Z Delulu Squad Book Club

Finding Home Again     No one ever told me the price of freedom would be my own reflection. It’s a thought that crosses my mind every morning as I stand before the bathroom mirror, feeling empty and lost despite everything I have accomplished. I have a place of my own, a successful career, and a family that cares deeply for me. “Chase freedom,” people had said, “and happiness will follow.” So, I did. But now I find myself questioning if chasing after something I barely understood was worth it in the end.   I grew up in a foreign country with my mother and sister. My mother worked hard to provide for us, but despite our humble circumstances, our home was filled with love. Whenever I asked my mom why we had to live like this, she would always respond the same way, “God is kind.” I may not have fully understood her answer at the time, but her love and warmth always managed to make everything feel okay, even on the coldest and hardest of days.   As I grew older, I was pr...

  I still remember that day, when Moon and Sun danced in the twilight, their laughter pure and bright, filling the space between us with a warmth I thought would never fade. We hid beneath the old oak tree, our secret sanctuary, where shadows painted our dreams and the world outside felt distant. "I wish you would never leave," I told Sun, my heart racing as their fingers brushed against mine. In that moment, the world was nothing but possibilities. But life, it seems, has a way of stealing joy in cruel twists, and just like that, Sun left, promising to return. Now, every time I hear a gentle breeze whisper through the branches, I feel the ache of that laughter echo within me, a bittersweet reminder of what once was. The last laugh we shared hangs like a fragile ornament in my memory, beautiful yet painful, as though it branded my heart with a bittersweet tattoo. I find myself standing in the same spot, wishing with every fiber of my being that Sun could somehow materiali...

In an eerie village where the night terrors resided, she carried her baby on her back, as she trudged forward through the muddy streets. The rain pour washed away their clothes and with it her tears which seemed unstoppable. Her baby had stopped crying for now, and she had to find shelter for the night. In a faraway distance, the shape of a house could be made out, near the house a lone figure stood, seemingly indifferent to the pouring rain. In her soul she wished this would be their final destination for the night, the coldness of the night had crippled her bones, she feared for her baby, but she trudged along carefully as she hastened her speed, with one mission in mind, she had to save her baby from the nightmares of the night.                                                                 To be continued......    ...

"I am sorry," he said, looking at me as if he truly meant it.    The rain pattered softly against the window, each droplet a reminder of turbulent echoes hanging in the air. “I am sorry,” he said, his voice laced with something I couldn’t quite pinpoint—was it regret, or merely a routine plea? I stared at him, feeling the weight of every past apology that had slipped from his lips, rolling into a familiar dance just like the rain on glass. I had heard those words too many times before, and yet here I was, holding my breath, waiting for the storm to break again. Was it him for constantly making the same mistakes and expecting my forgiveness? Or was it me for allowing this cycle to continue, hoping each apology would be the last? The line between love and pain had blurred so much that I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. It was time to find the strength to break free from this endless loop, to reclaim my sense of self and peace. Only then could I truly...

  In the quiet corners of your memory, shadows linger, Where trust once bloomed like wildflowers in spring. A child’s laughter echoes, innocent and bright, Yet beneath that surface, a storm brews unseen. There was a time when the world felt safe, When hugs were warm and hands were gentle, But then, like a thief in the night, Darkness crept in, stealing the light. You remember the chill, the moment your body froze, As if a spell had been cast, rendering you still. Hands that once offered comfort turned to chains, And in that silence, something precious slipped away. Trauma is a ghost that haunts your soul, A whisper of past pains that refuse to fade. You thought you had escaped, but the memories return, Flickering like candlelight in a darkened room. You see flashes of a little girl, fragile and small, Her innocence touched by shadows that loomed too close. The hands that reached out were meant to protect, But they left scars that no one could see. Even among friends, laughter feels...