Young Adult

A Goodbye I Was Never Prepared For
A Goodbye I Was Never Prepared For BY: Khan I always thought goodbyes were dramatic moments—tearful hugs at airports, final waves from moving trains, last words carefully chosen and remembered forever. I believed a goodbye would announce itself, giving me time to prepare, to understand, to accept. I was wrong. The goodbye I was never prepared for didn’t come with warnings or closure. It arrived quietly, disguised as an ordinary day. That morning felt like any other. The sun filtered through the curtains, my phone buzzed with routine notifications, and life moved forward without hesitation. We exchanged messages like we always did—nothing emotional, nothing urgent. Just normal words between two people who assumed there would always be a next conversation. I didn’t know that was the last time. At first, the absence felt temporary. People get busy. Life interrupts. Silence doesn’t always mean something is wrong. I told myself all the reasonable things, the excuses that protect us from uncomfortable truths. Days passed, then weeks. The silence grew heavier, no longer empty but loud, pressing against my thoughts. That’s when it started to hurt. Not in a dramatic way, but slowly—like a crack forming beneath your feet while you pretend the ground is still solid. I replayed old conversations, searching for clues. Did I miss something? Say something wrong? Not say enough? The questions multiplied, but the answers never came. The hardest part wasn’t losing someone. It was losing them without understanding why. There was no final argument, no clear ending, no moment I could point to and say, “That’s when it ended.” Just a gradual disappearance, like watching a familiar light fade until one day you realize the room is completely dark. I learned that goodbyes don’t always come with words. Sometimes they come as distance. Sometimes as silence. Sometimes as someone choosing a life that no longer includes you. And that realization hurts more than any spoken farewell. What surprised me most was how deeply it affected my sense of self. When someone leaves without explanation, you start filling the gaps with self-doubt. You wonder if you were forgettable. Replaceable. Temporary. You question memories that once felt solid, unsure whether they meant as much to the other person as they did to you. I carried that weight quietly. To the outside world, nothing had changed. I still showed up, smiled, completed my responsibilities. But internally, I was grieving something invisible—a connection that had ended without permission. There were moments I wanted to reach out, to demand clarity, to ask for the goodbye I felt I deserved. But I didn’t. Not because I didn’t care—but because I began to understand something important. Closure doesn’t always come from the other person. Sometimes, it comes from accepting that not every chapter ends with a proper conclusion. Some pages tear themselves out. Some stories stop mid-sentence. And no amount of rereading will change that. Slowly, I started letting go—not of the memories, but of the need for answers. I realized that the value of what we shared wasn’t erased by how it ended. Something meaningful doesn’t become meaningless just because it doesn’t last forever. That goodbye taught me lessons I didn’t ask for but needed to learn. It taught me to appreciate presence while it exists. To speak honestly instead of assuming time is guaranteed. To understand that people can care deeply and still leave. And most importantly, it taught me that my worth is not defined by who stays or who walks away. Today, when I think about that goodbye, it no longer feels like an open wound. It feels like a scar—proof that something real once existed, and that I survived its ending. I still believe in connections. I still believe in people. But now I understand that not every goodbye will give me the dignity of preparation. Some goodbyes arrive quietly, without permission, and change you forever. And maybe that’s okay. Because even the goodbyes we’re never prepared for shape who we become—and sometimes, they lead us closer to ourselves.
By Khan 4 days ago in Chapters
NO WATER NO BRAIN
Water is the most essential nutrient for human survival, and the brain is one of the organs most dependent on adequate hydration. Nearly 85 % of the human brain is composed of water, which plays a critical role in maintaining its structure, supporting chemical reactions, and enabling communication between nerve cells. Even a mild deficiency of water—commonly known as dehydration—can significantly affect brain function, mood, and overall mental performance. Understanding how water deficiency impacts the brain highlights why regular hydration is vital for cognitive health.
