It's me Rojan

For seven years, my world was this cell. Gray walls. Loud noises. Bad food. Then they told me: "Tomorrow, you hang. For killing your friend, Ram." At first, it was great. I was "Tomorrow's Man." The star! They gave me a new shirt. It was soft and clean. I got a real pillow for my bed. The guard even called me "sir"! I felt like a king in a castle. I got my last meal. A huge, greasy pepperoni pizza. All for me! I ate it slow, tasting every bite. I wrote letters. I wrote to Mom. "Don't be sad," I wrote. "I'm fine." That was a lie. I wrote to my little sister. She's having a baby. "Be a good mom," I wrote. "Name him something strong." I felt like a wise man, giving advice. Night came. I wasn't scared. I was special. Morning came. They walked me to the room. It was small and clean. There was a trapdoor. And a rope. That's when my heart started. Boom. Boom. Boom. Like a drum. They put a hood over m...

A few days later, I saw him. In the library, I looked up. My heart stopped. A boy sat by the window. He looked exactly like me from before. Same hair. Same eyes. My old face. I panicked. I hid behind a shelf, shaking. Was he real? I waited until everyone left. Outside, a soft rain fell. I stood under the roof. "Hey." I turned. It was him. Up close, he was a breathing photo of my past. He smiled shyly. "Rain's annoying," he said. "Share my umbrella?" I nodded. We walked close. Our arms brushed and stayed touching. He asked my name. I told him. He laughed softly. "Mine too." Before leaving, he asked, "Coffee tomorrow?" "Yes," I said, too fast. The next day, I got ready with a nervous heart. We drank coffee and talked for hours. We talked about feeling out of place. The sun set, painting the sky. He looked at me like I was precious. He kissed me. It was slow and careful. I kissed him back. Later, he whispered, ...

Lucky Bamboo was a gift from my colleague. It was small, simple, and beautiful. Not even a year has passed since she gave it to me, yet it feels like it has been part of my life for much longer. I placed it near the north side window of my room, where sunlight never comes directly. When it first came to me, it was a little yellow and very small. I gently placed it there and started caring for it, changing its water and watching it quietly. Soon, I began to notice small changes. That corner of my room seemed just right for it. Day by day, it started to grow. The yellow slowly faded, and fresh green leaves appeared. It grew taller and stronger, and every small change filled my heart with joy. Over time, it became more than a plant. It became a silent friend. It stands there quietly, watching my room and my life unfold. Every two weeks, I change its water, and in return, it stays fresh and calm. It has seen me in all my moods happy, sad, tired, angry, and hopeful. It never speaks, yet its...

This evening, as I lay on my bed, I saw a warm red light glowing through my window. I thought, why not enjoy the view from the rooftop? When I reached the roof, it was breathtaking. I could see the entire mountain range, bathed in the golden evening light. The sun’s rays painted them in shades of red beautiful and a little terrifying at the same time. I turned toward the sunset, where colors shifted from black to blue, orange to red. Scientists call it the pigment of light. Poets call it a poem. Lyricists call it a song. Writers call it a story. Just like these shades, every color every perspective has its own kind of beauty.

One perfectly normal morning, I woke up with a weird feeling like something was… off. My bed felt too soft, the air smelled faintly like flowers, and my chest felt… heavy? I sat up and nearly screamed. Big. Breast! Two enormous, jiggling mountains of flesh were squished beneath a soft pink nightgown. I yanked the blanket off and just stared. I stumbled to the mirror and there she was. Me but not me. Long, silky hair, big hips, pouty lips, and a face that could break hearts. A total bombshell. I blinked. She blinked. I poked my cheek. She poked hers back. “What the hell?!” I slapped myself. Still not dreaming. Heart pounding, I grabbed the phone on the table. It unlocked with my face her face. I checked the calendar, the apps, her notes. Same name. My name. College class schedule, some selfies, a weird shopping list with five kinds of lipsticks… and I just knew I was her now. I was in college. My college. Just… the girl version of me? I found a pair of skinny jeans , a tank t...

This isn’t a story it’s a reality check. If you were born between 2003 and 2006, chances are you joined Facebook between 2014 and 2018. And wow, what a magical time it was! Likes flying in, comment wars, friend requests from people you barely knew, pokes (RIP pokes), and that endless feed of memes and birthday wishes. It felt like the digital dream. But here’s the thing: behind all that glitter... the monsters were watching. And not just Facebook Google’s in on it too. Yes, that Google. As an Android user, let me share a personal experience. Whenever you open an app that has access to your camera, location, or microphone, Android helpfully shows a little icon a camera, a mic, or a map symbol near the battery percentage. It’s like your phone whispering, “Hey, someone’s watching you, buddy.” And that’s great! Users should know what’s being used and when. BUT and it’s a big BUT Google’s own apps play by different rules. Apps like Chrome, YouTube, and the Google search ...