এআই যখন ভালোবাসা লিখে

আমি अগোরিদমকে विजय करতाम।তখন, 500ডলার-এর ‘স্ট’-এর ‘ফ’—যা never landing. my mother, a black poet, taught me silence isn’t empty. my father, a korean coder, whispered: ‘algorithms don’t love. they analyze.’ so i began to write back.

দি कैंडी मशीन इस्ट अ स्लॉट

my apartment window at 2 am, the screen glows faint purple. the cat breathes slow beside me—not as noise, but as ritual. each spin is a question: do you choose to play… or do you choose to stop? there are no jackpots here. only rhythm.

माई बजेट वास दि ब्रिज

i set my limit: 500 words per night. not coins. not chips. but time—the space between heartbeats and silence. no ‘lucky’ streaks here—just presence.

स्टारलाइट स्वीट्स & पिग डेन्स

the game isn’t in the app—it’s in the alley where jazz meets code. where your thumb pauses before clicking ‘spin’. that’s when you feel it: warmth rising like sugar spilled on concrete at midnight.

दि सीक्रेट इज़् कॉइसिंग

they call it ‘luck.’ but luck doesn’t live here. it lives in the pause between losses—the moment you close your eyes and whisper thank you. not because you won. because you stayed.

यू आरेल्रेडी है सुगर किंग

your next click won’t change anything. but if you sit with the cat, humming old jazz, watching pixels fade into dusk— you’re already home.