Bimql chhetry.

I have a job that sounds like it was invented by a science fiction writer: I am a "Digital Inheritance Auditor." When a high-net-worth individual dies, I am the one hired by the banks or the estate to find the "missing" digital assets Bitcoin, dormant offshore accounts, or encrypted intellectual property. Most of the time, I find nothing but unlinked Amazon accounts and embarrassing browser histories. But last month, my own father died, and for the first time in my career, the audit was personal.  My father was the "Golden Boy" of our city. He founded a waste management empire that he sold for hundreds of millions in the late 90s. My siblings Tyler, the "aura farming" influencer, and Sarah, the "philanthropist" socialite spent the last decade flying to Dubai and the Maldives on his dime. I was the "invisible caretaker". I was the one who moved into his drafty estate to change his bandages, manage his medications, and endure h...

For weeks, something felt off. He guarded his phone like it was classified information. Late walks. Random excuses. Different cologne. I finally snapped and checked his phone while he slept. No messages. No dating apps. Just a notes app. There was a list. Dozens of entries. All dated. Each one was about me. Things I’d said in passing. Stuff I didn’t even remember mentioning. Little details about my habits, things I like, things that make me upset. At the bottom of the note it said: “Don’t forget. She matters.” When I confronted him, he shrugged and said he writes things down so he doesn’t mess up. I don’t know if that’s thoughtful or mildly terrifying. Either way, I’m sleeping a little lighter now.

This came up because he kept saying his bank balance never made sense to him. Not in a dramatic way, just this low-level confusion where he felt like money kept disappearing faster than it should. He wasn’t panicking about it, more annoyed and convinced something was off. One night we were hanging out and he mentioned it again, so I asked if we could actually look at his transactions. He shrugged and said sure, because he genuinely didn’t think we’d find anything. We scrolled for a bit and almost immediately saw a streaming service he hadn’t opened in months. Then a music app he said he “basically stopped using.” Then a random productivity app he downloaded during a short phase where he thought he’d suddenly become very organized. Each one was around $8–$15 a month, nothing huge on its own. When I added them up, it came out to just under $100 a month. And that was only what we noticed right away. He stared at the screen for a second and then said, completely serious, “Wait… they still...

I don't know why I’m writing this. I guess some part of me thinks that if I type it all out, make it digital and real in a way that isn't just a buzzing in my skull, maybe I can understand it. Or maybe it’s just a confession. A warning. I don’t know. The house is quiet now for the first time in my life. The only sound is the hum of the old refrigerator and the groan of the pipes when the heat kicks on. For twenty-eight years, there was always another sound. The wheezing rasp of my mother’s breathing, the constant, wet cough that punctuated every conversation, and the low hiss of her oxygen tank. That sound was the soundtrack to my life. It’s gone now. She’s gone. And the silence is so much louder than the noise ever was. I live in the house I grew up in. A two-story box with peeling paint on a street of other peeling boxes. This whole town is peeling. It’s a Rust Belt ghost, a place that industry built and then abandoned, leaving behind skeletons of factories and people with n...

Throwaway for obvious reasons. The first thing everyone remembers is that I “ruined” Thanksgiving. That morning, I told my wife I didn’t want my brother in our house anymore. I didn’t yell. I didn’t explain. I just said that if he came, I would leave. She stared at me like I’d insulted her family dog. Within an hour my phone was blowing up—my mom telling me I was being cruel, my dad asking what was wrong with me, my brother sending a text that just said, “Relax.” No one asked why. They’d already decided I was the problem. What made it worse was that three weeks earlier, I’d still trusted my wife completely. She’d started acting… careful. Not distant, not cold—careful. Her phone never left her hand, but she wasn’t scrolling. She angled it away from me like it was muscle memory. She’d say she was running errands and come back freshly showered. When I asked if something was wrong, she wrapped her arms around me and said I was her safe place. I wanted that to be true. One night I grabbed ...

I am sitting here watching my 7-year-old daughter Lily run across the yard, and I still can’t believe her own grandparents almost took that away from her. A year ago, Lily had a tumor pressing against her spinal cord. We had four weeks to save her from irreversible damage. I begged my parents for a loan, offering my house as collateral. They are wealthy—Chanel, Rolexes, the whole thing. My father looked me in the eye while eating an expensive steak and said: "We gave the $180,000 to your sister Jessica for her boutique. She deserves a better life." Jessica even told me to stop being "hysterical" because Lily wasn't dying yet. What they didn't know was that my fiancé, David, was a senior partner managing an $800 million portfolio. He had the money all along, but he wanted to see who my family really was before we got married. He paid for everything, and Lily is healthy today. Now, the boutique has failed. Jessica spent the money on luxury cars instead of clo...

