Salik

I don’t hate easily. I spare people. Even the ones who should’ve known better. Even the ones who hurt out of habit. But this one , this one I cannot forgive. Because forgetting me? They did it like it was nothing. Like I was some page in a book they skipped through, then tossed aside for a better story. I still carry the weight of everything unsaid. They carry nothing. They walk around like I never happened. And that… that’s what makes my chest tighten and my heart implode! every time I see them , not love, not longing , just a quiet kind of implosion only I can feel. It’s not about what we were. It’s about what I became after. A wreckage they stepped over, smiling like they had no part in the collapse. And if I ever celebrate my birthday quietly , just know it’s not about growing older. It’s because one more year passed carrying their silence. Because of them, I don’t count it as life added , I count it as time lost. I don’t hate easily. But I hate this. I hate the ease in their forgetfulness. The peace they found while I was busy bleeding in silence. They don’t know , and maybe they never will , that I could’ve spared the devil before I spared them.

Didn’t feel like talking today. Not because I was sad, just… tired. Of moving through the same spaces. Of being seen, but not really known. I listened to everyone, as always. I absorb more than they think. I understand—sometimes more than I should. Maybe that’s the weight I carry. The air was heavy. The silence louder than words. No breakdown. No breakthrough. Just a day that happened. I don’t write to impress. I write to breathe.

There’s this person in my life — not someone I talk about much, not even to myself sometimes. A quiet presence, tucked somewhere between memory and meaning. A bond that doesn’t demand daily messages or constant check-ins, yet it feels unshakably strong. This person thinks they broke me. Thinks that just because someone they brought into my life ended up hurting me, they somehow lit the fire. But that’s not true. I was already carrying matches. Maybe what they gave me was just the wind. But here’s the truth — they weren’t the damage. They were the one who stayed after it. The one who quietly stood by, while everything else was falling apart. Maybe even the only one who truly did. There's something different about this connection. Even if we go years without speaking, it won't fade. If we meet after a decade, it’ll still feel like yesterday. Like nothing ever paused. Like no time passed. That’s the kind of thread this is — untouched by distance, untouched by silence. Not many people hold that kind of place in my life. Someone I trust without explanation. A rare soul who feels like a mirror, like a hidden chapter of my own book. I don’t say these things out loud. Maybe because some truths are too delicate for noise. But I know what they mean to me. And even if they don’t hear it often, I carry it. They’re not just a friend. They’re a piece of me. A quiet one, but real. From Archive : 05/12/2024

My boy, between the two of us We’ll catch that spark, ignite the bus And spin the world around that girl Now go impress that mind-enthralling Dream-installing, laughter-calling Heart-enrolling, thunder-rolling Sky-controlling, softly strolling Wonder-weaving, bright-believing Every cloudy day relieving Joy-creating, elevating Every dull moment awakening Rhythm-rocking, starlight-talking Slightly shy but boldly walking Smiling, glowing, softly showing Gentle kindness always flowing Dazzling, charming Warm and disarming Happiness and light unfurling That extraordinary girl! ✨ K>

I don’t want her love — Not roses, not rain, not late-night texts, Not promises wrapped in forever. I just want her to see me — not glance, but recognize. Not the way the world sees, But the way a soul notices another in a silent room full of noise. I don’t want to be her favorite message. I want to be that familiar space in her day where she smiles without knowing why. Let her walk past ten voices — But stop at mine, Not because it shouts louder, But because it stays. I’ve already accepted her laughter, her moods, her distance — I don’t ask to change her world. I just want her to know that I’m here — and I’m real. Not perfect. Not impressive. Just quietly loyal in a world that’s always switching faces. So if she hears me, not in the noise — but in the silence between words — that’s all I ever asked for. Recognition, not reward. Presence, not possession. I don’t want her love. Just to not be invisible.

