Muhammed Ahmed Imran
Bio
A Pakistani writer who enjoys writing romantic and sad fiction and microfiction with a touch of the occasional poem or article.
Stories (12/0)
Fleeting Waves: A Love Lost in Silence
He smiles, and I wave back at him; this has become a daily routine by now. He lives where? I don’t know; his name is what? I don’t know, yet the sight of him at the park every morning during my routine jog makes my mind numb. Every day I curse myself for being too shy and not being able to go to a total stranger and pop the question. I haven’t been as productive as I was, and I don’t blame anyone but the handsome who jogs by me in the morning, roams my mind in the night, and has found an abode to live in my heart. What to say and what not to say, may one think when their mind works, mine is still numb. The worst he can say is NO. That’s what I keep telling myself, but a person who is not accustomed to rejection usually shys away from it.
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran11 months ago in Fiction
FADING ECHOES; BROKEN HEARTS
And I walked and walked and walked until I could no longer walk. The things that love makes you do. The sea with its rising and falling waves and the sun setting down with the gusts of wind that brushed my face every now and then—all of it mimicked a healthy conversation, a lively conversation, a joyful conversation. But alas, many things in life are not what they seem to be. My late mother used to say “Live life like you are living it the first time, Live life the way you would live it if you had another chance” To the normal brain, such a sentence would not be very comprehensible, and so it was not to me; I’m only human after all. But after all the sorrows and sufferings of this life and now the state I find myself in—dejection—do I think that one understands the philosophies of life and the profound essence of living life properly and to its fullest—or may one dare to argue, and if they do, then no wonder suicidal notes have become more common in this world all of a sudden.
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran12 months ago in Fiction
EVEN HEAVEN CHANGES
I remained rooted in place, my bare feet planted firmly on the ground, as I fixated my gaze upon the vast expanse of the horizon. A sense of anticipation filled the air, mingling with uncertainty, as I contemplated the possibilities that lay ahead and the outcomes that might never come to fruition within this very location.
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran12 months ago in Earth
THE ABANDONED HOUSE
The abandoned house stood at the edge of a nondescript, vacant cul-de-sac, with patches of ghost-grey fog being inhaled by the sky. The street lights indicated that the torch in my hand was the only reliable source of light. The fog dragged a cold breeze, which sent a chill up my spine. As I walked closer to the house, I saw things hinting that the place had been desolate. There were three steps to the huge wooden door, denuded of paint. The door was covered in cobwebs and grime. As I was about to open the door, from my peripheral vision, I saw a wooden horse—the rocking type—with a torn-apart seat made of leather. The horse was sitting on a thin layer of ice on the grass. It was a bleak mid-winter night, and it was showing
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran12 months ago in Fiction
REGRET; NOT AT ALL
She does not react…at all. I’m not shocked but rather relieved that she does not return my punch. Bittersweet. My clenched fist throbs with a dull ache, a testament to the force it had exerted. Yet, as my gaze fixates upon her once pristine white brassiere, now stained with a seeping crimson hue, an odd sense of satisfaction washes over me. Another coquette, another act of retribution fulfilled. In this twisted dance of give and take, my actions become a means of repaying the debts owed to me.
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran12 months ago in Fiction
MY CHRONICAL LIFE
I am in love with a fairytale. Even though it hurts. I continued to sprint tirelessly, my breaths coming in gasps as I desperately sought to distance myself from the harsh grasp of reality. How could I confront it? The overwhelming sense of déjà vu enveloped me, reminding me that not enough time had passed for me to erase the memory of this very place from my mind.
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran12 months ago in Fiction
PANDORA’S BOX; THE TRAPPED MEMORIES
I had finally decided to pay a visit to the abandoned house. As I approached it, I now saw the house more distinctly. It lay under a naked sky. The sun was directly overhead; it was near the summer solstice. It was a rather cool day because it had rained last night.
By Muhammed Ahmed Imran12 months ago in Fiction