By Ibrahim Shah 4 days ago in Chapters
The Truth I Was Too Afraid to Admit
The Truth I Was Too Afraid to Admit BY: Khan For years, I mastered the art of looking fine. I smiled in photos, laughed at the right moments, and replied to messages with a casual “all good” even when nothing felt good at all. From the outside, my life looked stable—steady work, familiar faces, routine days. Inside, though, something was quietly unraveling. I felt like a guest in my own life, showing up but never fully present. The truth I was too afraid to admit wasn’t dramatic or loud. It didn’t arrive with a breakdown or a sudden collapse. It whispered. And maybe that’s why it took me so long to hear it. I wasn’t living the life I wanted. I was living the life I thought I was supposed to want. I told myself I was being practical. Responsible. Mature. I followed the path that seemed safe, the one that earned nods of approval. I ignored the small voice that asked uncomfortable questions—Is this really you? Are you happy, or just busy? I buried that voice under deadlines, expectations, and the comfort of familiarity. Admitting dissatisfaction felt ungrateful. After all, so many people had less. So I learned to minimize my feelings, convincing myself that wanting more meant I was selfish. I stayed quiet because silence felt easier than explaining something I didn’t fully understand myself. But silence has a cost. It showed up in the way mornings felt heavy before they even began. In the way Sundays carried more anxiety than peace. In the strange emptiness that followed achievements I was supposed to celebrate. I kept reaching milestones, only to realize they didn’t move me the way I thought they would. One evening, after another long day that felt exactly like the one before it, I caught my reflection in a dark window. I looked tired—but not the kind of tired sleep could fix. That was the moment something cracked. I finally admitted the truth I had been avoiding: I was afraid to change because I was afraid to disappoint people. I had built my life around being dependable, predictable, acceptable. Walking away from that felt like betrayal—to my family, my friends, even the version of myself I had presented to the world. What if I failed? What if I regretted leaving what I had worked so hard to build? Fear had disguised itself as loyalty. Once I named it, I couldn’t unsee it. I realized how often I said yes when I meant no. How often I stayed quiet when something mattered. How often I chose comfort over honesty. The truth wasn’t that I didn’t know what I wanted—I knew. I just didn’t trust myself enough to go after it. Admitting that didn’t magically fix everything. It didn’t come with clarity or instant courage. But it gave me something more important: direction. I started small. I began telling the truth in places where it felt safer—admitting when I was tired, when I needed space, when something didn’t align with me anymore. I allowed myself to disappoint people without apologizing for existing. And slowly, something shifted. The weight I’d been carrying wasn’t the life itself—it was the pretending. I learned that honesty doesn’t always change your circumstances right away, but it changes your relationship with yourself. And that matters more than I ever realized. For the first time in years, my choices began to feel like mine. The truth I was too afraid to admit didn’t ruin my life. It gave it back to me. I still don’t have all the answers. I still feel fear. But now, fear no longer makes my decisions for me. I understand that growth often looks like loss at first—that becoming yourself may require letting go of who you were trying to be. And if I’ve learned anything, it’s this: Ignoring your truth doesn’t make it disappear. It just waits, patiently, until you’re brave enough to listen. I’m still learning how to live honestly. But every day I choose honesty over fear, I feel a little more like myself. And for the first time, that feels like enough.
By Khan 5 days ago in Chapters
What I Found When I Finally Walked Away
What I Found When I Finally Walked Away BY: Ubaid For a long time, I believed staying was strength. I stayed in conversations that drained me, in expectations I never agreed to, and in a version of life that looked fine from the outside but felt hollow on the inside. I told myself that walking away meant giving up—that endurance was proof of character. So I stayed. Even when my chest felt heavy. Even when my voice felt smaller each day. Walking away wasn’t a dramatic decision. There was no big argument, no final explosion. It was quieter than that. It happened in a moment so ordinary that I almost missed it—a moment when I realized I was tired of explaining myself to people who had already decided who I was. That’s when I left. At first, what I found was silence. Not the peaceful kind people romanticize, but the uncomfortable kind. The kind that forces you to sit with your own thoughts, without distractions or excuses. I had spent so long reacting to others that I didn’t know what to do without their noise. I kept reaching for my phone, my habits, my old routines—anything to avoid listening to myself. But silence has a way of teaching patience. In that quiet space, I found exhaustion I hadn’t allowed myself to acknowledge. I realized how much energy I had spent trying to be understood by people who weren’t listening. How many times I had shrunk my needs to make others comfortable. How often I had chosen familiarity over honesty. Walking away didn’t immediately make me happier. That part surprised me. What it did was make me clearer. Clarity is not always gentle. It shows you patterns you ignored and boundaries you never set. It reminds you of the times you said “it’s fine” when it wasn’t, and the moments you accepted less because you were afraid of losing more. I also found grief. Not just for what was lost, but for what never existed. For the version of things I kept hoping would appear if I just waited longer or tried harder. Letting go meant accepting that some doors were never meant to open, no matter how patiently I knocked. But alongside grief, something unexpected began to grow. Relief. I no longer felt the constant pressure to perform, to prove, to stay relevant in spaces that didn’t value me. My days became lighter—not because life became easier, but because I stopped carrying weight that wasn’t mine. I found myself laughing again, not out of politeness but from somewhere deep and real. I noticed how my shoulders relaxed when I spoke freely. I slept better. I breathed better. Walking away also showed me who remained. Not everyone disappeared. A few people stayed—quietly, genuinely, without conditions. They didn’t demand explanations or take my distance personally. They simply met me where I was. And in doing so, they taught me that real connection doesn’t require constant sacrifice. Perhaps the most important thing I found was myself. Not the version shaped by expectations or fear, but the one that had been waiting patiently underneath it all. The one with opinions, limits, and dreams that didn’t need permission. I rediscovered interests I had abandoned and values I had compromised. I learned to trust my instincts again. I stopped confusing attachment with love. Walking away taught me that loyalty should never cost you your peace. That staying is only brave when it’s chosen freely—not when it’s driven by guilt, fear, or habit. And that leaving doesn’t erase the past; it simply stops it from controlling your future. Today, when I look back, I don’t regret staying as long as I did. It taught me what my limits were. But I’m grateful I finally listened when my inner voice whispered, this is not where you belong anymore. Walking away didn’t make me lose everything. It helped me find what truly mattered. And for the first time in a long while, I’m not afraid of where I’m going—because I know I’m finally walking toward myself.
