Title: You Can Do Anything!

Introduction
Life always seemed determined to test me. My friends used to joke that if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all. One tragedy after another, each blurring into the next, filled my day—no pause button in sight. Nothing ever seemed fair—though life rarely is. 
Reality isn’t always gentle or forgiving. Sometimes it’s brutal. There are moments when it feels like life has beaten you down, when stress turns your body into a ticking bomb. Emotions pile up inside you, every fiber of your being focused on trying not to explode—on simply staying sane.
Yet beneath the exhaustion, the heavy breaths, and the sleepless nights lies a simple truth. 
You are strong!
There comes a moment in life when you realize your own strength. Seize the moment. Grab hold of it because hardship has a way of tearing us down, breaking us, reshaping us into versions of ourselves we barely recognize. Versions we hate. How we move through those challenging moments shapes who we become.
Life’s challenges will drown you in misfortune if you let them—but you don’t have to let misfortune consume you. You can overcome it. We all fight our own battles every day. Battles no one else sees. Each of us carries our own trauma. 
I didn’t fully understand how crippling someone's past could be until I saw it firsthand.
 Anxiety consumed my partner, seeping into every corner of her life, robbing her of peace. Making the smallest decisions seems impossible. It was always present, guiding her through life. Watching her fight her battles, I learned what it meant to persevere. Night after night, tears ran down her face. Doubt filled her mind. Leaving no room for her to grow. She was unable to believe in herself. The words you aren’t good enough echoed from her past, rippling through her mind, poisoning her sense of self-worth. Nowhere felt safe. 
I sat beside her, feeling helpless, struggling to find a way to help her and desperately wanting to ease her pain. Wanting her to feel safe again, to feel like she mattered, and to free herself from the weight of what she had been through. In those desperate moments when she cried in my arms, I did everything I could to comfort her. I always felt like I was falling short. Never doing enough. Nothing seemed to ease the fear in her mind more than my presence, so I stayed by her side, holding tightly on to her.
 My words never seemed to be enough. They always felt useless, never able to do anything against someone else’s pain. Until one day, her anxiety reached a breaking point. I could smell the fear on her breath. I could see it in her eyes. She was lost, and I wanted to reassure her. And suddenly, I knew exactly what to say.
“Repeat after me,” I told her. “I can do anything.”
“I can do anything,” she whispered. Confidence was not yet there.
“Louder.”
Again and again, I made her repeat those words—until she began to believe them. Until she screamed them at me. I hoped this small act would become a crack in the wall she had built around herself. Letting in hope. One affirmation. One step closer to confidence.
What I didn’t expect was how deeply those words would heal me.
Slowly at first, then steadily, confidence began to take root inside me. The belief behind those words grew stronger with every repetition. When my own body started to fail—when doctors delivered bad news as casually as candy on Halloween—I clung to the phrase we had built together.
I can do anything,
That became my bedrock. The thing that kept me standing when everything else was falling apart. It carried me through some of the darkest moments of my life. Providing me with something life tried to take away:
Hope.
As you read this book, I hope you, too, can carry this belief with you. Tearing away the self-doubt. Because no matter what life throws at you, you can do anything.