What was in those eyes, That left me frozen in my tracks? What lived in those breaths, That I felt them — but never spoke back? Do you remember? That stone-hearted Me — The one who never bowed to pain? Now he’s just a burning chest, A melting tear, A man shattered, Who couldn’t stay whole. Do you recall, The way you swore by my name? How you’d give examples of me As if I was a badge you earned? As if I was something rare In a market full of noise — Like a cat people only pet when it’s useful. Like money earned in millions, All cursed, all haram. Every word I ever gifted Was crafted for you over years, Every gaze I collected — Still holds your colors, Your shadows. And now from the ashes of burned time, I rise, And I declare this: This is war — you and me. Every street has heard my tale. Every corner knows the wounds I carry. Rust covers old memories — That’s your doing. Me, broken — And the world of the wounded burns in his name. I could build a kingdom From the dust of the pain you planted. I could twist fate By praying from the edge of the divine. I could scorch this nature, Because your debt is still heavy. I could bend creation — But even that wouldn’t be enough. Tears fall by destiny’s will, And I believe in death More than I’ve ever trusted love on Earth. We all die — I learned that from my faith. You — The one who came dressed in skin But wore the spirit of a devil. I’ll ask justice from the One above. So tell me — What price do you place on betrayal? Tell me, O Lord, What is the end of all this for them? And for a lost sinner like me — A man who once believed in love? My mother… She wonders why her child’s heart is misplaced. Why I live in shadows, Why pain is stitched into my name. In the basements of my heart, I keep looking for what I was. People mock — But they didn’t see what I saw. I’ve seen lost paths Turn into maps. I’ve seen a bleeding bird Still stretch its wings and fly. I’ve watched bare walls Whisper themselves into homes. I’ve seen foolish dreams Thread themselves into lifelines. I’ve watched nights Stretch too long to be real. I’ve watched golden moments Slip through shaking hands. I’ve seen soaked nights Still burn someone alive. I’ve watched love And hate kiss like strangers meeting again. I’ve seen castles Built over centuries Collapse like sand. I’ve seen my soul Walk away from me — silent. I’ve seen proud walls Crack and beg for release. I’ve seen sleep Choke in dark rooms. I’ve seen famines Give birth to storms. And yes — I’ve seen devil Wearing the face of someone I once loved. "From archived diaries of 2024 till date" "Formatted by GPT3"

Every breath feels heavier than the last, and for the first time, I don’t want to be strong. I just want to cry and fall apart quietly, where no one asks me to move on. There’s a certain kind of silence that doesn’t just surround you — it seeps into you. It sits inside your chest like weightless stone, pressing, pulsing, reminding you that something isn’t right anymore. Tonight, that silence is all I have. It’s strange how a body can look fine while the soul quietly unravels beneath it. My eyes sting, my throat burns, and still, I can’t stop replaying things I never said, things I never should’ve felt this deeply. I keep hoping the ache will settle, but it doesn’t — it just shifts, from my heart to my ribs to the back of my mind. There’s no one to blame, not even fate. Sometimes things simply… fade. And all you can do is watch as the parts of you that once felt alive turn to dust in your hands. Maybe this is what growing really means — learning how to breathe through the collapse, how to keep living even when something inside has already died. So tonight, I’ll let the tears fall. No metaphors, no lessons — just salt and silence. Because tonight, it’s not my heart that’s breaking — it’s me.

there are places in the world where silence is soft. not sharp. not loaded. not the sound of absence. just silence — like fog resting on a tired windowpane, not asking questions, not reminding you of what was never said. i think we all long for that kind. the one that lets you breathe without apology. the kind that doesn’t feel like you’re waiting for a voice that isn’t coming. Sometimes, I imagine building such a room — a small corner tucked inside a slow, quiet evening, where two people can just be. no confessions. no performance. no fear of vanishing warmth. just... presence. the quiet kind. And maybe that's all anyone wants. Not intensity that overwhelms, not expectations that weigh you down — just a corner in this messy world where stillness doesn’t feel like a burden. And maybe, maybe I want that too.

Sometimes we try to control everything in life—exam, friends, results, etc. But we cannot control everything in life. For instance, if it rains during the exam day or a question paper is extremely difficult, we have no control over it. One of the philosophers, Epictetus, once said that we need to understand what we are able to control and what we are not. We can control effort, actions, and thoughts—but not result, other individuals, or weather. So, we have no need to worry about things that we are not able to control. Life is a river. We navigate our boat, but we cannot command the waves. If we don't waver, the river will take us where we have to go. If we've done our best, we can say to ourselves: "We did our best. Now it's all right however it goes." Such a thought is calming. So today, I urge us—when things get hard, breathe. Focus on what we can do, and let go of what we can't. That's the key to happiness and peace. - Abdul Kareem

I don’t act on most feelings. I analyze them instead. Sometimes too much. There are days when anxiety is loud. Heart feels fast. Chest feels tight. Mind keeps asking what if. On those days, I slow down. I take my medicines. I breathe. I remind myself this feeling has come before, and it always passed. I’ve learned that I function through anxiety, not despite it. It pushes me to prepare, to plan, to overthink, to double-check. It’s exhausting. But it also keeps me moving. In the evening or at night, I usually work again. Sometimes I write. A monologue. A diary-style entry. A fragment of thought. Writing feels like removing pressure from inside my skull. I don’t try to make it perfect. I try to make it honest. At night, sleep is unpredictable. Some nights I fall asleep fast. Some nights I stare at darkness for hours. When I can’t sleep, I think. About life. About meaning. About whether we really have control, or we’re just walking on paths already drawn. I don’t have answers. But I like the questions. Before sleeping, I often promise myself: Tomorrow I will study better. Tomorrow I will waste less time. Tomorrow I will be more disciplined. Some tomorrows I succeed. Some tomorrows I don’t. But I keep promising anyway. That’s probably the most consistent thing about me. I am not extraordinary in daily life. I am not heroic. I am not perfectly disciplined I am a boy who thinks too much, feels deeply, builds things quietly, and keeps moving even when scared. Most days look ordinary from outside. Inside, they are loud, complex, messy, and full of effort. And I think that still counts as living. 🚬

