Author: Saba Javed
A Cold February Night, Lit by the Grammys I remember that chilly February evening in 2025, curled up on my creaky couch in the city apartment, blanket wrapped tight because the heater was failing again. The Grammys were on, and I tuned in almost by accident maybe it was the wildfires that had just torn through LA, making everything feel heavy. Sipping cold tea, I watched the red carpet at the Crypto.com Arena. The grammys red carpet 2025 felt like an escape from the smoke and news alerts. I think about that night often, how the grammy outfits carried unspoken…
A Glimpse of a Hidden Princess I remember that restless summer in New York, holed up in my tiny apartment, flipping through old news clippings on a clunky laptop. A grainy photo of a Saudi Arabian princess, her face half-veiled, caught my eye. It wasn’t Sara bint Mashour Al Saud, but it sparked an ache for lives we barely see. Who is the wife of Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman? That question, flickering in the dark, still lingers as I watch rain streak my window. Roots in a Royal Line Sara bint Mashour Al Saud was born in 1973 in…
Rainy Days and Kobe 6 Dreams I remember that rainy afternoon in early 2011 like it was etched into the sole of my old Kobe 6s, the ones I wore until the snakeskin texture peeled away like forgotten promises. I was holed up in my tiny apartment in Los Angeles, the kind with posters of the Lakers peeling off the walls, and the TV flickering with the All-Star Game. Kobe was out there, moving like a shadow in those red and black Kobe 6 all star kicks, dropping 37 points, snagging MVP like it was just another Tuesday. I laced…
The Stockholm Rain That Changed Everything I can still feel the damp chill of that rainy afternoon in Stockholm, the kind of drizzle that makes the cobblestones in Gamla Stan glow like secrets waiting to be told. I was in my early twenties, heart bruised from a breakup, wandering with a backpack and no real destination. That’s when I saw her a Swedish girl, a woman from Sweden, laughing with friends outside a café. Her blonde hair peeked from under a wool beanie, cheeks flushed from the cold, her laugh slicing through the gray. There was a spark in her,…
First Glimpse of Mikey Madison I remember catching Mikey Madison on screen, curled up in my cramped city apartment, the radiator humming louder than my thoughts. It was during a late-night binge of Better Things, where she played Max, all sharp wit and teenage fire. My tea was cold, and I was lost in my own messy twenties, scribbling in my journal, wondering, who is Mikey Madison? Her presence hit like a quiet storm, raw and real. Mikey Madison movies and shows like that one stuck with me, not for perfection, but for their truth. Maybe that’s why her rise…
A Cracked Mirror and a Quiet Rebellion I was twenty-two, sitting on the edge of my bed in a cramped college apartment, staring at a cracked mirror. My hair was creeping past my ears, a small rebellion against my small-town roots. I’d run my fingers through it, wondering if I was crazy for letting it grow, if it made me less of the guy everyone expected. That winter, I’d pore over old photos of men with beautiful long hair rockstars, poets, rebels with flowing locks. Maybe that’s why I kept going, even when my dad raised an eyebrow and said,…
That Chicago Night in 2021 I was twenty-five, sitting in a Chicago bar that fall of 2021, the kind where the air hums with oak and quiet secrets. My friend Jamie ordered a dram of Royal Salute 21, and I can still see the bartender sliding it over in that sapphire-blue decanter, like it was something sacred. I didn’t know whisky then just that this was expensive, a drink for big moments. Jamie raised his glass, amber catching the light, and said, “This is what history tastes like.” I laughed, not quite getting it. But that moment stuck, a memory…
A Memory on Chestnut Street I remember standing on Chestnut Street one October evening in 2021, the air sharp with autumn, the cobblestones catching the last of the fading light. I’d come to Philadelphia chasing the echoes of history Independence Hall, the Liberty Bell, places I’d only read about. My sneakers scuffed the pavement at 401 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, PA 19106, where the Omni Hotel Philadelphia PA stood, its elegant facade like a quiet guardian of the past. I wondered what it would be like to sleep so close to the heart of America’s story. Maybe that’s why that moment…
A Rainy Night’s Encounter It was a humid summer evening in 2023, the kind where the air clings to your skin and the city feels half-asleep. I was walking home, my thoughts tangled in the day’s small defeats, when I turned a corner and froze. There, bathed in the soft glow of a streetlamp, sat a purple McLaren 720S. The midnight purple paint of the McLaren seemed alive reflecting the neon lights and scattering flashes of violet. The car’s low, sleek form felt alive, like it was waiting for me to notice. I stood there, heart thumping, thinking, This is…
A Memory of September’s Electric Air I remember the chill in the air that September in 2024, standing outside a nondescript warehouse in Brooklyn during New York Fashion Week, my breath fogging up as the line snaked around the block. It was one of those moments where everything felt alive, electric the hum of voices, the click of heels on pavement, the faint scent of rain mixed with someone’s overpriced perfume. I’d snuck in on a friend’s invite, not really knowing what to expect, just chasing that whisper of something bigger than myself. Fashion week 2024, it hit me then,…