Fiction
“The Room with No Name”
She walked into the room like a question begging to be answered. Barefoot, half-robed, skin tasting of lavender and doubt. Her name was Elizabeth — soft lips, storm eyes, and a tension in her step that betrayed everything she tried to hide.
By Randolphe Tanoguemabout a year ago in Chapters
Dating in the wild
I wake up before the alarm and check my phone to make sure I haven’t overslept. It always feels like I’ve been robbed of something precious when I wake before my allotted time. I dreamt about my kiss with Beatrice and felt the rough caress of the seam of my underwear as I began dry humping the mattress. I had to roll over to smooth the friction. I need to get up for work, but it’s hard to resist the urge to rub the length of the wooden pole I’ve erected beneath the sheets. I bite my lip and fist the duvet before yanking it away and swinging my legs, and my pole free of the makeshift tent, and make the mental note that now is not the time for urges.
By Simon Georgeabout a year ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 211. Top Story - July 2025.
Loreen never attended a faith-based service. In her forty-one years, she had been to weddings and funerals but not a full Sunday service. This moment did not change that constant trajectory, her six-year-old son Bonham asked her, “Mommy, why don’t we go to church?”
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 14. Top Story - July 2025.
Anu made it to the bottom of the wall first. The climb hadn’t been as bad as she imagined. It was Jonas who struggled, and he was still only halfway down. As she waited, Anu used her light to get a good look at their surroundings. Things were more amazing than imagined. The entire world they dropped into was something that shouldn’t exist.
By Jason Mortonabout a year ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 210
Common Man drafted a pamphlet he published to the Internet. It consisted of his own principles made explicit through his blistering prose. Fiery and angry, the piece spread across the web tinged with bitterness and ferocious bite. The malignancy of the document emboldened some and enraged others.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
Star F#@!e . Content Warning. AI-Generated.
With two hundred dollars in her wallet, three crop tops in her duffel bag, and a mouth full of ambition, Ava Clark stepped off the Greyhound bus like she was arriving at a movie premiere. She paused on the sidewalk, adjusted her oversized sunglasses—ones she bought from a gas station outside Gilroy—and took in Los Angeles as if the city owed her an apology for not discovering her sooner.
By Travis Johnsonabout a year ago in Chapters
Businesswoman Chapter 209
Her legs stretched into six thousand dollar pumps. She wore an eight thousand LBD. Wood floors added character to her apartment above a skyscraper in Wilmington, Delaware. Portraits and landscapes dotted the walls and further colored the ideal of her ambience.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
African American Serial Killers Part 11
One of the most infamous monsters in serial killer history, Mark Goudeau otherwise known as the Baseline Killer, silenced nine lives and violated many more. His name is related to the street where most of the attacks took place.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Chapters
“The Dog Who Waited”
There’s an old, rusted bench on Platform 3 of the city’s railway station. It doesn’t stand out. Just a forgotten seat among the noise of daily commuters, screeching train brakes, and hawkers calling out snacks and tea. But every day, just before sunset, a dusty brown dog comes and sits beside it. Nobody remembers exactly when he started showing up. Some say it’s been two years. Others believe longer. But what everyone agrees on is this: he’s always there before the 6:45 train arrives from the north. Same time. Same spot. Same silence. The dog isn’t aggressive. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t even move much. He just sits — tail curled, ears alert, and eyes fixed on the tracks, as though searching for someone lost in time. The station staff have given him a name: Loyal. Some vendors feed him scraps. Children sometimes try to play with him. But Loyal rarely reacts. His focus never wavers. He is waiting. And it turns out, there’s a story behind it. Arif, a retired ticket master, tells it like this: Two years ago, a man would come to the station with this same dog. Middle-aged, grey in his beard, always wearing a plain white kurta and carrying a worn-out leather bag. He would sit on that very bench, eyes tired but hopeful. Every weekend, his daughter returned from the city where she studied. The father waited for her train without fail. The dog lay at his feet, tail wagging each time a train approached, as though it could smell her return. Then, one day, the man came alone. No daughter arrived. Some said she had died in an accident. Others whispered about heartbreak or migration. No one really knew. But the man kept coming. For days. Then weeks. And then months. Until one day… he didn’t. But the dog never stopped. Since then, he has shown up every evening before 6:45. Rain or shine. Limping sometimes, dirty and soaked other times, but always there. Always waiting. His story remained a quiet mystery — until a traveler took a picture of him, sitting solemnly beside the empty bench, and posted it online with the caption: > “He’s still waiting for someone who may never return.” The image went viral. People called him the "Hachiko of Pakistan." Animal shelters offered to take him in. Families wanted to adopt him. One YouTuber even tried to do a live stream titled “Saving Loyal”. But Loyal wouldn’t let anyone take him. He ran back to Platform 3, tail low but legs determined. He had already chosen comfort in purpose rather than comfort in shelter. Eventually, the locals adapted to him. Someone placed a clean water bowl near his bench. Another painted a sign: > “Reserved for Loyal.” The current station master even made it official — Loyal was declared the “Honorary Guard of Platform 3.” Over time, stories about him multiplied. One rainy evening, a child who had gotten separated from his parents claimed the dog sat next to him the entire time until help arrived. Another time, Loyal barked at a man trying to pickpocket an elderly woman — his first known bark at a human. He was no longer just a waiting dog. He had become a quiet guardian. A symbol. Of unwavering love. Of timeless loyalty. Of quiet heartbreak wrapped in fur. --- But the story didn’t end there. One winter evening, something changed. A young woman stepped onto Platform 3 wearing a long wool coat, suitcase in hand, eyes tired from travel or life — perhaps both. She paused as she walked by the bench. The dog stood up — something he rarely did. He stared at her, ears perked, tail slightly lifted. She looked down at him. And in that moment… something passed between them. Recognition? Memory? Guilt? She slowly shook her head and walked on. The dog followed her for a few steps. Then turned back. And sat by the bench once more. Later, it was confirmed. She was the daughter. The same girl the man used to wait for. She hadn’t died. She had simply... stayed away. Estranged from her father over an old argument. She had moved abroad. Time passed. Distance grew. Shame settled in. And she never returned. Until now. She didn’t know her father had died nearly a year ago. And she certainly didn’t expect the dog to still be there — like a living echo of the past she had buried. She sat on the bench and cried. The dog gently rested his head on her lap. It was the only time anyone ever saw him touch another human being. She stayed in the city a few days. Visited the grave. Then she left again. And the dog stayed. Some believe now he waits not just for the father who stopped arriving… but for the daughter who returned once and left again. Or perhaps… he just waits for what the bench remembers. --- If you go to Platform 3 today, you’ll still find Loyal. Still staring. Still waiting. Tail still. Body still. But the heart? Maybe full of memories he can’t forget. He has become more than a dog. He is a part of the station now — a living statue of emotion. A reminder that the ones we wait for shape who we become. And that sometimes, those who leave don’t realize what remains behind. Sometimes, the deepest love doesn’t demand. It doesn’t ask. It just… endures. People often say dogs are man’s best friend. But Loyal is something more. He is love without explanation. He is grief without complaint. He is hope without conditions. And he’s still there. Waiting. Not because someone will return… …but because someone once did. --- Would you like me to:
By Asif nawazabout a year ago in Chapters
Why My Ex Thanked Me Years After Our Breakup
On a quiet Monday morning, Mira unlocked her phone and froze at the message: “Hey. I just wanted to say… thank you.” It had been four years since she and Alex ended things. No contact. No explanations. No goodbye beyond the void. And now, six simple words.
By Muhammad Saeedabout a year ago in Chapters