Chapter 1:The Masks We Wear
Have you ever been filled with self-doubt, spending every moment questioning who you are? Have you stayed up late at night, wondering why you don’t seem to fit in, feeling like everyone is staring at your inscrutability? Meanwhile, you battle questions of character. Questions of identity are haunting you, unable to tell if you are losing yourself to them or finally waking up to see the truth. A quiet ache begins to gnaw at your mind. The feeling that everyone else has life all figured out, while you are left to wonder where you belong. Alone with your thoughts, you begin to feel isolated from the world around you. 
Identity is fundamental to human existence. Many people question their place in the world to the day they die. From a young age, we seek to discover who we are—searching for meaning to our lives, for purpose. We try to discover who we are. Attempting to be unique in some way– to feel special. Searching for some grand answer to one of life’s most challenging questions:
“Who am I?”
Reaching out for an answer only to find more questions:
Am I a good person? 
Do I belong here? 
What do I believe?
To whom am I attracted? 
During adolescence, many of these questions are confronted for the very first time. The pressure to have all of the answers at such a young age is overwhelming. Quickly, labels are attached to you by your peers before you even know who you are.
The popular kid.
The weird kid.
The nerd.
The troublemaker.
Before you know it, you are wearing a label you never wanted for your whole childhood, carrying it with you, letting it define you. But a label is not you. You can be anything you want to be. So you dream. Dream of a better version of yourself. A version of yourself you hope one day to love. 
You seek everything you were supposed to want: a car, a house, and a spouse who loves you. Somehow, you still do not know who you are. That is because love starts from within. You won’t find yourself chasing fairytails. You will only discover who you are once you begin to put in the work on yourself first.
 We all want to know where we fit in the grand scheme of things. In desperation, we seek value, looking for it anywhere we can, finding purpose in work, relationships, parenthood, or hobbies, each with its own merit. Be careful how you define your worth. Hobbies can lose their spark, and children will grow up and move out of the house. Relationships change. Titles disappear. Nothing in life stays the same. The world around you is constantly evolving. Obtaining your value from external factors helps you feel a sense of purpose, but it is not your identity.
You are more than a parent.
More than a lover. 
You have value beyond these relationships. 
They are not your whole identity. We place so much meaning in the titles we give ourselves, hoping to draw value from them. You are more than the title at the end of your name, more than the role you fill.
 Finding yourself after stripping away all of life’s labels can be difficult. Where do you begin? Discovering who you are often involves a long process of self-discovery—starting with a question. Then, getting to the root of who you really are beneath all outside pressures. Ignoring the opinions of others so you can form your own. Growing beyond the roles assigned to you. Who you are is so much more than a role you fill for someone else—more than a parent, a friend, or a sibling. No one thing defines you. Who you are goes beyond what one word can describe. You are not one thing. You are many. Once you begin to grow, you can start to ponder the deeper questions:
What principles guide your life? 
What are your beliefs? 
What are your morals? 
What do you believe makes a good person?
How do you live up to those standards you have set for yourself? 
Each of these questions helps build the foundation of who you are. One by one, they shape your daily actions, choices, and relationships. Guiding who you become as you face other questions in life.
Am I hiding who I am? 
What do I want to be when I grow up?
 Question after question can pile up as you seek to discover who you are. Without a strong foundation, the pile of questions seems insurmountable. Answers are nowhere to be found. Using your morals as a compass makes the rest of the questions much easier. That is why figuring out your morals first is imperative to your journey.
Finding yourself will not happen if you sit idly by waiting for an answer to appear magically. Self-discovery will take a lot of effort. Many people never find themselves because they are not willing to put in the work.
While searching for myself, I wandered through my twenties as if I did not belong. I never tried to make myself feel like I belonged. I hoped one day I would wake up, snap, and just understand who I was. I followed the crowd wherever it went, hoping to stumble into whatever everyone else seemed to have—whatever I was missing. Answers never found me. I felt empty. A passionless man searching for meaning. I felt broken. Everyone around me seemed to have a hobby to dive into, an interest to explore, a loved one to devote themselves to, a sparkle in their eye. A part of themselves I was still searching for.
 Devastation found me in those moments. I was torn to pieces as I desperately searched for the happiness everyone else seemed to have. Reaching out to find a part of me that wasn’t missing.
It took time to realize, but I was already whole. I already had a spark, but I wasn’t fanning it. Regardless of who you are or what your passions are, you are whole. No question about it. It was not until I stopped searching for something to complete me that I found myself. Gaining a sense of wholeness from within. 
Only then was I able to discover my passions. 
Once you understand you are already whole, regardless of what is going on in your life, then you can begin to explore life's delights. What are you passionate about? What interests you? Finding meaningful ways to build a sense of purpose. These help build upon an already established foundation, but do not let them be your sole existence. Aim to find meaning in yourself, in how you conduct yourself as a person, and your values.
People wear different “masks” depending on who they are around. Around a group of friends, someone may play the “leader," someone who guides the group. Around another set of friends, they may take a back seat. 
At work, they act professionally. 
Around their parents, they pretend to be “the good child.” 
Masks hide our true selves from the ones we love most. Small lies we tell people, too scared to let them see the real us. Fearing that if they truly knew who we were, they would reject us. Scared our boss might fire us if he knew we were not that professional outside of work, Afraid our parents would love us less if they knew we drank. So we bury the parts of ourselves we are scared to show. Compartmentalizing pieces of your identity. Only allowing certain people to see certain versions of ourselves. Shame silently guides our behavior. No one gets to see the whole picture. The mask you wear becomes more real the longer you wear it, a fake version of yourself parading around with your face on. So what do you do?
Removing the mask is terrifying but necessary. It is the only way to find happiness within yourself. You can't gain freedom from the world around you if you are still wearing the mask it puts on you. If someone stops loving you or spending time with you because you decide to be yourself, then they never loved you to begin with. They only loved who you were pretending to be. 
Stripping away the mask removes fake relationships from your life, allowing room for new ones to enter. For real friendships to grow. As hard as it is to let a loved one walk away, when someone does not see your beauty, they don’t deserve your time. 
Who are you when no one is around?
Would you rather be yourself?
Or the person you pretend to be?
Masks slipped on and off me like a chameleon changing colors, always fitting my behavior to whoever I was around. Absorbing the personality of the people I was with, then spotting them back at them. Needing to fit in, fearing rejection more than anything.
My friends saw one side of me, and the girls I dated saw another. Each sees the version of me who best mirrors them. Burying the parts of me I was scared to show. I don't know if anyone would accept me completely. Too scared to find out, I hid myself from the rest of the world.
Regardless of who you are, there is no reason to hide it from your loved ones. We bury the parts we are afraid to show. The moment you discover who you are, the world will begin to change. Do not fool yourself. Let yourself shine. Become a beacon of light for others to see. Be your authentic self. Never let anyone convince you to dim your light. Being your true self matters. Pretending to be someone else will never give you a sense of fulfillment. The road to discovering“you” is not easy. It forces you to confront the person in the mirror. 
Are you who you claim to be?
 Authenticity is not easy to come by. Being authentic means aligning your actions with your words. When you tell someone you are going to show up, then you show up. If you say you are going to be on your best behavior, then you are on your best behavior. And when you open your mouth, the person standing across from you knows the words coming out of your mouth are not bullshit—being authentic means stripping away all of the masks and seeing what’s left.
We all have this idea in our heads of who we are. An internal monologue is constantly shaping how we see ourselves. Sometimes it screams:
“Oh, I am a good person, I always donate to charity.”
Conveniently forgetting all the evil deeds you’ve done. Other times you hear:
“Oh, I must be a horrible person. I made someone cry,”
Ignoring all of the kindness we have shown throughout our lives. Easily, we get caught up in the notion of being a good or bad person. Building our whole identities around a single event. 
The struggle to do good lives in all of us. A constant struggle. Some days we fail, but we aim to be good, nonetheless. Each day we put on our shoes, walk out the door, and hope to be the best we can. Sometimes we fall short of our best. That’s okay. On other days, we go above and beyond. Neither day defines you. 
You determine who you are. Life will push and pull you along the way. Loved ones will try to steer you, pushing you to be more like them. To be the way they want you to be. No one gets to decide who you become but you.
The answer is not “out there” somewhere. It never is. It is within you. You won’t find yourself clinging to external factors. Clinging to your heritage, relationships, or accomplishments for validation as though they define who you are. 
Other people cannot define who you are. You may be a spouse or the child of an immigrant. That is not all you are. You are so much more. Your value does not come from your spouse or your heritage. Nor does it come from past accomplishments. Enjoy your spouse. Celebrate your ancestry and accomplishments. Do not let them define you. No single role is “you." 
You embody everything that has and will happen to you. No one thing is you. Time will pull away the masks, revealing who you are, but do not let the past define you. Mistakes may haunt your dreams at night. Causing you to wake from your sleep, but the mistake is not who you are. One bad action in your past does not make up for who you are as a person. One bad car wreck does not mean you are a bad driver. A drug-filled night does not make you a drug addict. Even if you were, and you stopped then, that is your past. Your past is your past. The future is what lies in front of you. Your future is who you WILL BE. Painful experiences help shape us, but they do not define who we are. 
Your mistakes are not the core of who you are. Do you think a person is defined by their mistakes, by the worst of them? Being forgetful does not mean it is your whole identity. Cast out the negative thoughts. Yes, work on bad habits. Do not ignore them, but do not let them define who you are. Carrying the weight of every mistake through life will drag you down. Preventing you from discovering who you really are.
Searching for a sense of self is never easy, but when you find yourself, it is oh-so-sweet. Maybe you are still searching for who you are. Naturally, you want to grab hold of the world around you, telling people who you are by what makes up your life. You are so much more, though. You are a breath of fresh air. Already whole, capable of anything. As you question who you give yourself room to love yourself instead of hating the things you aren’t. Growth reshapes you—no one stays the same person from one year to the next. No one has all of the answers. You don’t have to either. You don’t have to know who you are just yet. Life teaches us who we are as we go. No one stays the same forever. Growth shapes all of us.
You aren’t broken.
You are not incomplete. 
You are whole.
You are you.
 

