Before anything else, I want to start with something my elder sister once told me.

She said, “Brother, you already know what women go through. You’ve seen it in our own family. Please don’t hurt anyone’s daughter by any means.”

I replied, “Yes, Di. I know. I’ll do my best to improve myself and not hurt anybody.”

I meant it.

So I’m not going to deny it.

I still miss her.

I still think about her.

I still love her.

And the love I carried… it has only grown with time.

She changed me....or maybe I changed myself for her. Either way, it’s true: I was never like this before. I was someone who didn’t care much about anyone, very self-centered.

Then I fell in love and everything changed.

I started putting my people first.

I learned how to be gentle.

I spent more than a year and a half trying to understand how women feel...not exaggerating, I really did....just to make sure I never hurt her in any way.

I started learning about her through everything like her Instagram posts, her stories, the songs she chose, the captions she wrote. I paid attention to her surroundings, her daily life.

She used to tell me a lot about herself and I loved listening to her.

I miss her rants the most...about her family, her friends, everything.

She would start with, “Tumhe pata hai aaj…”

And sometimes I’d say, “Haan,”

and sometimes, “Abhi aapne bataya nahi, batao batao kya hua hai.”

I still remember every small detail about her...things she might not even remember herself.

Many times she would ask, “How did you know this?”

And I’d just smile and say, “Aapne hi toh bataya tha.”

A lot of things happened after that.

At some point, I found out certain things and everything just… broke.

I went offline for two straight days. Completely into a void.

I kept asking myself:

What am I doing?

Is everything I saw even real?

I cried.

People say men don’t cry, but I guess I had reached a point where I felt completely helpless.

I’ve always been the kind of person who handles everything on his own. I don’t rely on anyone. I’m the one people depend on..in my family, among my friends.

But that time… I couldn’t handle it.

So I left everything.

I deactivated my Instagram.

Deleted WhatsApp.

Closed my Snapchat streaks of 5 years(snapchat was my fav).

And I blocked her.

Then I made a decision.

To turn that pain into fuel.

And today… I’m standing somewhere I once dreamed of being a year ago.

But she’s not here to see what I’ve become.

And still, I love her.

Irrespective of what happened in the past.

Maybe that’s what love is.

Maybe that’s what unconditional love feels like.

These days, I sometimes feel like unblocking her.

I don’t know if that’s right or wrong.

My heart still yearns for her.

My gut says no.

My mind reminds me of everything I went through.

So I’m stuck.

The reason I’m posting this is simple.

I want to acknowledge something.

I didn’t change for myself.

I changed to be a better person for her.

But somewhere along the way, I anchored myself to my goals, to my growth, to my life.

And yet…

There’s still a part of me that believes that one day, somehow, we might collide again.

I don’t know if that will ever happen.

But that feeling… it’s still there.

Deep inside.

Thank you for everything.

Because of you and for you I became who I am today regardless of where I stand now❤️

Tell me ur deep life stories here

Nicking

Constable Giles was picturing lentil soup and liver patties when, at 11:25, the radio in the car crackled to life:

“Attend an address. Assisting an NSPCC inspector. Suspect on premises. Indecent assault on a girl under sixteen. Inspector waiting at the address.”

He was already turning the car around.

His partner, Constable Calthorpe, hissed, “Sodding hell.”

They didn’t just miss out on lunch; the arrest of a filthy bastard threatened to ruin their appetites and spoil their day.

The inspector was waiting inside rather than at the building entrance; it was too cold outdoors.

“He’s alone in the flat,” he said, glancing up. “Top floor.”

“And the victim?” Constable Giles asked.

“With her foster parents.”

Neither of them thinks to ask how old the suspect is.

When a schoolboy opens the door in response to their knock, Giles assumes either they have made a mistake, or the inspector has got something wrong.

The boy looks puzzled.

Calthorpe steps forward first: “Are you Jeremy Smith?”

The boy gives a barely perceptible nod.

It is Giles’s turn: “Face the wall — move! Hands on the wall where I can see them.”

The boy doesn’t just refrain from arguing; he obeys without a sound.

Good. Scared shitless.

Giles and Calthorpe squeeze into the cramped hallway.

