Writes with Riz

𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 ?

-𝑅𝑖𝑧

It was never truly etched in the grand theatrics of Rahul Jaykar’s heartache, nor in Aditya D. Kashyap’s impulsive rebellion, nor in Krish Kapoor’s loud desperation to hold onto something slipping. Those were love stories , loud, chaotic, wrapped in drama but not love in its rawest, most sacred form.

Real love is quiet. Unshakable. It’s the kind that doesn’t ask to be seen, yet you feel it lingering like breath on glass. It’s not shaped by loud promises but by silent presence - like Darcy’s enduring devotion, calm and unwavering, even when misunderstood. That kind of love doesn’t knock loudly on your door it waits in the shadows of your worst days, ready to hold space without demanding to be let in.

And love, if it is truly love, does not leave you feeling small. If it drains you, makes you feel unworthy, unsettled, or low, then it is not love , it is merely the echo of desire, of attraction dressed as something deeper. Love, the kind written in fate, in the invisible thread of the red string theory, comes gently. Not when you chase it. But when you've stopped looking. When you’ve stopped needing. When you are finally enough for yourself.

It will come when you least expect it when you’ve trained yourself to forget, when you’ve convinced yourself to hate. You’ll walk into a room and see the same black coat you used to avoid, and something in you will soften. The smile that once irritated you will suddenly feel like home. The voice you called noise will echo like comfort. And in the final silence of a parting, it will hurt not because it’s over, but because now you know what real love feels like.

So wait for it. In your 15s, in your 20s, whenever it chooses to arrive. Wait for the one who doesn't hunger for your lips , t**s , and whatever it is but aches for your presence. For your voice. For the way your silence speaks louder than any words. The one who feels your unspoken sadness and keeps it safe. Wait, because while the world asked you to give up a hundred times, you didn’t. You stayed for yourself. And one day, someone will arrive not to complete you, but to recognize the masterpiece you've already become.

Love isn’t about performance. It’s not about proving, promising, or possessing. It’s about remembering the quiet moments that healed you. It’s about someone who sees through all the chaos you hid behind and says I know. And I’m staying.

That, quietly, wholly, unwaveringly that is love.

" 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗢𝗚 𝗗𝗜𝗩𝗔𝗦 ? "

- 𝑅𝑖𝑧

We often reserve the word diva for women glamorous, fiery, unapologetic. But what if I told you that some of the most dignified, graceful, and emotionally intelligent divas I’ve known were men?

I’ve watched my male friends carry the weight of my outbursts with unshaken calm. They’ve stood by during my moments of chaos, enduring every sharp word, every storm of emotion not with retaliation, but with quiet understanding. Not because they were weak, but because they were strong enough to know that compassion speaks louder than control.

These men didn’t walk away from the conversation of equality. They didn’t flinch when the topic turned to women’s rights. They didn’t feel threatened by empowered women. In fact, they leaned in willing to listen, willing to reflect, and more importantly, willing to stand beside us without trying to overshadow our voices.

And that, to me, is the highest form of strength.

Who says men can’t be feminists? If you still believe feminism is a women-only club, darling, it’s time to unlearn what you think you know. True feminism has never been about elevating one gender above the other it is about equity, mutual respect, and the courage to challenge unjust systems, no matter who you are. It is about standing up when silence would be easier. It is about recognizing that power and tenderness can coexist and must, in fact, if real progress is to be made.

The men in my life who practice this who fight against toxic masculinity, who make space for emotional vulnerability, who believe in dignity for all, and who call out injustice even when it’s inconvenient are not just allies. They are feminists. And they deserve to be called divas.

Because being a diva isn’t about flawless skin, high heels, or a glittering stage. It isn’t about hair colour or how much skin you show. No, being a diva is a spirit it’s an energy. It’s the fire in someone who speaks with purpose, who walks with pride, and who doesn’t compromise truth for popularity.

A diva stands for what is right, even when it’s uncomfortable. A diva lifts others while knowing their own worth. A diva carries both softness and steel within them and lets neither be diminished by the world.

So yes, I will proudly say it again , the real gentlemen I know are divas. And if the world needs more strength, more kindness, more fearless advocacy, let us honour these men not with clichés or pity but with the respect they deserve.

Let us redefine what it means to be powerful, what it means to be graceful, and what it means to be a diva — beyond gender, beyond surface, beyond tradition.

