Hi, all. It’s Farzana here, welcoming you to February’s Thursday Connectors. As ever, this month’s round-up of writing from you, about you. My page today is all about you and your perceptions of love and love stories. I’m a lover of stirring deep emotions and my writing reflects this and always will. Yep, I’m that passionate. I love a love story!

It’s my birthday month and, as always, I’ve dedicated my page in February to loving vibes. This year, I wanted to make a point by saying not all love is a romantic type of love; it comes in many forms. There’s no defining relationship or scale we can weigh this on. Our feelings and emotions are personal and so deep, there may never be a word to describe them. For example, there’s the unconditional love we have for our children. As with the love for our parents, our pets, our books,TV programmes or hobbies, our loves are endless and this month’s Connectors reflect this.

However, before I introduce our first Connector, let me share a personal experience, one which occurred a few days back. Recently, we lost my mother-in-law to a stroke. It happened  four months ago and she’d been in a coma-like, unresponsive state ever since, though she was still able to open her eyes and move her right side just slightly. The only sounds she was able to make were breathing noises and some groans and moans and only Allah would know how much pain she was in as the doctors had said there was nothing they could do for her and to take her home.

As she was in Pakistan, it made it difficult for us to be with her but my husband spent two months by her side following the actual stroke. He and his two siblings would lift her up on her bed and administer medication, liquid feeds and nutrition through a nasal pipe. They’d also change her urine bags and nappies, and bathe her, massage her and talk to her. It wasn’t easy. My contribution towards her care was to spend a good time on a video call every evening, talking to her and hoping she could hear me and know that she was still loved and very much part of our lives here, even though so many miles and continents had divided us for years.

The love I’m trying to describe was the love my husband shared with his mother. He came back to London two months ago. When he phoned, he found out  she’d been restless since he left and not sleeping too well. He felt guilty for leaving but he had no choice; his home and life is here. But when he spoke to her on the video call, she opened her eyes and looked right at the phone set and we saw her smile. Knowing her son had arrived home was enough for her to fall asleep.

The day she died, having gone into septic shock that morning, we video called. My husband told his brother to put his camera on. His mum’s breathing was shallow and her eyes were fully open. She hadn’t blinked for hours.

My husband said, “Mum, close your eyes now. You’re tired. Get some sleep.”

She shed a single tear and her eyes closed as her head fell slightly forward. His brother started crying and yelling for the doctor. The video call disconnected.

When we called back five minutes later, his two siblings were crying over my mother-in-law’s body. She’d died while my husband was speaking to her that last time. She’d been holding on to say goodbye.

This is true love. So, as you can see, writing love stories is not always about writing romance. It can also be about other kinds of passion and compassion.

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Our first Connector is Afsana Elanko, whose poem fits brilliantly here. Love is indeed endless. And, even though it’s a time of grief in my family, those that leave us remain in our hearts. That love never ends.

Hi, Afsana. Let’s connect:

The following love poem was written for World Cancer Day and how the love we share is the thing that creates happiness and pulls us through the most difficult of times, giving us the greatest strength and happiness.

Endless Love

Ever since our eyes met, your image is engraved in my heart,
Never knew what love was until I met you,
Desires, delicate and deep developed,
Love is what you showed me,
Everlasting constant you became in my life,
Selfless, kind natured soul, you became my intoxicating deep desire,
Since we met my life had a new release filled with happiness.

Loving you is my existence and all I know,
Overcoming any hurdle and against all odds I stand with you,
Virtuous lover, you are my heart’s desire,
Endless, everlasting and eternal love is all I have to offer you.

© Dr Afsana Elanko, 2025

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Next up, we have poetry from Madeleine, our Editor, again showing how love is so deeply connected to our souls. Since Maya Yoshi, our ten-month-old kitten, came into my life, I can relate one hundred per cent. No, I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her!  She’s a part of me now. Imagine, it took my daughter a whole year  to convince me to get a cat in the first place! Such is love.

Hi, Madeleine. Let’s connect:

You Magnificent Beast

“Will you still love me?”
asked the Horse of the Girl
“When I can’t run any more
no longer galloping on the wind
with my hooves thundering loud on the shore?”

“You magnificent beast”
said the Girl to the Horse
“I love you with all of my heart
I can’t imagine that day
but just let me say
that’s when I do my part.”

“Through all these years you have carried me,
brave and bold and true
and when I couldn’t carry myself
I depended on you.”

“Together we’ll hang up our riding boots
and enjoy the glorious green
the earth will be there
and the sun will still shine
and together we’ll gallop through infinite time
into the world of dreams.”

© Madeleine F White, 2025

The Horse And The Girl, published by Sea Crow Press, is available from Amazon and all good bookstores. Connect with Madeleine on Instagram + Bluesky: @madeleinefwhite

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Finally, Lisa Scully O’Grady, has sent me a short story about love. Being a writer of love myself, stories like this keep me feeling young and happy.