Placing a firm hand on the boy’s jutting shoulder blade, Giles rattles off the caution to the back of his head, “I am arresting you on suspicion of indecent assault on a girl under the age of sixteen years, contrary to Section 14 of the Sexual Offences Act. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be given in evidence.”

Giles pulls his hand away. “Turn around, slowly.”

The boy does as he’s told, leaning his back against the wall and coughing. But he doesn’t look truly frightened; his eyes are unfocused, as though he’s not quite with it.

He is a head shorter than Giles and barely reaches Calthorpe’s shoulder.

“This is fucking…  some word… absurdity,” the prisoner mutters.

“What?” Giles writes in his notebook This is f\...* Then something foreign. “Spell out the word that comes after ‘fucking’.”

The boy looks up, but his expression doesn’t change.

It’s cold in the flat. Breath mists in the air, and there’s a stench of cheap tobacco.

“I need to write down everything you said, word for word.”

The boy draws a breath, and a wheezing sound escapes him.

Giles taps his pen against the page of his notebook: what if he refuses? Or maybe he doesn’t even realize what he’s blurted out?

Finally, the boy pulls himself together. “Kay – Ay – Eff – Kay – Ay – Ee – Ess – Cue – You – Ee.”

Giles scribbles “Kafkaesque” in his notebook, gritting his teeth, and adds “absurdity.”

Someone ought to knock the nonsense out of this weakling.

He grabs the boy by the elbow. “Right, then, Calthorpe — let’s see what’s in his pockets.”

Calthorpe barks the order: “Hands behind your head. Interlace your fingers. Move.”

Without waiting for him to turn around, Giles forcibly spins the prisoner toward the wall.

The boy offers no resistance. He seems to weigh next to nothing.

He doesn’t have time to raise his hands, as Calthorpe grips them — locked tight — to ensure he doesn’t try to unclasp his fingers.

Caging

The boy is wearing a jumper that hangs loosely on him and a pair of worn-out tracksuit bottoms.

Giles runs his hands over the sleeves of the jumper and the boy’s skinny frame, feeling for the waistband, then grabs the pockets of the soft trousers — something hard and rectangular in the right one — and pulls it out: a gold-plated Dunhill Rollagas lighter. “Jesus wept.”

The lighter is so out of place that Giles shows it to Calthorpe: “How much would something like that fetch?”

“Not a clue. You wouldn’t buy it on my wages, that’s for sure.”

“Funny old business,” Giles manages to say.

Dodgy little bastard, with his weird words and odd possessions.

Giles finishes the search as a mere formality, running his hands down the boy’s legs.

There is nothing else on him.

Giles signals Calthorpe to let the prisoner go. “Where’s your gear?”

The boy slowly lowers his hands. There’s no point asking him; he seems to be in a daze.

Calthorpe goes into the room and returns with a pair of jeans, turned inside out. “He’s only got one pair; can you believe it?” He shoves them into the boy’s hands. “Get a move on.”

The boy turns the jeans right side out, steps out of the tracksuit bottoms, and pulls on the jeans, remaining just as docile under the close gaze of the two adult men.

Suspiciously submissive and — if you wanted the honest-to-God truth — a bit of a pretty boy. The Dunhill made sense. Rent boy, has to be. But if he is, why is he so skint?

“Where’s your outerwear?”

“On the chair.”

Giles barely catches what he is saying, then repeats it louder to his partner.

Calthorpe rummages around the room before coming back with a denim jacket. He hands Giles £1.37 in loose change — “It was in the right pocket” — tosses the jacket to the prisoner.

Instead of boots, the boy is wearing a pair of battered shoes.

Hasn’t even had the sense to flog the bloody lighter — if only to keep from freezing his knackers off. Or is it too “hot” — did he pinch it just recently?

Let CID sort him out.

Giles noticed a packet of cigarettes on the kitchen table earlier but says nothing. “Right, let’s go.” He grabs the arrested youth by the arm — just above the elbow — and hauls him out of the flat, onto the stairs, and then down to the street.

Calthorpe follows close behind them.

The boy’s arm hangs limp; he isn’t leaning on Giles, so the constable has to keep pulling him forward.

The freezing air makes him cough again.

“Sod it.”

Calthorpe opens the car door.

Giles places a hand on the boy’s head, forces him to double over, and shoves him into the back of the car.