𝗦𝗜𝗣 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗡𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗔𝗥 (An Essay on the Soul that Stays Untouched)

- 𝑅𝑖𝑧

True friendship you may ask me about it, and I would fall into silence. True love, true connection, true relationships you may expect an answer, and again, I would be left wordless. What then, can I write about? Perhaps this is just another string of scattered thoughts under an extravagant title, “Sip the Nectar.” But no, this is not a waste of your time. This is a quiet offering an attempt to pick up the long-lost, faded string of understanding and gently transform it into something whole.

Have you ever stopped and asked yourself: Why does self-love never seem quite enough?
Have you ever wondered: Why do ties, roles, and tags feel like chains rather than comfort?
Have you ever noticed that after all these years four, maybe more you speak less, even when there’s so much within you, waiting?

“Sip the Nectar.” It’s more than a phrase it’s a metaphor. A reflection of contrast, of light and shadow. Just like you. Eighteen years or thirty, it doesn't matter feelings never age. You are not made for attachments that define or limit. You are not meant to be fully understoodband yes, that’s a hard truth, but a liberating one.

You, a spiritual soul, quietly drawing boundaries not to isolate yourself but to protect your own sacred space. You are not here to be labeled or decoded. You learned to fly within your own skies, not to clip your wings for anyone else’s comfort. You remained untouched, often misunderstood not to fight for validation, but to choose yourself over and over again.

And why the metaphor of light and shadow? Because you are both. You are the golden hour and the eclipse. Fully present, yet out of reach. Standing right here, yet wrapped in a distance no one can quite measure. And do you know how rare that is? How rare you are?

You are not empty. You are not broken. You are not lost. You are rare. A soul carved in silence, shaped by solitude. Not speaking of things doesn’t mean you have nothing to say. It means you trust yourself enough to hold space for your own storm. You carry within you the ability to understand yourself in ways no one else ever could. And I say this clearly no one ever will.

So do not wait for someone’s arrival to fix you. You are not a ruin in need of restoration. You are the kind of beautiful that exists without definition. You are chaos wrapped in elegance. You are a quiet universe. Messily wonderful. Indescribably whole.

So sip the nectar not of validation or belonging, but of your own existence. Taste the sweetness of knowing that even in your silence, you speak volumes. Even in your distance, you glow. You are not meant for everyone’s hands, and that’s your magic. You are not here to fit, but to be. Let yourself bloom, wildly and wordlessly. You are a poem unrhymed, unfinished, but eternal.

And perhaps, that’s the most honest way to live.

𝗗 𝗜 𝗟 𝗨 𝗠 𝗔

- 𝑅𝑖𝑧

We all long to live in a soft, shimmering haze , a delusional aura, if you will. Not because we are naive, but because reality often feels too sharp, too unfair, too bare. Who would willingly choose a life where some can’t afford more than the basics, where dreams are rationed out like luxuries, while privilege is handed down like heirlooms to the lucky few? Not everyone is born with silver spoons or trust funds. And yet, we dare to dream. Isn’t that in itself something divine?

I love being delulu not in the careless way people mock, but in the tender, quiet way of those who still believe. It is not foolishness. It’s bravery. It takes strength to imagine more, to hope endlessly, to see beauty in what hasn’t yet arrived. To be a dreamer in a world built on routine and realism is an act of rebellion and I embrace it fully.

“Dream big, work big”— they say it like it’s simple. But those words hold the weight of millions of unseen battles. They whisper of longing, sleepless nights, visions too bright to ignore. We chase those words like stars, knowing we may never fully reach them, yet we run anyway. Because something within us believes. And I love that about us we try. Oh, how we try.

Somehow, somewhere along my inner wanderings, I whispered a word into existence: "Diluma" . I don’t know how I named it or why it stuck, but it feels like home , a symbol of everything soft and sacred within the soul. To me, it means the quiet joy of imagining. Of looking forward even when everything around you begs you to give up. Of choosing to find magic in the mundane. Of wondering, with hope, what might lie just beyond the horizon.

Life, yes, it can be harsh. It can be rude, cold, even cruel in its timing. But to abandon your own path, to silence your own fire that is a betrayal deeper than any heartbreak. So, walk your way. Even if the road feels endless, even if no one claps for you , keep walking.

Live boldly. Dream like you were born to rule your own little kingdom of stars. Speak your thoughts with love, for they are the most intimate reflections of your soul. Think of it how beautiful it is that your mind dares to wander to places no one speaks of. That you can feel so deeply, love so fiercely, and still, somehow, believe in something more.

That is not delusion. That is art. That is strength. That is......YOU .