The journey from Rajasthan back to Kashmir always leaves me in a strange state, somewhere between tired and curious. I kept thinking about the new school year. We had just been promoted to Class 7, and I wondered what would change, the teachers, the classmates, maybe the seating arrangement. The very next morning, I reached school a bit late, as usual. The classroom had been shifted, and everything felt slightly unfamiliar, the new faces, the sunlight falling in differently through the windows. I scanned the room, looking for my friends’ bags. Found them in the last row. Threw mine beside theirs and ran off for the assembly. Right after the assembly, the usual excitement, the chatter of students reconnecting after winter break. We talked about vacations, cold mornings, the usual. Somewhere in the middle of that chatter, a few new students walked in. Some familiar ones returning. There was a quiet buzz around who’d be with who, or who might sit where this time. The day went by quickly. Teachers came in, some new introduced themselves. The notebooks were still fresh, some of us came with empty bags. I kept looking around, just taking everything in, observing how different things felt this year, even if it was the same school, same walls. There wasn’t anything big or dramatic that happened. But something about that day stayed with me. Maybe it was the beginning of something new I hadn’t figured out yet. Maybe someone I hadn’t noticed before would become unforgettable. Or maybe, without realizing it, I had already stepped into an optimistic memory I’d carry for years.

I used to wonder if I actually chose my actions or if I only arrived at them. Like I was walking on a road that was already drawn, and all I could do was keep moving. There was a version of me that reacted before thinking. Not because I wanted to. But because I had stored too much inside for too long. I had learned silence early. I had learned endurance. I had learned that staying quiet was somehow noble. So when something finally touched that old silence, it didn’t touch calm. It touched everything. I felt first. I burned first. I moved first. In that moment it felt justified. Pain has a very convincing voice. It told me I had to respond. It told me that if I stayed quiet, I would slowly disappear. So I responded. Not in the way I admired. Not in the way I would later respect. But in the way a cornered mind responds. I became sharper than I wanted to be. Louder than I imagined myself as. Closer to a version of me I never liked. Later, when everything became quiet again, I replayed it all. Not to torture myself. But to find the exact point where I could have paused. That pause kept haunting me. Because I realised something uncomfortable. Maybe I did have a choice. But I only saw it after everything was done. That’s the strange thing. Clarity always arrives late. Like a doctor who shows up after the patient has already lost blood. I knew how I had acted. I acted like someone who felt targeted. Like someone whose boundaries had been poked again and again. Like someone who wanted relief more than resolution. I don’t hate that version of me. He was trying to survive. He was trying to alleviate a pressure that had no visible shape. But I also knew how I should have acted. Slower. More grounded. Less interested in being understood immediately. More interested in staying true to myself. I should have remembered that dignity does not need an audience. That I don’t have to prove my pain for it to be real. That sometimes the strongest response is no response. I realised that reacting gave temporary power. But restraint gave long-term control. Reacting felt loud. But restraint felt resonant. One echoed for minutes. The other echoed inside me. I also saw how easy it was for situations to degenerate once ego entered. How quickly things stop being about truth and start being about winning. I didn’t want to win. I just wanted peace. And I saw how my own actions, even if understandable, had also aggravated the chaos. That hurt to accept. But it felt honest. So do we have free will? Back then, I wasn’t sure. It felt like my nervous system decided before I did. It felt like memory decided. It felt like exhaustion decided. But I slowly started thinking maybe free will is not some grand control. Maybe it is small. Maybe it is the tiny gap between impulse and action. So small that most people miss it. But real. If I could learn to notice that gap, even for a second, maybe I could step into it. And choose differently. Not perfectly. Not like a saint. Just better than last time. I learned something important. I can feel anger without becoming anger. I can feel hurt without turning into harm. I can protect myself without becoming what hurt me. I don’t want to be a person who mocks. I don’t want to be a person who humiliates. I don’t want to be a person who needs to crush others to feel tall. I want to be someone who grows quietly. Someone who keeps his moral center even when shaken. That day showed me how close I came to losing myself. But it also showed me something else. I came back. And maybe that, in itself, was a form of free will. End.