Dr. Vahid Husen Sayyad is a distinguished educator with over 18 years of dedicated experience in the field of education. Throughout his career, he has served as a teacher of English and Communication Skills, inspiring countless students with his passion for language and effective communication. His leadership skills led him to serve as a school principal, where he played a pivotal role in shaping educational environments and fostering academic excellence.

Dr. Sayyad is also a dynamic trainer, conducting impactful sessions for students, educators, and parents, equipping them with the tools needed for academic and personal growth. As an International Speaker, he has proudly represented India at various global conferences, sharing his insights and expertise on education and leadership.

Currently, Dr. Vahid Husen Sayyad is the Managing Director of American Education International, he is also actively involved in consultancy management, driving innovative educational strategies and initiatives. His unwavering commitment to education and his contributions to the global educational community continue to inspire and empower learners and professionals alike.

Pigeon and Dove

A pigeon has fallen in love.

Not with a pigeon but a dove.

They are so different from each other

But not departed from one another.

They talk the same love language.

Their feelings no one can discourage. 

Though none around them can accept.

The world cannot understand their concept 

They are completely different yet the same.

Their fault is none just the love is the blame.

They are gone beyond the tradition and above.

A pigeon has fallen in love.

Not with a pigeon but a dove.

The Lost King: Chapter-2

The flicker of the hearth cast long, shifting shadows on the walls, dancing to the rhythm of the storm

outside. Daisy stood in her modest kitchen, a King without armor, but with the same steady resolve. She stirred the porridge slowly, her mind not on the meal but on the events that had unfolded the night before. Her war suit, a symbol of her reign and power, had failed her. The experiment in the laboratory had left her unconscious on the cold floor, vulnerable—an experience she couldn’t forget. But today was not a day for fear. She was the King of Northumberland, and her strength came not just from her technology, but from the legacy she bore.

A soft rustle behind her made her grip the spoon tighter. She had learned long ago never to dismiss the silence—it often carried danger. She didn’t need to turn to know who had entered the room.

“Daisy,” a voice, as sharp as a blade, slithered through the air. Baron Kaldor, her step-uncle, the man who had always coveted the throne. “Is this how a King spends her days? In the kitchen? Playing mother?”

She turned slowly, her gaze meeting his with the cold clarity of one who had seen far too many betrayals to be surprised. In her plain tunic and trousers, she looked every bit the warrior she had become. Her eyes burned with the knowledge of battles fought and won, yet they were calm—measured.

“Kaldor,” she said, her voice low and controlled. “I see you’ve finally shown your face. What treachery brings you here today?”

Kaldor smirked, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. “Treachery, Daisy? No, no. I am here to claim what is rightfully mine. You, the throne—this kingdom—you never deserved them. You were a child playing with power. I am the true ruler.”

Her lips twitched, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Is that what you’ve told yourself? That the kingdom is yours by birthright?” She took a step forward, her voice dropping lower. “You forget one thing, Uncle. I earned this crown in blood.”

“Blood, yes,” he hissed, his patience wearing thin. “And today, more will be spilled. Guards!”

At his call, the door swung open, and Kaldor’s soldiers poured in, dressed in black, their faces masked, their hands armed with weapons gleaming in the dim light. These were no ordinary soldiers; they moved with the precision of warriors, their bodies trained in the ancient discipline of the samurai. Daisy’s eyes darted over them, assessing their skills with the sharp instinct of a battle hardened warrior.

“Samurai,” she murmured under her breath, a flicker of respect touching her lips. “You’ve brought an army of shadows. Clever, but not enough.”

Kaldor grinned, the cruelty in his eyes darkening. “They will be more than enough, dear niece. You will not leave this room alive.”

Without hesitation, Daisy reached behind the kitchen door and drew out a sword—a simple weapon compared to her war suit, but one that had served her well in the past. The blade felt right in her hands, balanced, familiar. She had fought too many battles to rely on armor alone. She was the King, and she needed no more than her strength, her skill, and her will.

“You always did underestimate me, Kaldor,” she said, the faintest hint of a smile playing at her lips. “That will be your undoing.”

As the assassins advanced, Daisy moved like the seasoned warrior she was. Her sword met theirs with a sharp clang, her strikes swift and precise. She spun, parrying blows and delivering lethal strikes with a calm focus, her movements a deadly dance of steel and sinew. Every breath was measured, every strike purposeful.

But even as she fought, Daisy knew she was not alone.

The air shifted, a cold wind seeming to swirl around her, and from the shadows, he appeared.

The Knight.

His presence was felt before it was seen, a force as old as the kingdom itself. His black armor, etched with ancient runes, shimmered under the low light, and his katana, a weapon honed over centuries, gleamed in the dim glow. His face was marked by the scars of a thousand battles, yet his eyes remained sharp, his purpose clear. He had fought for this kingdom long before Daisy’s time, and he would continue to fight for it until his oath was fulfilled.

“Your Majesty,” his voice was deep and calm, like the stillness before a storm. “I am here.”

Daisy’s heart surged with renewed strength. She had expected him. The Knight was her guardian, a warrior bound to her by an oath that transcended lifetimes. Together, they had fought through wars, rebellions, and treacheries far worse than this.

With the Knight at her side, the battle shifted. His katana moved like lightning, cutting down Kaldor’s assassins with terrifying precision. The samurai faltered, their well-trained hands unable to match the Knight’s centuries-honed skill. Daisy fought alongside him, their movements synchronized as if they were one. She cut through her enemies with the fierceness of a King who knew her kingdom’s fate rested on this moment.

Kaldor, seeing his men fall one by one, grew pale with fear. He backed away, his bravado crumbling into desperation. “This isn’t over!” he shouted, his voice shaking as he retreated. “You cannot hold the throne forever, Daisy! You will fall, just like your brother!”

Daisy turned her cold gaze toward him, her sword dripping with the blood of traitors. “You are wrong, Kaldor. I am the King, and Northumberland will never fall.”

The baron turned and fled into the shadows, his cowardice on full display.

As the last of the samurai crumpled to the floor, the room fell into silence. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire and the faint rustle of Chevon’s doll. Daisy sheathed her sword, her body still humming with the adrenaline of battle. The Knight, his katana now clean, bowed his head slightly in respect.

“My King,” he said quietly, “as always, I am at your service.”

Daisy met his gaze, her expression one of quiet gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, her voice steady, “but you serve more than just me. You serve the kingdom. And together, we protect it.”

The Knight nodded once before retreating back into the shadows, his duty, for now, complete.

Daisy’s eyes softened as she turned toward her daughter. Chevon, who had watched it all in silence, still sat at the table, her wide eyes full of quiet wonder. In her hands, she held her doll tightly. But there was something new—a strip of fabric clutched in her small fist. Daisy’s breath caught as she saw the familiar symbol embroidered upon it: the phoenix, the ancient emblem of the Knight’s eternal vow.

She knelt beside her daughter, gently brushing her hair from her face. “Are you all right, my love?”

Chevon nodded, her little fingers still gripping the symbol tightly. “I’m fine, Mummy. But… who was that man?”

Daisy smiled softly, her eyes glinting with the weight of history. “He’s someone who has always been here. Someone who will always protect us.”

Chevon held up the fabric, her eyes curious. “What’s this?”

Daisy gazed at the symbol, her heart full of pride and resolve. “It’s a reminder,” she said, her voice a whisper. “That no matter what happens, we will never be alone.”

As she stood, the dawn’s light crept into the room, casting long shadows across the floor. Daisy looked out the window, her mind sharp, her heart strong. The battle was over, for now, but the war would continue. And she, the King of Northumberland, would be ready.

Always.