A Record of Two Loves
Do photos of my dead mother belong next to nude pictures of my ex? Doubtful. But that’s the reality in my “hidden” iPhone album. A real sick party. Recently, I stumbled across pictures of my mom’s final days. I’d been compelled to document that time, creating a visual record I didn’t want but knew I needed while processing grief. To free myself from scrolling past these difficult images without warning, I finally hid them. The result? Photos of my dying mom alongside hot nudes of the man I miss — a juxtaposition of love and longing so inappropriate yet so human. — Rachel Sampson
‘Tell Me True’
In Arabic-inflected English, Grandma asked, “How are you?” “Fine,” I answered. She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe me. “Tell me true,” she said. Wedded at 16 in Damascus, she had spent decades with my grandfather in an arranged marriage. How could I tell her that at 27 I was heartbroken and about to leave my husband of only two years? She waited for my answer in gentle silence. I forced out the words. She nodded, smiled sadly and hugged me. Years later, I hold her lesson close: Real connection blooms only if you tell it true. — Susie Hara
A Beautiful Breakup
Empathetic, thoughtful and joyful, Gio would have been the perfect boyfriend for me a year ago. But this year, I ended our short yet lovely relationship after realizing I’m not meant to have any more boyfriends — only girlfriends. I assumed that breaking up would mean he’d exit my life completely. Yet thanks to his support and understanding, we’ve remained close. We still encourage each other when we’re feeling low, and Gio still brings me my favorite frozen yogurt when he sees me. What a gift that in the place of a boyfriend, I’ve gained a lifelong friend. — Pascale Bradley
One Carton of Oat Milk
We met in the nondairy aisle — two strangers, one carton and a passive-aggressive standoff that could’ve aired on Bravo. He claimed dire coffee needs; I hit back with lifelong lactose trauma. A compromise was later struck over a croissant and the kind of banter that made even the barista smile. Now we’re curled up on his couch, a Tiny Desk Concert playing softly while I unapologetically turn up his A.C. He still claims he let me win the oat milk. I still roll my eyes. Love didn’t knock: It stood smugly in Aisle 4 and dared us to flirt. — Naomi Naik
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