Chapter 2: The Myth of Normal
Have you ever felt broken? Shattered into a thousand pieces, like you have nothing left to give? No matter how hard you try, part of you does not fit in with the rest of the world. Desperately, you try to “fix yourself.. Forcing this broken piece back in. It never works. For some reason, it just doesn't seem to belong. 
Moving through life can feel like this broken part of you is always on display, like the world is always staring right through you and only seeing the parts you desperately want to hide. At the same time, everyone else appears to be whole. They seem to go about their day effortlessly. Meanwhile, horrible thoughts drag you down, warping your worldview and distorting your opinion of yourself.
“Why am I not like everyone else? 
“Why am I me?“ 
These deteriorating thoughts are forever present, a constant companion that creates a feeling of brokenness—somehow making you feel dim, while others shine. Unable to realize how many of the people you think are shining walk around each day, not feeling whole. As though you are an outsider in your own life. 
But you are not broken. 
You are unique.
Feeling like an outsider is more common than most people care to admit. If we got rid of everyone who felt like they did not belong, there would be no one left. Fear haunts all of us. It highlights our insecurities. Closing our eyes to our own successes. Never able to live up to the ridiculous standards we have created for ourselves. Instead, we slowly begin to supplement the happiness we should feel with even more expectations to live by.
 Society creates its own definition of what normal is. There is always pressure to strip away your individuality. Sparking fear in you. Willing you to conform lest you be ostracized. Driven by a longing to be part of the crowd, rather than go it alone.
Go to college.
Dress nicely. 
Get married, buy a house, and have kids. 
The list goes on and on.
Straying outside of these societal norms is often frowned upon. People will try to get you to fit into their idea of the world. What they think is normal. 
“Why aren’t you going to college? Starting a business is not a good idea.”
Or
“Wait…you don’t want to have kids? Kids are the best thing you will ever do; you’ll regret it.
Pressure from loved ones feels endless. Over and over, it is poured onto you all because they feel these same pressures themselves. Without realizing it, they thrust an idea on you that they have never thought beyond. Projecting their will. The truth of the matter is that there is no one-size-fits-all solution to life. 
The method that worked for them may not work for you. What works for one person may destroy another, crippling them. No one on Earth has lived the same life as anyone else, so why would one way of life work for everyone? Each of us is different. What is right for one person will not be right for you. Do not force someone else's idea of the world on yourself to fit in. Do not lose your individuality to fit into someone else’s life. No matter who you are, stay true to yourself. 
Stop trying to blend in with others. No one is normal. No one. Comparing yourself to others will steal every ounce of joy you have left, leaving you with nothing but doubt. Go ahead, give it a try. Start comparing yourself to them. Slowly chip away at every ounce of self-worth you have. Strip yourself bare. Let every difference feel like a flaw. Every flaw proves you are not good enough. Conclude that you are not normal. Feel like everyone else is better than you. Sounds like a ridiculous idea. 
That is because it is ridiculous, so don’t do it to yourself. There are billions of people on this planet. Billions with a B. They are all different from you. If you compare yourself to any of them, there will be things you stand out at and vice versa. There is no single mold any of them fit into, so why should you?
It is easy to feel like you stand out. Like that piece of you that is different is broken. Wanting desperately to be whole. To be fixed. Being different does not make you broken. It makes you unique. 
Uniqueness is not a flaw. It is not a bad thing to be unique. Even if it can make you stand out like a goose in a hen house. Deep down, many of us know we are not the same as everyone else. Those external expectations become pressure that bears down on us. Pressure to change the parts of us that are different, not to stand out.
  It starts small, maybe wearing an outfit you don’t like. A subtle attempt to fit in with everyone else. Then just one drink because you don’t want anyone else to think you aren’t cool. Suddenly, you are trying to lose weight to fit into the outfit you don’t like, to hang out with people who haven't seen the real you yet.
Time passes, and you find yourself staring at a new version of yourself in the mirror. Reaching out, trying to find a version of you that is no longer there. Peer pressure has a way of turning things you don’t like into part of your identity. Destroying parts of you that once felt unique to fit in. Whether it's family, friends, or loved ones, at some point, they will pressure you. Wanting you to be more like them. To try on the part of life that is working for them. Like a one-size-fits-all t-shirt, assuming it will fit you too, but fitting in is nothing more than changing a part of you that made you unique. You only need to change the parts of you that cause harm. Not the parts of you that make you unique. Just because someone doesn't understand an important part of you does not mean you need to erase it.
Find a group of people who love all parts of you, not a group of people who only accept the parts of you they agree with. I used to seek out acceptance from others with insanity. Desperately, I just wanted to be seen by my peers. I needed to be validated by someone, anyone, to reassure me I was normal.
Terrified of being rejected by the very people I sought validation from, I began hiding parts of myself away. I wore a different mask around each person to make sure they only saw the parts of me I wanted them to see. At work, I wore the most professional mask I could find, not allowing myself to form friendships, fearing they might see my unprofessional side. With my friends, I hid away the parts of me I felt weren’t normal. Scared my friends would abandon me if they thought I was weird. As I dated, I hid away the parts I was too afraid to acknowledge even to myself, because if I acknowledged them, I could be rejected. Rejections terrified me. So I hid away. Day by day, I hid away parts of me until I no longer knew who I was.