By Ubaid 5 days ago in Chapters
Brass Ring Chapter 12: A Speedster Returns
Paul had to run past the Worthington Private School for Boys to get to the CAPES HQ. He saw something, so ran back to see what was going on. A crowd of boys circled another, pushing and shoving another boy. Paul quickly consulted his mental maps of the area, smiling as he remembered the candy store just a block away. He doubled down on his speed. I wonder if I can do this without them seeing me….
By Jamais Jochim6 days ago in Chapters
Dragon Horse. Content Warning.
Nikolaos, Cadmus, and Ammi wait under the dark, angular wings of the Colchis Academy entrance, its shadow spreading over the clouds cloaking the sky.
By Wen Xiaosheng8 days ago in Chapters
Dragon Horse. Content Warning.
They called the steed Aithon. He had wings at his sides, so he could walk upon water without sinking. Then, all his comrades were taken from him. He left the sky to search for them, soaring under the surface, the swim stripping away his feathers.
By Wen Xiaosheng8 days ago in Chapters
Dragon Horse. Content Warning.
The first technique Aroon's grandfather teaches her is how to take a hit. The only way to strengthen a sword is to keep beating and beating the blade. His knee slams into her solar plexus, sucking all the air out of her lungs and squeezing enough tears out of her eyes to blur her vision in one swift move.
By Wen Xiaosheng8 days ago in Chapters
Tattoos & Rail Guns Chapter 15: The Chipmunk Killers Prepare For War
Lieutenant Sawyer had just seen the arrival of an APC carrying four powered armor suits. Lieutenant Prowse was inspecting the one she was to pilot, making sure that all of the systems were good and that the ammunition was as promised. She ran it through some basic drills before signing off on it; she was, after all, responsible for the expensive piece of equipment. The armorer delivering got a chill from her as she signed off on it.
By Jamais Jochim8 days ago in Chapters
Sparrow on a Plank Chapter 14: Bribes and Paper Prisons
The inspectors had already come and gone, their pockets considerably heavier than when they had come aboard. The inspection was a farce, but luckily a quick one; there were goods that even a large bribe wouldn't protect, and a sizable number of those were on board the Hell's Wrath, waiting for pick up. It was fun to watch Rick go into his act as a first mate on a “poor cargo ship”, bargaining for the lowest bribe he would pay. The inspectors got into the spirit of things, and so there was the quick conflict of supply and demand, as the inspectors demanded what they could from the supply of funds that they had been given for bribes. In the end, thanks to a mix of Rick's bargaining skill and the inspectors' lack of recent entertainment, the bribes were half what they had estimated. Captain Taylor breathed a sigh of relief when the last so-called inspector left, with all goods still on board, and the remainder of the bribe money going into a party fund.
By Jamais Jochim9 days ago in Chapters
Sparrow on a Plank Chapter 15: When Bad Stew Happens to Worse Merchants
2 When Bad Stew Happens to Worse Merchants Sal and Hajime deal with some paperwork while Rick deals with some hopeful merchants.
By Jamais Jochim10 days ago in Chapters
Sparrow on a Plank Chapter 16: On Not Becoming a Shrimp's Dinner
Sal and Hajime were walking down the pier as a group of merchants were running the other way. Some of them were covered in stew. They looked at each other and shrugged. As they came closer to the Hell's Wrath they saw Rick putting away the catapult and a couple of boys from the mess rubbing the big pot down. Rick saw them, and bellowed, “Heave to!” They rushed up the gangplank, past splotches on the pier, and it was taken in just as they hit the deck. Hajime kept moving to his quarters, where he quickly secured the book and shucked off the more confining of his clothes. He was down to tunic and breeches and then up to the crow's nest to help guide the ship out.
By Jamais Jochim10 days ago in Chapters