Hi, Lisa. Let’s connect:

Crossing Continents

Heather arrived at the airport in Paris just after 11 with ample time to go into the city to do a bout of window shopping. It was all she could muster – survival mode having become her default of late. The storm of her life had passed, leaving a deceptive calm in its wake.

A year had elapsed since her husband of a decade had unceremoniously abandoned her. Then her cherished father, James, succumbed to cancer after a protracted battle. As she alighted from the train, Heather consoled herself with the thought that, in Harry’s absence, she could devote her final moments to the father she adored, free from Harry’s incessant complaints and self-centredness. In a twist of fate, Harry’s departure was a blessing she’d never envisioned.

As she stepped out of the station, she felt the sun on her face and felt free. Free for the first time in many years, she suddenly realised. On a whim, she stopped at a quaint café where, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the rather handsome man she had sat next to on the train from the airport. He was sitting outside the café and was deep in conversation with a very chic younger woman.

She decided to sit at a discreet distance but still catch a glimpse of him every now and then. There was something melancholy in his dark brown eyes, yet he was extremely confident in his demeanour and, to the casual observer, would have appeared to be the embodiment of twenty-first-century American success. She guessed he was American but perhaps had been born or spent time in Europe. He didn’t stand out in that brash American way.

She ordered a café crème and had an overwhelming urge to smoke a cigarette, despite having long since given them up. ‘What is it?’ she wondered. ‘Nerves?’ She was due to travel to the south of France in a week’s time for an art course. Well, painting to be precise. A practical, take-you-out-of-yourself art holiday. That’s how the website had described it.

Totally lost in thought, she failed to notice the American’s companion disappear and was suddenly aware of someone staring at her intently. She looked over to see the American looking at her, smiling bemusedly. He stood up, asking if he could join her and she thought she might wither at any moment under his intense gaze.

He told her his name was Eric and he was indeed American but had spent long periods of his childhood in Spain and France and elsewhere, his father having been a diplomat. His maternal grandmother had lived in Madrid and he had fallen in love with art, so much so that he had become a professor and a collector.

They talked for an hour, as though theu’d known each other all their lives. Suddenly, she felt she should get a move on and start her window shopping. She didn’t want to appear too needy.

“I’ve got to go.” She smiled.

“Perhaps we could meet later for dinner?” he said encouragingly.

“Well, I’m in Paris for a few days, so perhaps we could meet the day after tomorrow?” she replied.

“Fine. I’ll pick you up at your hotel.” He strode off.

Two days later, Heather, adorned with ruby-red lipstick, checked her reflection one last time before receiving Eric’s text. He was waiting for her in the lobby.

Her mind started doing excited somersaults. ‘I can’t believe how excited I am. I thought I’d never be happy again. This is so unlike me. I’m normally so sensible.’ She descended the grand staircase. ‘I feel like Scarlett O’Hara, sans the attitude.’

In the lobby, Heather’s eyes found Eric. He was impeccably suited, the chic young woman from before at his side. A flicker of panic surged within her, yet she couldn’t avert her gaze from Eric and he seemed equally captivated. It was as though they were locked into a magical universe of their own in ‘kairos’ time.

The enchantment was broken by the young woman, who greeted Heather with an unexpectedly warm embrace.

“It’s great to meet you. I feel as though I’ve known you forever,” she gushed.

Eric introduced her as his daughter, Rachel, who was studying art history in Paris for a year.

“Oh, how wonderful. I’m actually heading to Provence at the end of the week for a painting holiday myself,” said Heather.

“That’s quite the coincidence. So are we!” Rachel replied, before explaining that she had to run to meet friends.

Over dinner, Eric confided that his wife, Louisa, had passed away years ago and Rachel had encouraged him to visit her in France. His attempts at dating had been disastrous —he just hadn’t been ready. This visit was a step towards finding a new path.

Heather nodded in agreement. The excitement was palpable and, though the future was uncertain, she felt a renewed sense of hope. With the loss of her father and the end of her marriage, she’d faced an uncharted future. But now the sky was clearing and anything seemed possible.

© Lisa Scully-O’Grady, 2024

Connect with Lisa on Instagram: @letters_home_again

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Brilliant loving vibes this month. I wish had the wordcount to include more of the pieces submitted to me, though. But not to worry, I’ll be back next month.

Before you go, remember, it’s a big misunderstanding to assume all love stories need to be about a guy and a girl who are romantically attracted to one other. I hope my page this month has proved this. Keep loving and keep happy!

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Issue 23 of Write On! is out now and you can read it online here. Find it in libraries and other outlets. You can find previous editions of our magazines here.

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