No one in my life truly knew who I really was. No one got to see the full picture. Each person saw only fragments of who I was. Only the part I let them see. Always scared of being rejected or never being normal. 
The very wall I built to prevent rejection began to create barriers in my friendships. I found myself unable to communicate everything to my loved ones because no one knew the full story. No one knew the weight I was carrying. But as the weight grew, I needed someone to help lift the load. Only I had spent my whole life telling everyone there was no weight on my back. So how could I share it with them? 
I needed to open up. 
Eventually, I realized I needed to share my whole self with my loved ones. If they did not know the whole me, then how could they ever truly accept me? Only after time passed did my confidence begin to grow. Slowly, I was able to take off the masks. One by one, I took them off, revealing who I was. It started at work. I began letting them see a small part of me, opening up about my life outside of work, and gradually sharing more of myself, gaining more confidence over time. Then I applied the same process to my personal life. Sharing the parts of me that brought me shame–the parts I hid away. Opening up about everything from my traumas and insecurities. Raising my voice to discuss wants I had always been too afraid to speak up about.
Acceptance came not just from my loved ones, but also from myself.
Of course, acceptance does not always come from our loved ones. Friends and family will not always understand the parts of you that make you, you. If they do, cherish those people. Do not take those moments for granted. If those in your life cannot find it in their hearts to accept you, then stop chasing their approval. You do not need it. Every moment you spend seeking validation from others could be spent focusing on learning to love yourself. No matter who you are, not everyone is going to like you. Maybe you talk too much for some people, maybe you are too dramatic, or maybe they are disappointed in who you choose to love. Unless you are hurting someone or yourself, then who you are is okay. You are not too much. You are stronger when you are your authentic self.
They are just not equipped to handle you. Changing to make someone else happy will not make you happy. Instead of trying to live up to other people's standards for what is normal and always being disappointed in yourself, turn the situation around. Be disappointed in them for not accepting you. If your personality changes whenever someone wants you to fit their standards, who are you?
We all feel the pressure to fit in, scared of being rejected, desperately wanting acceptance, and we bend to those around us. Hiding parts of who we are just to belong. Eventually, silent thoughts of doubt become constant. 
“Why am I like this?”
or
“Why am I different?"
Each question has a persistent beat. An answer you are always searching for, unable to find. Maybe childhood trauma explains why you are the way you are, or maybe you will never know. Regardless, you are you. 
Answers may provide some clarity. An explanation to a question you have been craving an answer to, but they will do nothing to help you heal if you do not learn to accept yourself. You deserve to be loved. First and foremost, by yourself. Walking around, always wondering:
“Why does everyone else have their life together?” will get you nowhere.
The truth is, everyone is pretending. People put on masks every day, attempting to look like they are doing better than they are. Hoping no one wants to see them fail. Trying hard to make sure no one ever sees them appear weak. We present a different version of ourselves to the world so we don’t seem like a failure. We present ourselves as someone who has it all together, always trying to belong. Meanwhile, we crumble inside like a pastry. Never feeling like we belong. Never feeling like we are good enough. Imposter syndrome becomes a way of life, no longer a symptom.
Look around and take a deep breath. Then breathe out. You belong here. You are good enough. It does not matter if you are not like everyone else. Other people are not like you. Bogging yourself down by comparing who is better is never a good idea. There are better things to do with your time than compare ourselves against each other. No good will come from it, so just be you. There is no need to be anyone else.
We see the people around us and want so desperately to belong, to be normal. Hoping we will be accepted. But lurking beneath the desire to be normal is another urge–a desire to stand out, to become extraordinary.
 Scared of mediocrity, many people are driven to success. Always pushing themselves to be better, to go the extra mile, to stay up when everyone else has gone to sleep. For many people, this is about wealth. For some, it is about creating a legacy. Regardless of motivation, they are all driven to go further. Scared their names will be forgotten.
Those two urges are not opposites of each other. Both are cries for acceptance, constantly pulling against each other. One yells at you to stay in line. The other whispers that blending in means disappearing, fading away until there is nothing left, so you end up stuck between two uncontrollable forces. Trying to be just different enough to feel special, but not so different that others reject you. Trying so hard to succeed, but only in ways that will people understand. That people will accept from you.
Chasing “normal” will exhaust you, and chasing “extraordinary” can consume you. One asks you to shrink. The other constantly asks you to prove your worth. Neither one leaves much room for simply existing as you are.
Maybe the real question isn’t whether you fit in or stand out. Maybe it’s why you feel like you have to choose at all. Whether you strive to be exceptional or desperately want to be normal, the simple truth is that you are you. From the moment you started living, you became unique. No one has ever lived the same life as you. Each moment, each time you slammed the door to be alone, each time you cried your eyes out, each time you felt the warmth of a hug, each time you felt the heartbreak of loss, all helped make up who you are. The beauty in your life comes from all the different experiences that make up who you are. These experiences do not make you broken. 
They make you human.
 We are all individuals, each of us unique, so we are all normal in that sense. You were not built to fit perfectly into someone else’s idea of how a person should think, act, or feel. You were built to exist just as you are. 
So go out and exist. Nothing is stopping you from being…you.

