Bimql chhetry.

I’m not sure when the arguments started. We’d never fought before all this. Never raised our voices, never laid hands on one another. I’d remember our anniversary just as well as she did; the same goes for birthdays on both sides of the family. I miss those days. I miss when she’d treat me like her equal and not as inferior. Back before the secrecy. Before the late nights out. She’d begun coming home from her “girl nights” in the early morning hours, and, instead of crawling into bed next to me, she’d rush to the shower, careful not to make eye contact with me. It was odd the first time. It was heartbreaking on the 7th. So heartbreaking, in fact, that I did something that I’d sworn “wasn’t me” at the beginning of our relationship. I still feel dirty just thinking about it, but I was distraught. I was confused, and I made a mistake. A little slip in judgment. I went through her phone. I know, I know. I’m awful. I’d forsaken not only my girlfriend, but myself as well. Not only did I not...

So, a little context. I’m pretty introverted and social anxiety gets the best of me sometimes. At work, lunchtime is my recharge time, so I usually go sit in my car, listen to a podcast, and eat a sandwich. I’ve been doing this for 2 years. Today, about 10 minutes into my break, I hear a tap on the window. I froze. I looked up and it was the new girl from the design team who joined last week. She’s really outgoing and, honestly, kinda out of my league. I rolled down the window, fully expecting her to tell me I was parked wrong. Instead, she held out a Tupperware box. She said, Hey! I noticed you’re always out here. I made way too much pasta last night and I didn't want to eat leftovers alone. Do you... maybe wanna help me finish this? It’s better than a cold sandwich. I was so stunned I just stuttered a Yeah, sure. We sat on the curb near my car and somehow the topic shifted to sports. Turns out, she’s a huge Cricket nerd. We talked for 30 minutes straight about the recent series ...

My name is Jake and I am 23 years old. Growing up I had 2 parents that cared for me and always wanted what was best for me, however, I was always rebellious. With my parents being extremely tight and protective, I would often disobey them and find different ways of having fun or fitting in with people that I now see were not good influences in my life. I am a guitarist and in middle school would join a band with a few close friends. This is where my life of the party would begin. Whenever I was 14 I had my first experience getting slammed on alcohol at a party with some of my band members. I immedietly fell in love with the looseness, uncaring attitude alcohol would provide and began chasing that feeling. Sobriety was boring, getting messed up was cool, and i'd begin looking up to the life all of these rockstar celebrities lived with drugs, women, and adrenaline. This would lead me to my first experience with marijuana at the same age. Soon after, I'd begin smoking regularly, ...

This happened a while ago, but it still randomly pops into my head and makes me pause. A friend and I were planning a trip together and going over flight options. Nothing complicated. Just comparing times and prices. At one point, he got really quiet and stared at the screen longer than usual, like he was trying to solve a puzzle. Then he said, very calmly, “That doesn’t make sense.” I assumed he meant the layover or the price jump. Instead, he pointed at the departure and arrival times and said, “We leave at 9am and land at 11am, but the flight is five hours. So where did the rest of the time go?” I explained time zones. Slowly. Clearly. I even used the little mental map explanation people usually accept without question. He nodded, but it was the kind of nod you give when you think someone is explaining something incorrect but harmless. Then he said, “I know what time zones are supposed to be. I just don’t think they’re actually real.” I asked him what he thought was happening i...

January is the month of lies. If you’ve worked in the fitness industry as long as I have, you eventually learn to hate the calendar. January 2nd marks the beginning of the migration of repentant souls. They arrive in schools, wearing lycra clothes that still smell like the store, carrying colorful water bottles, fueled by the fragile determination of someone who spent three weeks stuffing their face with holiday roast and sides and now wants a pop star’s body before Carnival. We call this "Project Summer." I call it "Project Desperation." My name is Danilo. I’m a personal trainer and floor instructor at *IronFit 24h*, one of those low-cost gym chains that have spread through São Paulo like a fungal plague. Black walls, neon yellow lights, electronic music played too loud, and membership fees that are way too cheap. I work the shift nobody wants: midnight to six in the morning. It’s a lonely shift. The crowd at that hour is usually made up of insomniacs, ER doctors,...

The laundromat near my apartment is one of those places that always feels slightly sad. Not tragic sad, just fluorescent lighting, plastic chairs, the smell of warm detergent, and people staring at spinning clothes like theyre waiting for their life to do something. I go there on Sundays because my buildings washer likes to break at the worst times. It was late afternoon, raining outside, and I was doing laundry with the same energy I do everything lately. Functional, quiet, dont think too much. I had my headphones in and a basket on my hip, loading the machine when I noticed him. A guy around my age sitting on the far end hunched over like he was trying to fold himself into the chair. He kept wiping his face with his sleeve. At first I assumed allergies. Then I heard the sound, not sobbing, not loud crying, just that tight shaky breathing people do when theyre trying to cry silently so nobody can tell. I did the normal thing, I looked away. Because in public youre supposed to pretend...