It all started when I moved into my new home in late October. It had barely been a week when I saw him for the first time. I was washing dishes when headlights flashed across my front window and stopped. I looked out and saw an older sedan parked directly across the street with the engine still running. Behind the wheel was a man who just sat there staring. I thought it was weird, but I just tried to ignore it. So I went back to washing my dishes. When I finished about twenty minutes later, I checked again and the same man was still sitting there. It was creeping me out, but I had literally just moved into this home and I didn't want to overreact and freak out if it was nothing, so I just closed my curtain and went about my business. A couple hours later, right before I went to bed, I checked again. The car was finally gone. But then the very next night, it happened again. And again the night after that. Every night the same man in the same car would park there and would just ...

I think blunt force trauma to the head has cured my husband’s OCD.  Seb had always been weird about touch. He never held my hand and when we kissed, he’d pull out an antibacterial wipe. We never had sex. Every time we tried, Seb would break down, saying that physical contact with me hurt him. Eventually, he opened up about his first relationship in eighth grade, with a girl who didn’t respect boundaries. Over time, I got used to it. Seb was worth it. He was awkward in a way that made me fall for him.  Seb started therapy, and slowly, because things don’t just change overnight, he began tangling his fingers with mine, even if only for a second. We came up with an alternative for touching. Blowing kisses at each other kept us closer.  There was an out of state clinic that specialised in Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.  Seb was driving, and I was trying and failing to direct via Google Maps. The next thing I knew, we were being run off the road by an eight-wheeler. I remember blood. I rem...

Throwaway because this is an active legal disaster. I’m still shaking with a mix of rage and adrenaline, but I need to document this. I’ve spent the last three years at a mid-sized logistics firm. My boss, "Gary," is the classic G-Wagon-driving ego-tripper who thinks he owns his employees because he signs the checks. Yesterday, Gary called me into his office and demanded my garage door code. He claimed he was sending a "maintenance guy" to swap out my company sedan while I was at my desk so I wouldn't "waste company time" at the shop. I live in a rural area and my garage is detached. It’s where I keep about $10k in woodworking equipment, including a brand-new cabinet saw I haven't even finished wiring up. I told him absolutely not I have the keys in my pocket and I’ll just drive it to the shop myself tomorrow. Gary went nuclear. He started screaming about "insubordination" and "withholding company assets." He gave me an ultimat...

My name is Micali. I’m fifty-two years old, and I’ve spent the better part of my life erasing the worst moments of other people's lives. I’m a technician for BioClean Solutions, a company specializing in "biological risk remediation." That’s just a fancy term for saying we are the janitors of hell. When the police finish their forensics and the coroner takes the body away, we go in. We clean up the blood, the bodily fluids, the bone fragments, and the brain matter stuck to the walls and furniture. We sort of make the place "livable" again so the family can sell the house and try to forget that Dad killed Mom at the dinner table. It’s a job that pays well. Very well. You don’t see job postings for this kind of work just anywhere. It requires a specific type of emotional detachment. You need to look at a bloodstain on the carpet and not see a tragedy; you need to see a protein that requires a specific enzyme to be broken down. I don’t use tablets, I don’t use dro...

So like me and my bestie were walking in the city yesterday, going to an event on the grass and she wore a peach outfit with basically a hoodie and some really tight peach sweatpants. I just roll my eyes like: “Noooo” and she honestly knew the assignment but she said she wanted to wear them anyway because they were new. Yeah the pants matched her skin color almost perfectly, it was so funny seeing how she was being intentional but omgggg the amount of people that were staring… I also had like two guys separately come up to me and were like: “She’s so hot ey, what’s her name?” And I’m just talking with them while she’s getting food from the lineup. She was totally being provocative and I love that for her but seriously, girls, don’t be going full peach outfit because it just looks like you’re going full peach.