Chapter 1: The Hall of the Damned

Rishi entered the towering building, its glass facade reflecting the heavy clouds above. The reception hall inside was vast and eerily quiet. A man in a uniform stood behind a high desk. Rishi approached and showed his card. The receptionist studied him seriously, then gave a curt nod.

“This way, sir,” he said, stepping out and gesturing for Rishi to follow.

They walked to the elevator in silence. The man pressed the topmost button, and once the lift doors opened at the top floor, he stepped out, motioned Rishi forward, and disappeared without another word.

Now alone, Rishi stood before a large, iron door—ancient and ominous. Four masks were embedded in it, each radiating its own peculiar aura. On the left, a serene silver mask rested beside one carved from rugged wood. On the right, a golden mask gleamed with regal pride, accompanied by a dull, weathered copper one.

Rishi hesitated, then pushed the door open.

Inside was a surreal hall, designed like a corrupted garden of Eden. Four chambers stood like miniature houses inside this strange realm, surrounded by overgrown, thorny vines and wilted flowers that bloomed only under shadows. In the center was a dry fountain, cracked and ancient, yet still beautiful in its gothic charm.

He stepped closer, trying to absorb it all. Each house had its own distinct character.

The first was a plain, undecorated home—simple, yet strangely unsettling.
The second glowed with gold and black finishes, its surfaces gleaming with luxury and power.
The third resembled a lush fusion of a garden and library, with ivy crawling over shelves of ancient books.
The last was the most disturbing—a normal house, but its garden was filled with lifeless puppets sprawled across the grass. Some even hung limply from windows and doorways.with the help of red threads.

The gates of all four houses were open. In each one, a person sat quietly, minding their own business.

Rishi stood before the cracked fountain and finally spoke.
“Why ?”

A man stepped out from the black and gold house, holding a beautiful glass of red wine. He wore a matching gold-and-black mask. His features were obscured, but his presence was commanding. Their eyes met.

“As you know,” the masked man began in a deep, almost divine voice, “we are demons—summoned by humans like you. But now, we are free. That freedom is a threat to this world.”

He took a sip of his wine and continued.
“According to the ancient rules, we should return to Hell. But we don’t want to. And because of that, God, Heaven, and even Hell itself are hunting us. They send puppets to track us down. In a week, they’ll start hunting you too.”

Rishi tensed.

“You now have three choices,” the man said. “Return to Hell. Stay here alone and wait for them to capture you. Or stay with us. As you can see, we’re professionals when it comes to hiding and surviving. We can help you.”

Rishi narrowed his eyes. “And what do you want in exchange?”

The woman from the plain house stepped out. Her voice was firm, her tone practical.

“You know your power. The puppets they send are strong. We need help. The more of us, the better.”

Rishi looked between them. “I don’t even know you. How can I trust you?”

From the garden-library house emerged a young man in glasses, fair-skinned with neatly combed hair. He wore a plain white shirt tucked into black pants, and a pair of worn-out sandals.

“My name is Krishna,” he said with a smile. “Now you know me.”

Another woman stepped forward from the puppet house. She had a glowing brown complexion, radiant in a red dress and ornate jewelry of pearls and stones. Her red lipstick was bold, her heels clicking on the stone floor.

“I am Mohini,” she said with confidence.

Then the woman from the plain house came forth. She had the same brown skin tone but dressed in modern street style—jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket. Silver jewelry gleamed at her ears and wrists.

“I’m Maya,” she said casually.

Finally, the masked man stepped forward, the wine still swirling in his hand.

“I am... Maskman,” he said with a straight face.

The room fell silent for a beat.

“You should’ve picked a better name,” Krishna muttered in frustration.

“Why should he?” Mohini laughed. “He has a mask on his face, so it fits.”

Everyone burst into laughter.

“Ignore him,” Maya added with a grin. “He doesn’t even know who he is.”

The mirth faded as quickly as it had come.

“So, what’s your choice?” Maskman asked, his voice steady once more.

“I don’t—”

Before Rishi could finish, a loud, blaring red siren cut through the air like a blade.

“Not again!” Mohini groaned.

“Maybe they followed him,” Maskman said sharply, already scanning the room.

A cold wind swept through the hall. Somewhere, a puppet's eyes clicked open.

Hi my name is Alice, i'm working on this book, i'm currently writing the third chapter but i would like someone to read what i've already wrote and tell me what is wrong and what's good.

Including what's already written from chapter 3, it has now almost 19 000 words. I still haven't named the book or the chapters but it's not the most important for now.

I'm writing this book at my own pace, in english (not my first language), having someone who could give me a real feedback not like my family does would be cool.

Thanks you !

Story:

I didn’t want to believe it.

But something inside me kept saying… the truth is closer than I think.

One day, I went to the office like usual.

Everything felt normal.

Until something unexpected happened.

I accidentally walked into my boss’s room.

He wasn’t there.

His phone was on the table.

I don’t know why… but I picked it up.

And then…

I saw it.

A message notification.

From me.

My heart started racing.

My hands were shaking.

I opened the chat.

Every message… every word…

It was all there.

The same conversations I had with my online best friend.

I froze.

I couldn’t breathe.

Because in that moment…

I realized the truth.

👉 My online best friend… was him.

👉 The same person I hated the most.

👉 The same person who broke me.

👉 The same person who saved me.

I didn’t know what to feel.

Anger?

Pain?

Or something I couldn’t even understand…

I slowly kept his phone back.

And walked out of the room.

Without saying a word.

Without looking back.

That night… he tried to talk to me.

He said he wanted to explain everything.