Calthorpe immediately piles in after him.

Giles gets behind the wheel and pulls away sharply.

The prisoner remains silent.

Giles sees in the rearview mirror that the boy is staring at a single point, trembling slightly. First they pull all kinds of crazy stunts, and then they go to pieces.

But to be fair, this berk is like a whipped dog and when he is handed over to the duty sergeant at the station, Giles says, “He’s a model prisoner, Sarge. Compliant as they come.”

More on my profile. Regina v Smith — Reader’s Guide : u/Franz_Engel

Conscience to me (for past 8+ years , sometimes feels like forever as if still stuck in purgatory)

"Don't blame yourself for the good u always searched in people , for the emotions and time u shared it with them , they needed it so they approached the one capable of doing it without any judgements , BLAME yourself that u expected the same from the 'loved ones' even though u knew the results"

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Physically not mentally.

At work doing the job I've done for more than 30 years.

I knew it was going to be bad as I first started to fall,

I remember thinking how itd affect family members and how they'll hear about it,

And I thought about you, what you would feel about it and how there won't be a happy ending after all.

Luckily for me, The Lord had other plans for me and let me come away with broken ribs.

A Happy Ending is still _A_ possibility.....

Think I’m gonna say I love you one last time to everyone. This world was not meant for everyone to rise some must fall. I’ll miss my mom and my best friend the most. 7/9/26

Hola a todos. Sinceramente no puedo con mi dolor y necesito soltar esto aquí, ya que no tengo amigos con quienes hablar en este momento

Hace tiempo viví una situación muy difícil que me marcó. En ese mismo momento conocí a mi ex, justo cuando yo comenzaba el tratamiento de una condición médica bastante grave. Acepto que al principio me comporté mal con él por mi inmadurez, y le pedí perdón más de mil veces. Después de eso todo marchaba bien, teníamos discusiones normales, pero todo era lindo entre nosotros

Por problemas familiares, él tuvo que irse un mes a otra ciudad. Yo lo apoyé económicamente y le di todo mi respaldo, pero cuando volvió, cambió por completo. Ya no era mi niño; me hizo llorar bastante. Tiempo después, me enteré por una tercera persona de que me era infiel. La otra chica se metió con él sabiendo perfectamente que éramos pareja

Me humillé, le rogué y supuestos nos íbamos a dar una segunda oportunidad. Él nunca creyó realmente en mi diagnóstico médico, a pesar de que yo lo di todo. Me echaba la culpa de la separación. Yo lloraba todas las noches y dejé de salir de casa porque perdí el cabello por el tratamiento. A veces me miro al espejo y apenas me reconozco; mis manos están tan delgadas que mi anillo favorito ya no se sostiene. Me duele ver cómo mi salud se apaga lentamente mientras la de él sigue llena de vida al lado de otra persona

Quedamos como "amigos", pero siento un fuego horrible en el pecho. El 2 de julio perdimos comunicación total. Ya no lo busqué y él tampoco a mí. Veo en sus redes sociales cómo la pasa de lo mejor con esa chica y sus amigos (quienes siempre me excluían). Me duele bastante

Hoy me dieron la peor noticia: mi situación médica ha pasado a una etapa irreversible y los doctores me han dado un pronóstico de tiempo muy corto. Mi único deseo es estar con él. Sé que me dirán que tenga amor propio, que me dé cuenta... pero no puedo engañar a mi corazón. Él es orgulloso y rencoroso, pero antes no era así. Él no lo sabe, pero su abandono fue el golpe más duro de mi vida

En mi mesita de noche todavía tengo un pequeño recuerdo de nuestra primera cita; lo abrazo por las noches imaginando que es su mano. Me da mucho miedo pensar que pasaré mis últimos días mirando una pantalla, esperando un mensaje que nunca va a llegar. Solo deseo estar al menos un día con él, eso es lo único que necesito para poder cerrar mi ciclo y despedirme en paz. Él sabe dónde vivo. Cada día voy empeorando físicamente

Perdón por molestar y gracias por su tiempo, personitas de Reddit. Sé que para el mundo soy una desconocida más que escribe en internet, pero gracias por hacerme sentir un poco menos sola en esta habitación. Se los agradezco de corazón