Aarsh Malik
Bio
Poet and storyteller who believes in the quiet power of words. Sharing self-help insights, fiction, and poetry on Vocal.
BUY COFFEE
Anaesthetist by profession.
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Stories (82)
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Inside the Mind of a Psychopath.
Most monsters don’t look like monsters. They don’t lurk in dark forests or hide behind masks. Sometimes they sit in classrooms, shake hands politely, and smile like everyone else. Sometimes they are the last person anyone would suspect.
By Aarsh Malikabout 6 hours ago in Criminal
Everyone Is Climbing, No One Is Arriving
The escalator moves whether you step on it or not. At the mall it hums softly beneath rows of fluorescent lights. People stand in quiet lines, carried upward in neat intervals. Some scroll through their phones. Some stare at the metal grooves beneath their shoes. Nobody questions where the escalator leads. Everyone assumes there is a floor waiting.
By Aarsh Malik2 days ago in Humans
My First Tip
Sometimes, when you share your writing on a platform, it can feel like sending a paper boat into a very wide ocean. You wonder if anyone will notice it drifting by. There are days when your words seem to disappear into silence, and you quietly keep writing anyway.
By Aarsh Malik7 days ago in Poets
A Different Kind of Freedom: Reflections on Women’s Day
Every year on the 8th of March, the world fills with slogans about women. Social media lights up with bright posters, companies post polished messages, and speeches echo the same familiar phrase: “Celebrate women’s freedom.”
By Aarsh Malik8 days ago in Humans
My Voice Is Back
There was a strange silence in my account for a while. Not the peaceful kind. The heavy kind. It was the kind of silence that lingers in the background, even when everything else looks normal. The stories were still there. The platform was still moving. People were still writing, sharing, reacting. But for me, something essential had paused. A part of my participation had been quietly switched off.
By Aarsh Malik14 days ago in Confessions
Still Here, Just Unable to Respond
I send my words like paper boats to sea, they drift in light, but never back to me. My name still stands where voices used to grow, yet every answer fades before it shows. To speak, be heard, yet never truly meet, is half a heartbeat skipping in defeat.
By Aarsh Malik22 days ago in Confessions