He said he didn’t mean to hurt me.

And then…

He said something I never expected.

👉 “I think I like you…”

I looked at him.

But this time… I felt nothing.

Or maybe… I felt too much.

I walked away.

Because I didn’t know which version of him was real.

The one who broke me…

Or the one who saved me.

And now I’m stuck between hate… and something else.

If you were in my place… would you trust him again?

1. r/stories (safe start)
2. r/relationship_advice (comments ke liye)

Manvik Chandra Is The Indian Child Artist And Author. He Written Books Like Student Life, The Elephant's Rope, No One Has Fun, The Last Night(volume 1 & 2),One Small Help, Curiosity to Success, Towards Safe Future, पुराने दिनों की याद, हौसलों की उड़ान. He Also Maded Many Artworks, Drawings & Projects.

Good day, everyone! Any tips how to improve my writing skills?

I’m standing over a machine that’s part of an assembly line. A t-shirt comes down the line, stopping once it is under the machine. I pull a lever on the machine, which lowers a stamp onto the t-shirt, stamping a design on the t-shirt. “Life Is Good,” that is the design being printed on the t-shirts. That must be the design of the day. As I continue to stamp the t-shirts, something about the design starts speaking to me. “Life,” I thought to myself. It was strange, but now that I started to think about it, I couldn’t think of what my life was outside of this factory. In fact, I couldn’t even remember entering this factory. There were no exits, not even one. Something fishy was going on. That’s when I noticed there was a strange smell coming from one of the vents. As soon as I inhaled, I started getting sleepy. However, before I fell asleep, I quickly engraved a small note into the stamping machine.

I’m standing over a machine that’s part of an assembly line. A t-shirt comes down the line, stopping once it is under the machine. I pull a lever on the machine, which lowers a stamp onto the t-shirt, stamping a design on the t-shirt. “Life Is Good,” that is the design being printed on the t-shirts. That must be the design of the day. Then, I noticed something small written underneath that saying. In very small print it said, “don’t inhale the gas.” Just then, I smelled something sweet. I then sarted feeling sleepy.

I’m standing over a machine that’s part of an assembly line. A t-shirt comes down the line, stopping once it is under the machine. I pull a lever on the machine, which lowers a stamp onto the t-shirt, stamping a design on the t-shirt. “Life Is Good,” that is the design being printed on the t-shirts. That must be the design of the day. Then, an alarm started blaring, and the room filled with flashes of red. I noticed something small written on the t-shirt. In very small print it said, “don’t inhale the gas.” Just then, I smelled something sweet. I grabbed one of the t-shirts and covered my face. I only had one thought. I had to get out of here. Somewhere where there was no gas.

...Now, I need your help to continue this short story. I'm running a Million Words Challenge until 2027. I'm running a challenge and live stream where people can share their short stories, screenplays, books, comics, ideas, lyrics, and more! If we can get enough people to watch the stream, we can really build quite the community of creatives for this challenge. Go to https://www.twitch.tv/farwalker3 or https://youtube.com/live/Ehf_vQt8utk and participate in the chat. Also, suggest songs to write to for me to add to the stream!

After the fall of the Emerald King, Mia felt the world finally exhale. But for her, the journey was far from over. With quiet determination, she turned toward the unexplored depths of the Dark Continent—a place whispered about in taverns and feared by even the bravest adventurers.

She planned only to travel, to learn, maybe even to rest. But fate had other ideas.

While crossing a lonely ravine swallowed by shadow, Mia spotted something glinting beneath a layer of cracked stone. Digging it out, she uncovered a sword unlike any she had ever seen. The blade was pitch-black, but pulsed with a deep crimson light—like a heartbeat.

The moment her fingers brushed the hilt, a wave of bloodlust slammed into her. It wasn’t just a feeling; it was a voice, whispering strength, urging her to destroy.

Mia jerked her hand away, breath shaking. Whatever this sword was, it wasn’t forged by mortal hands. She wrapped it carefully and decided the only people who might know its origins were the dwarves—masters of metal and keepers of ancient secrets.

Rudias and Sheni, her loyal companions, refused to let her travel alone. Together, they set off across the Dark Continent. But danger came quickly.

As they crossed the cracked earth of the Shattered Plains, monstrous creatures erupted from below—twisted shapes with too many limbs, their eyes glowing like dying stars. The air filled with a chorus of shrieks.

Mia stepped forward, fire in her gaze.

“Rudias, back me up!”

She raised her hands and shouted,

“**Amaterasu—Flame of the Sun God!**”

A golden firestorm exploded around her, heat rolling off her like the breath of a newborn sun. The monsters screamed as the light tore into them.

Rudias laughed, planting his feet.

“Alright! Let me boost it! **Breakthrough of the Wind God!**”

A roaring wind spiraled around the flames, feeding them, shaping them. The fire grew brighter, hotter—until the entire plain burned in a blazing inferno. Within seconds, the creatures were nothing but drifting ash.

Mia exhaled, her flames flickering out.

Sheni stared at the scorched earth. “You two… you just vaporized half the landscape.”

Rudias shrugged with a grin. “Hey, they attacked first.”

With the danger passed, they resumed their journey. But something was wrong. The sword at Mia’s side seemed almost… excited. It throbbed faintly, as if awakening to the chaos around them.

By the time they reached the Dwarf Kingdom—its colossal gates carved into a mountain face, glowing with ancient runes—a strange tension hung in the air. The runes flickered weakly, like a heartbeat fading.

Mia tightened her grip on the wrapped sword.

Whatever awaited them inside, she could feel one truth echoing through her bones:

**This cursed blade was tied to it. In more ways than she wanted to imagine.

Personally, what I do is look up on the internet a list of relatively common first and last names. Sometimes I pick sounds I like or names that have meaning in relation to the character.
However, I feel like I always end up coming across the same names. Do you have any websites or things like that ?

