Young Adult

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 about 2 hours 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 about 2 hours 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 Jochima day ago in Chapters
Brass Ring Chapter 13: Catching Up With Chaos
Oliver stood up, disengaging from Cass. “Sorry, guys, I’ve got to go.” Cass put her finger to her lips and blew him a kiss. “Are you sure you want to leave with Teddy? You know he’s a teddy bear.” Teddy looked expectantly. ‘I could rub that fur all day.”
By Jamais Jochima day 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 Xiaosheng3 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 Xiaosheng3 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 Xiaosheng3 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 Jochim3 days ago in Chapters
Tattoos and Rail Guns Chapter 16: When the Silo Finally Explodes
The morning came. Walker shoved Douglas awake. Douglas tried to cast a spell, but the motion caused him to fall off the bunk. He glared at Walker. After they had dressed, Walker gave Douglas his assigned knife; he had already put on the matching set. “This mission should help test out the daggers.”
By Jamais Jochim3 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 Jochim4 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 Jochim5 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 Jochim5 days ago in Chapters