All adults have, in their memory, the places which defined their childhood. They just have to shut their eyes to visualize them and the feelings associated with these places come flooding back. When ... [+]
ALL IN
The page was empty again.
The cursor blinked as if it was breathing, steady and patient.
The assignment was simple: write a short story on the theme All In.
He had written about love before, about risk, about the recklessness of passion or its careful deliberation.
But tonight, the words refused to come forth.
He quietly sat, with the hum of the ceiling fan the only sound.
He had coffee beside him, cold now.
Its scent lingered — bitter and grounding.
He stared at the screen – devoid.
His phone suddenly buzzed.
A message appeared.
"You okay?"
He smiled faintly. It was from her.
They had known each other for years — colleagues first, then lovers.
There had been no accident in how they drew closer; it was fated.
What began as conversation became something neither could ignore.
He typed back:
"Trying to write. Not going well."
Her reply came quickly:
"Write what you feel. It is always better that way."
He smiled. She always had that calm certainty, a way of making honesty sound simple.
He breathed. A hint of anxiety.
He breathed again.
Then he began typing again.
This time, the words somehow came.
To go all in is to offer your whole heart, to love someone and his or her everything.
Passion is not the opposite of fear. It walks beside it.
Risk is not foolishness. It is faith in motion.
And love is never a competition.
The lines flowed more easily now.
He no longer tried to perfect each sentence; he breathed and let them breathe.
He wrote of choices that define, of truths that hurt, of unconditional love that asks for nothing.
He wrote and wrote.
When he finished, the night was deep.
Days passed.
He sent the story to his editor with a brief note:
"Done."
The reply came hours later.
"It is raw. It works."
He smiled.
Weeks later, they met by the river.
The city lights rippled across the water softly.
"Are we happier?" she asked.
He thought for a moment. "Yes. Happier in a quieter way — the kind that feels real, full and true."
They walked side by side.
The silence between them was not distance; it was love.
He turned to her and looked at her in the eyes. "I am all in."
She met his gaze. "So am I."
The moment did not need promises or plans.
Letting the moment breathe, they stayed still.
Love is and was — and that was everything.