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By Thlesh Bhardwaj
We live in a world where we can say “I love you” with emojis, express longing through DMs, and define heartbreak with a status update. But the truth is — most of us still carry an unsent letter inside our hearts. Something we couldn’t say, something we still feel.
And that’s where literature comes in — to say what we couldn’t.
Love is chaotic. Longing is confusing. Silence is painful.
But books — they listen, they echo, and sometimes, they even answer.
Some people read books to escape reality.
But many — like you and me — read books to understand it.
When you pick up a poetry book after a fight,
When you reread a paragraph after a breakup,
When a line in a story sounds like your life —
That’s not fiction.
That’s recognition.
Books don’t judge.
They don’t interrupt.
They simply whisper:
“I’ve felt it too.”
You can’t put love in a lab.
It doesn’t follow logic.
It doesn’t obey rules.
It simply exists — wild, unpredictable, beautiful.
And that’s exactly what literature does too.
Books about love don’t just talk about kisses and dates.
They talk about:
Waiting for a reply at 2 AM
The pain of hearing their name from someone else’s mouth
The way your world shifts when their hand brushes yours
And that terrible, beautiful ache of wanting someone you can’t have
That’s not a genre. That’s human truth.
Ever read a poem and thought:
“How did this person write what I’ve never even said out loud?”
That’s not coincidence.
That’s soul connection.
Books like WhatsApp वाला इश्क़ were born from that exact feeling.
Because not every love story is loud.
Some are quiet.
Hidden in message drafts.
Buried in goodnight texts.
Carried in playlists you never share.
We don’t just read books. We live in them.
Longing is not just absence.
It’s presence — stretched across time.
It’s the way your fingers still remember theirs.
It’s the way an old perfume ruins your day.
It’s the way every rain feels like a conversation never finished.
And literature lets you bleed beautifully.
That’s why books like वो मेरा पहला प्यार थी don’t end in happy ever afters.
They end in truth.
Because real love doesn’t always come back.
But it always leaves a story behind.
Psychologists say reading emotional literature activates the same areas of the brain as real relationships.
That means —
When you read about love, you don’t just imagine it —
You feel it.
Your heart doesn’t know it’s fiction.
It just knows it remembers something.
No wonder we cry over characters.
No wonder we revisit old books like old lovers.
No wonder we say,
“This book understood me when no one else did.”
People ask me:
“Why are your books always about love, longing, and emotions?”
And I say —
“Because these are the only things we never stop feeling.”
Jobs change. Cities change. Age increases.
But love…
That stays.
In our regrets. In our dreams.
In our books.
I don’t write to entertain.
I write to connect.
To that boy crying in silence.
To that girl who smiles but carries a storm.
To that couple who broke up but still visit each other’s profiles.
To you.
You are not weak because you still feel.
You are not broken because you still remember.
You are human — beautifully, painfully, truthfully human.
And if nobody told you this before —
Your story matters.
Your love was real.
And someone — somewhere — is reading it in a book, feeling the same.
That’s why we read.
That’s why we write.
To not be alone anymore.
Reels end in seconds.
Texts get deleted.
Voicemails are ignored.
But books?
They stay.
They sit by your bedside.
They age with you.
They remember what you’ve forgotten.
So the next time your heart feels too full —
Don’t scroll. Don’t suppress.
Pick up a book. Or write one.
Maybe that’s all healing ever was —
A sentence that finally says what you couldn’t.
Looking for a book that understands your heart?
Dive into our collection — where love isn’t a plotline, it’s the pulse of every page.
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We don’t just write books we write what your heart couldn’t say. Every poem, every message, every story is a mirror of you. If you’ve ever loved, lost, or longed — you’ll find yourself here.
