One hot summer day, his anger reached its peak. He went outside, ready to do anything to extinguish his inner fire. But suddenly, something unexpected happened: he noticed a shard of a mirror on the ground and looked into it, his eyes saw ugliness, both internal and external. This moment, like a sharp plot twist, turned Colin’s world upside down.

Rage is his inability to see beauty, his impotence, his loss of self-control. “What if I turn rage into calm and love for the world, will it be a path to my healing?”

At this very thought he produced something that looked like a smile, far from perfection but full of purity and warmth.

In a sunlit room filled with the gentle hum of afternoon, Leslie was cherishing her rose on the windowsill, a vibrant blossom that stood as the golden centre of her small universe. Each morning, she tenderly watered it, her hopes intertwining with the curls of steam rising from the cup of rich tea that accompanied her rituals. Yet, unbeknownst to her, every droplet spilled onto the soil found its way across the fence to her neighbour, young Lewis, who thrived in a way that made the petals blush deeper with life.

As the seasons danced, Leslie discovered a curious, almost magical bond; her rose’s health seemed linked to Lewis’s joy. When she pruned a thorn or snipped a leaf, however, a chill spread through the air, and Lewis would fall ill, languishing in the shadows of his room, pale and wan. Alarmed, Leslie hurried to tend her precious rose, but each act of care was burdened with the uncertain weight of Lewis’s fate.

In the twilight hours, she learned the delicate balance of love and sacrifice. To nurture one was to imperil the other, the intertwined lives echoing the beauty and fragility that flourished in their shared garden of existence.

Once upon a time, in a town adorned with narrow streets and blooming gardens, a young woman Nicole was considered to be a masterful wedding planner. In fact, she dedicated herself to weaving the dreams of couples into vibrant realities. With an eye for detail and an unwavering passion, Nicole sourced the finest silks for dresses that cascaded like soft waterfalls and secured musicians whose melodies were lingering in the air long after the last note had faded.

Each wedding was a masterpiece of elegance, from the fragrant peonies that decorated the tables to the twinkling fairy lights that were overhead. Guests often marvelled at her creations, but for Nicole, it was never about the accolades or the money. As she stood amidst the laughter and joy, witnessing tears of happiness rolling down the faces of the newlyweds, her heart swelled with an indescribable joy.

It was Nicole who was thriving in transforming her clients’ visions into breathtaking experiences. They were painting her soul with hues of joy, forever enriching her spirit.

Gloria lived under the weight of unspoken vows. Not because she had broken them, but because she feared she might. Promises, to her, were sacred contracts etched in invisible ink, binding her to a future she couldn’t control. Birthday pledges, casual agreements – all met with a gentle deflection, a murmured “I’ll try,” or a non-committal smile.

This aversion stemmed from childhood. A forgotten playdate, a broken toy – these small betrayals echoed in her memory, amplified by her sensitive heart. Better to offer nothing than to risk the crushing guilt of failing to deliver.

Her relationships suffered. Friends craved assurances, lovers sought commitment. Gloria danced around their expectations, offering support and affection, but never the sweet, solid anchor of a promise. They saw her as unreliable, detached. Little did they know, her fear wasn’t of failing them, but of failing herself.