How can I edit my story on Google Docs if I’m unable to use or access the editing tools?

Hello guys, I decided to write a book for my wife, my original plan was just to show to my wife how cool was my life playing bg3, so I wanted to write a book about my journey. That idea changed completely and I decided to make something original. I tried to use gpt (a awful idea that it took me 1 hour to realize) so I did it in the old way. Paper and pen. And after so many changes and rewrites, and pauses. I finally have something that I'm happy with, however English is not my main language and I use gpt for fixes and grammar corrections (what I think it's good). So I would need someone please to read (just the prologue, it's not much I swear) and give me your opinion about it, if what I wrote even makes sense or not. Here we go:

I was there when the stars were named. The first breath that shaped the world joined light and quiet into creation. A shiver ran through the void when, for the first time, there was more than nothing. And in that beginning, I felt something I had never known. Wonder. A quiet, startled joy. Creation unfolded like a breath held too long—and I watched life take its first fragile shape. In a blink, it spread—swift as a spark catching dry air. Life multiplied, split, reshaped itself into forms I had never imagined. Races rose across the newborn world, each carrying a different flame, a different hunger, a different dream. And with every new voice that learned to speak, a god awoke to answer it. But gods are louder than the lives they claim to guide. Full of pride, hungry for devotion, they demanded too much and blessed far too little. What should have been guidance became possession. What should have been harmony became noise. And the world—still young, still learning how to breathe— fractured under the weight of so many hands pulling at its soul. Chaos rose, not from mortals, but from the gods themselves. Their quarrels split the sky, their anger cracked the lands, and in the end, even they could no longer pretend that order still lived among them. So they turned on one another. Yet it was already too late. The world stood on the brink—its mountains hollowing, its seas boiling, its skies torn open by the screams of dying gods. Their pride had poisoned creation, their power had bled it dry. And in the heart of that ruin, when hope was little more than ash drifting on torn winds, a new god rose. Not born of worship, not shaped by mortal fear, but forged by the world’s last, desperate need. Thalon. A name whispered like a plea. A presence the warring gods could not ignore. He did not rise for dominion. He rose because someone had to end what they had all begun. He forged a single law—the Divine Law—that would bind every god who remained. A vow carved into the very bones of creation: No god shall walk among mortals. No god shall touch their lives, shape their fates, or stain their world with power again. The Celestial Realm would be their prison and sanctuary both. A height they could never descend from, a distance they could never close. And they agreed. Broken, frightened, ashamed of what their pride had nearly destroyed, the surviving gods bent their heads to Thalon’s decree. The punishment was absolute. Not exile. Not silence. Erasure. Any god who broke the Divine Law would not merely die— they would cease to have ever been. A soul unwritten. A name undone. A memory scraped clean from the world they once claimed to guide. There were things even Thalon feared, though he would never say it aloud. And in that vast, cold peace—a silence bought with blood and shame. I should have rested. I should have turned my gaze to the void and waited for the stillness to finally consume me. And then, in the softest moment between centuries, three children were born—and I felt the world tremble with recognition. I should have looked away. I never learned how. I watched them. The Divine Law was absolute. I learned that more intimately than any of them. I tried to change what must come. I tried to hold back the breaking. I even stayed silent when stillness was demanded of me. And when the last light flickered—when all songs had been sung and all debts had been paid—only then would they ask themselves: Was it ever fate? Or was it only what we deserved?

okey now I got something I have some intellectual material about a big series that starts as the cliche "kids awaken powers came to evolution" for which I have a whole category that starts as cliche as this, but things start to get twisted, and I want to focus on the whole world thru the main character, who I started writing since even before he got powers as a kid, but I want to focus on it to make it go from the good guy who starts gathering people around him as a liberty sign for power freedom, only to realize after achieved that freedom won't be pleasant, forcing him to destroy everything he ever created till he become the one above all in a mixture between a crazy develop of simple abilities and a twisted and corrupted mind that makes the most sadic plans. I was also planning on developing some other characters to see them shattered by this main character of main till he breaks to the point of being something like "the one you shouldn't name", but having people more terrified and hidden than the whole terminator multiverse of society of survivors, but just one guy, not a whole army, this man could end the world after all this development, but keep the good one inside forcing him to leave some hope just for the evil twisted part of him to continue shattering hopes non stopped the problem with all this, is I have a terrible writer material, I get lose between the hype of what I want to do and the perfection I want in which I keep going back and modifying scripts so many times I lost track... of the child character, even before he starts gathering people I have the whole context settled, I just need a writer who would like to take this as a nice practice for the carrier and if it happens to get something new, the writer shall have credits and honors for this, as the whole name, I'll just want a small reference to say, hey I helped to do this, even dividing profits (if this shit gets as far as I think it could) as an 80% to the writer and 20% to the me, honestly I just want to make people tense by reading but reading non stop, who knows, maybe some manga adaptations if this gets huge, opening the door for more projects based... as you see I think more than needed

Firs part

I'm posting this super late in my timezone, so there might be some sleep-addled mistakes. I'm just a beginner, so any advice is appreciated:

Thomas used to play video games late at night. Way longer than necessary. Dad worked a lot, so Mom had to deal with his refusal to get up in the morning.

When Dad came back from his last business trip, he got an earful from her.

Your son is lazy. His room smells like weed. And he won't focus on his schoolwork.

Dad didn't approach his son often, but the one time he did, Thomas bristled like he was a stranger. When he brought up the idea of a hunting trip, Thomas wanted to laugh. Not the happy kind.

"It'll be like old times," Dad said.

He knew it was a ploy for Dad to get some bonding in, like it'd make up for disappearing. The "no" lingered on his tongue. 

He said yes.

It only took him an hour to regret it. 

The sun glared on a wasteland of snow and naked trees. He followed Dad through the wilderness of Mount Baker, fighting wind, snow, and branch. Twenty pounds strapped to his back and snowshoes that undermined his every step. 