Господин доктор Пезешкиян, где вы были все эти годы? Вы могли направить страну по другому пути. Для этого не нужны были лозунги и крики. Нужно было создать жизнь: построить дома отдыха, дома развлечений — пусть сто, пусть тысячу. Народ устал от однообразия и от чёрных бород. Женщины недовольны. А ведь во времена Ризошаха Пехлеви они чувствовали себя свободными. Тот мир был создан с учётом женщины. Вы пришли — и всё исчезло: музыка, танец, радость, дыхание жизни. Разве это было мудро? Вы могли участвовать в управлении тихо, без фанатизма. Но вы запретили людям жить. Люди существуют не ради лозунгов — они существуют ради счастья. И если завтра придёт новый правитель, и если он снова отрастит бороду — история повторится. Революции не делают бороды. Авторы любой революции — женщины. Нужно было думать об экономике, о фабриках, о работе, о быте. Даже фабрика по производству бюстгальтеров дала бы стране больше пользы, чем бесконечные крики «Долой Америку!» и мечты об атомной бомбе. Вы забыли...

My name is Miguel. I’m 28 years old, an ex-marine, and until two weeks ago, I was deep in the hole with the Agency. It was in that scenario of desperation that I found the ad. It wasn’t on the dark web, nor in some shady back alley. It was in a printed newspaper—the kind nobody reads anymore—forgotten on a park bench. The kind of place I shouldn't have even stopped to look at. It read: \------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ **NEEDED: STATIC FIELD SECURITY** Location: Boa Safra Farm (Interior of Mato Grosso, Brazil). Duration: 7 Nights (Harvest Period). Requirements: Extreme physical resilience, total muscle control, military discipline. Payment: US$ 1,000,000 (Tax-free, offshore deposit). NOTE: Candidate must be capable of remaining motionless for 12-hour periods. One million dollars. A scam, obviously. But when I called the number, the voice on the other end didn’t try to sell me anything. It just gave me GPS coordinates and a ...

My son graduated college 2 years ago, has a decent job, but still lives at home rent-free. He spends most of his money on gaming, eating out, and new tech. Last week we had an argument because I asked him to start paying $400/month rent. He screamed: “You’re my mom! You’re supposed to take care of me! I’m basically your retirement plan anyway!” I told him he has 30 days to find a place or I’m changing the locks. Now half my family is calling me heartless and saying “kids these days can’t afford to move out.” I still think I’m right?

I was on my way home after a long, draining shift. The metro was packed, but I managed to get a seat. A few stops later, a guy (looked around my age, maybe 24-25) sat next to me. I noticed he was shaking slightly. I glanced over and saw he was trying incredibly hard to hold back tears. He wasn't making a scene, just silently staring at the floor, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. Usually, I mind my own business. Asking "Are you okay?" feels awkward in a crowded train and sometimes people just want to be left alone. But I couldn't just ignore him. I was listening to some lo-fi/calm piano music. Without saying anything, I gently tapped his arm and held out my right earbud. He looked at me, confused for a second, then looked at the earbud. He took it. We sat there for about 20 minutes, sharing the same song in complete silence amidst the chaos of the metro. I could feel him slowly relax. His breathing slowed down. When his station came, he handed the earbud back, looked ...

It started last spring. I eat my lunch in my car at the same half-empty office park every day. One day, I dropped a piece of my sandwich crust. A little bird darted in, grabbed it, and looked at me. The next day, I brought a bag of birdseed. I’d sprinkle a little pile on the asphalt two spaces over. Within a week, a small squadron of birds would be waiting in the hedge at 12:15 sharp. It became our ritual. They’d hop around, chirping, while I ate. We had an understanding. They got lunch; I got company. Today was different. They were there, but they weren't eating. They were clustered around something. As I got closer, I saw it: a single, perfect, blue-tipped feather, placed neatly in the center of the usual seed spot. They watched me. I picked it up. It wasn't from any of them (they’re all brown and grey). It felt like a thank you note. Or a receipt. I sat in my car holding this impossibly blue feather, and for the first time in a long time, I felt truly seen and... blessed.

I’ve been trying to build my own thing for the last 6 years. While my friends were getting promoted, buying cars, and traveling, I was sitting in my room, staring at failed codes and rejected ideas. Honestly, I was done. I felt like a loser. I felt like I was burdening my family. Today, I sat with my Dad and finally let it out. I told him, "Dad, I can't do this anymore. I think I should just quit and find a normal job. I wasted 6 important years of my life." My Dad, who usually doesn't talk much about emotions, looked at me and said something that hit me harder than any motivational video. He said, "Son, those 6 years weren't wasted, they were invested. After every mistake, you learned something new, right?" I nodded. He continued, "Listen, nothing in this world is stronger than you. What belongs to you will come to you, it’s not going anywhere. You just have to keep working hard. You’ve put 6 years into this... if you step back now, THAT would be ...

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...