theheartsdiary

 My Maid, My Love When my mother first hired her, I thought nothing of it. “She’s quiet, hardworking,” Mother said as she adjusted her pearl necklace. “She’ll take care of the house while I’m at work. Be polite.” Her name was Anna. She was eighteen, maybe nineteen, with soft eyes that rarely met mine and hands that always seemed busy. She polished the floors until they gleamed, folded clothes with neat precision, and kept her head bowed as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders. I was twenty-one then—restless, spoiled, too used to people doing things for me. I had friends who laughed too loudly, nights that blurred together, and a heart that had never been touched in any serious way. To me, Anna was just “the maid.” At least, at first. --- The First Smile It was a Tuesday morning when everything changed. I stumbled into the kitchen, nursing a headache from the night before, and found her standing by the stove. She was humming under her breath, something soft, someth...

 The night I met him, the sky was crying harder than I was. The breakup had been ugly one of those that left you hollow, like someone had carved out the center of your chest and forgotten to put it back. I had spent hours inside a little café near the bus station, staring at my untouched cup of tea until the waitress stopped asking if I wanted a refill. By the time I stepped outside, the storm had broken. Rain poured from the heavens in sheets, drenching the streets, blurring the glow of the lampposts into watercolor streaks. I didn’t even have an umbrella. Maybe part of me wanted the storm to wash me away, to soak me until no one could tell the difference between raindrops and tears. I walked, numb and directionless, clutching my bag to my chest. And then, through the veil of rain, a dark figure approached—tall, steady, holding an umbrella. “You’ll catch a cold out here,” he said, his voice deep but gentle, carrying over the storm. I stopped. A stranger stood before me, his hair d...

 The first time I met Ethan, I didn’t know he would ruin me. It was summer, the kind of humid afternoon that made the air feel heavy and restless. I was in Lily’s room—my best friend since we were ten—painting our nails a shade of bubblegum pink while she complained about her phone battery dying. Then the front door slammed downstairs. “That’s my brother,” Lily muttered, not looking up. “He’s back from college. Don’t mind him.” I almost didn’t. But then he walked into the room. And suddenly, minding him was impossible. He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. Dark hair damp from the rain, quiet eyes that seemed to notice too much, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You’re still painting your nails like middle school,” he teased Lily. “Shut up, Ethan,” she snapped, tossing a pillow at him. But he didn’t even look at her. His gaze flicked to me for half a second—steady, unreadable. That was all it took. Something inside me shifted, like a door I didn’t ...