to her nonsense, a part of me – that inner child still waiting for Santa – secretly clung to the hope that, one day, she might just utter the magic words: I’m sorry . Spoiler alert: I am still waiting. You’d think by the time you hit your thirties (give or take), you’d grow out of these childish longings. Yet, they are hard to shake. My therapist – a marvell

When Love Defies Logic

Summary What do you do when you love someone so intensely, it defies all logic and advice? In this romantic and heartwarming tale, the protagonist wrestles with unshakable love, defying the odds even when everything (and everyone) tells him to stop. The story explores passion, vulnerability, and the madness of love through humour and tender dialogue. What is Love, really? Let me tell you something about love. It is madness, pure madness. If anyone had told me that falling in love with her would turn me into some sort of a poetic, emotionally unhinged fool, I would have laughed. But here I am, standing in the rain, coat soaked, thinking about her for the 746th time today. I’ve counted, obviously. I know what you are thinking: "Get a grip, mate." But it's not that simple. Actually, there is a word for what I feel. It's love. I know it because I feel it every time I see her, every time she brushes her hair behind her ear, smiles that smile that’s half-resigned to the cha