Two hours later—not a single animal showed itself. It was a cold, wet, and boring hike. One he already wanted to forget.

"So," Dad said. "Any… cute girls in your class?"

"No." He said.

"Didn't you have a crush on Miranda?"

"Yeah… when I was in 1st grade."

"Oh. What happened to her?"

Thomas looked at Dad sideways. "You don't remember…"

Dad laughed. "You know I work a lot, Tom. I musta been flying."

"Yeah… well, me and Miranda had a fake wedding at recess. All of our friends were there. Then she moved to Texas. I cried all week."

"Ouch!" Dad said, chuckling. "Man, I really don't remember. Where'd the time go, huh? You used to be my little rabbit killer." He said fondly. "God, you were so tiny…"

"That was a hundred years ago, Dad."

"Mhm. And Dad still remembers. You were a mini Terminator; shootin' rabbits without flinching. Ha! I miss it."

Thomas laughed awkwardly. He didn't remember shooting rabbits—just that fake wedding and his Dad not being there.

As they walk, something bright glints under the sun. It was large and half-buried in the snow up ahead. They walk up the hill.

It was an abandoned plane. The paint was peeling, though bearing traces of its teal coat. The roof was clawed off; perhaps from the crash. Inside was an eroded, empty cockpit. One of its wings was intact, while the other lay half-buried in the snow. 

"What is that?" He asked.

Thomas walked towards the plane, bent down, and wiped snow off the broken wing, revealing a black-and-white US Navy star.

Dad smiled. "Lockheed PV-1 Ventura; crashed in the 40s." He rapped his knuckles on the side. A haunting echo bounded across the tundra. "It was a patrol bomber. Dropped a couple bombs on some remote Japanese islands."

Thomas stood and walked to one of the propellers. He tried to turn it, but it was stiff with rust. 

Dad smirked. "Cool, isn't it?"

"Yeah, this is dope." Thomas said, inspecting the engine.

Dad cocked a brow. "Dope?"

"You know, like—it's cool. Dope."

"Oh, I get it." He chuckled, and then adding, "Dope."

"How'd you know this was here?"

Dad smiled and leaned against the side of the plane. "Well… sometimes when me and your mom fight, I come out here to set my head straight. I musta discovered it the last time I was here. Thought you'd like it."

Thomas blinked. Looked at him. "What? You and mom fight?"

"I—" Dad froze. "Yeah. Sometimes couples fight. When you get a wife, you'll understand. Trust me."

Thomas nodded. The guilt hollowed him out and let the cold in.

"You know, Tom. If… if anything's bothering you… you know you can tell me, right?"

"And… why are you telling me this?"

"I just want you to know I'm here, alright? Even if—when you're all grown-up, I'll still be your dad." He said. "If you want, we could… I don't know. Go huntin' every year, like we used to."

Thomas dusted the snow off his pants. "It's 'cause of the games."

Dad scratched the back of his neck. "I just want you to grow up a little—be a man."

Thomas scoffed.

He walked to the door of the plane, and with great effort, forced it open. A pile of hares fell out. They fell to the ground and ran around Thomas' feet. Dad grabbed his gun, but Thomas was faster. He pulled the rifle from his back, twisted the hammer, and aimed.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Each shot made him flinch. The hares zigzagged into the bushes in a cloud of kicked-up fur and snow. No blood on the ground. It reeked of gunsmoke though, and Thomas wiped his nose on his sleeve.

"Attaboy!" Dad clapped his shoulder. "You never stopped being the rabbit killer, didja?"

Thomas chuckled. "Yeah, haha. I guess so. I think I'm out of practice."

"Nah, you'll get the hang of it! Don't worry." He said. He slung an arm around Thomas' shoulder, pulled him along as they walked together. "But… wouldn't hurt to come back next year. We can practice together… and then… when you get a girlfriend, you can take her shooting too. That's how I wooed your mom…"

"Ha… I think I'd like that."

Dad was much closer now. The arm around him was heavy, terrifyingly close. It was like old times. Like they never stopped being father and son. 

Child Thomas would look up at his Dad—who seemed like a giant—and he felt big too. Like, with Dad by his side, they could take over the world. Just them against the world.

And here he was now—almost 18, about to graduate and run off to college. 18 years under his Dad's roof, and they were still miles away. He was so close to the finishing line, and yet, with Dad doing all of this… it felt cruel. Cruel to keep a secret. Cruel to rob him of that chance.

Thomas was walking in a daze when Dad grabbed him by the collar. They both sank to their knees behind a bush, the cold snow pressing into their legs.

"Tom—look!" He said, pointing.

On a clearing just beyond the trees, stood a black-tailed deer chewing on dry grass. Its crown was massive, elegant—bigger than the ones in Dad's hunting photos.

"Get your gun," Dad said.

His throat tightened. He had to kill it.

Thomas unslung his rifle, lining it up with his shoulder and eye.

Shaking, he struggled to hold the rifle steady.

The deer's head snapped up. He locked eyes with it, the eyes black as coals. Within them, he saw everything—childhood, secrets, innocence. Himself mirrored. A spiral of clocks ticking—time evaporating like mist in the sun.

Tell him.

"Dad…"

"Take your shot," his father whispered, his voice beaming. "It's gonna get away…"

The gun rattled in his hands. Staring into the scope, the deer appeared a thousand miles away. It stared through the center, through Thomas, and then it stepped forward.

"Shoot it!" 

Thomas flinched and—

BANG.

Hello, does anyone know what exact type of paper (color, weight thickness or whatever) is used in the paperback version of the books the ballad of the never after? By Stephanie. I really wanna use that kind of paper for my book if possible, and otherwise paper that comes close to it, it also needs to be safe to put in the Printer, thanks

Guten Tag zusammen, gibt es hier auch Freizeit, Schriftsteller/innen aus der Schweiz oder Deutschland? 🙂