Mystery
Somebody's Someone - Chapter Three
Yennia found it impossible to completely cut off Zak—no matter how far she moved or how well Khand treated her. There was something about Zak that kept him tethered to her. He wasn’t gentle, but he knew how to play it cool. His slick talk and confidence had just enough charm to make her second-guess what she already knew. Even when he manipulated her, his words sounded like concern; and despite knowing better, she didn’t always act on it. Khand saw through her behavior. He never confronted her outright, but he understood: whenever she ghosted him, it was because Zak had slipped back into her life. She would vanish for a few days, barely respond to texts, then reappear as if nothing had happened. Khand learned not to chase those silences—they always carried Zak's shadow.
By Neshzivne Dadirriabout a year ago in Chapters
Crossroads
The rain had just stopped when Ayaan stood at the edge of the railway platform, his suitcase soaked from the journey, his heart heavier than ever. The station, though nearly empty, buzzed with quiet lives moving forward — announcements echoed, a tea vendor shouted half-heartedly, and pigeons cooed from the rafters above. Ayaan had no idea why he was there. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to admit it. Ten years ago, he had left his small town with a promise: to never return. Not after the accident. Not after everything had fallen apart — his dreams, his friendships, and most of all, his trust in fate. But life had a strange way of circling back. His father’s sudden death had summoned him, not with warmth, but with duty. Ayaan wasn’t ready to face what he had buried — memories, regrets, people he’d wronged, and one person he never truly stopped loving. Zara. She had once been the fire in his soul — bold, defiant, beautiful. A poet in a world that never made sense to either of them. They had plans, wild and naive: to leave town, build a life in the city, conquer the world with words and ideas. But Destiny laughed. A simple late-night drive, a sudden turn, and his younger brother — the only family he had left — was gone. Ayaan was behind the wheel. Nothing was ever the same. He had vanished from Zara’s life without a goodbye. --- Now, standing again in the town he tried to forget, he made his way toward the old bookstore. It still stood there, dustier and more forgotten than before, but familiar. The bell above the door chimed exactly the same way it used to when they would sneak in just to read poetry under the dim yellow light. A woman looked up from behind the counter. Her. Older, sharper. Her hair was shorter now. But the fire was still there, flickering in her eyes. “Ayaan?” she said. Not with surprise. More like a statement. As if she’d always known he would return. He nodded. “Didn’t expect you at the funeral,” she added. “I came late. Stayed in the back.” “I figured.” Silence lingered like an old habit. He looked around. The same shelves. The same scent of aging paper. And yet, something had changed — maybe everything. “Why did you keep the store?” he asked. She smiled faintly. “Because some things deserve to survive. Even if the people don’t.” He winced. Her words stung, but they were true. “I never stopped thinking about you,” he said. “I did,” she replied, without malice. “I had to.” --- They sat on the bench outside the store as dusk settled in. The sky turned from gold to lavender. Ayaan listened to her talk about how the town had changed — new mayor, more tourists, fewer dreams. She never left. Not because she couldn’t, but because she didn’t want to. “I thought I was escaping fate,” he said quietly. “But maybe I was just delaying it.” “Some people think destiny is written in stars,” she said. “But I think it’s written in choices. Yours took you away. Mine kept me here.” He nodded. “Do you think we still get to choose?” She looked at him. For a long time, she didn’t speak. Then she said, “Only if we stop running.” --- That night, Ayaan stood on the rooftop of his old house. The town was still, wrapped in silence and memory. He had a train to catch the next morning. A life waited for him elsewhere — a job, a rented apartment, the same routine he had convinced himself was enough. But something had shifted. Destiny, he realized, wasn’t a destination. It wasn’t a single moment, either. It was a web of moments, strung together by the courage to show up. To return. To forgive. To choose. --- The next morning, Zara opened the bookstore and found a familiar suitcase by the door. And beside it, a note in Ayaan’s handwriting: “Some stories deserve a second chapter. If you’ll have me, I’d like to write it with you.” She smiled, folded the note carefully, and looked up at the morning sky. Sometimes, Destiny doesn’t knock. It waits — patiently, silently — at the crossroads. Until you’re ready.
By Tayyab Khanabout a year ago in Chapters
He Was the Right Person—At the Wrong Chapter
He Was the Right Person—At the Wrong Chapter Written By Shah Zai It was the kind of February that comes with grey skies, wet sidewalks, and too many unresolved thoughts. I was 24, newly moved to a city I didn’t belong to, carrying a suitcase full of dreams I hadn’t unpacked. The coffee shop where I worked part-time smelled like roasted beans and broken promises—half the customers were freelancers trying to write their novels; the other half were couples too deep in silence to bother with small talk. Then he walked in. Jake. With that crooked grin like he knew something you didn’t. A camera slung across his shoulder. Leather-bound notebook peeking from his coat pocket. He wasn’t flashy, but he noticed things. When he ordered, he called me by name. I hadn’t even worn my nametag that day. "First day?" he asked, casually. I blinked. "Third." "Still counts," he said, handing me a $10 tip on a $3 coffee. "Good luck surviving this city." He came back the next day. And the day after. Each time, he’d leave behind a napkin with a small doodle or a line of poetry. One said, “Even the moon gets lonely when the sun forgets to say goodbye.” I didn’t know if he meant it for me, but I started to collect them anyway. We didn’t fall in love instantly. That would’ve been too easy. I was still healing from someone who made love feel like a transaction. Who measured affection in apologies and made me believe my silence was safer than my truth. Jake was patient. Never asked for explanations, but left space for them if I ever felt ready. We’d walk for hours after my shifts—he’d take pictures of neon signs and alley murals while I told him stories I hadn't told anyone in years. I asked him once why he kept photographing things that were fading. “Because,” he said, adjusting the lens, “they’re real. Honest. They don’t pretend to be anything else.” That night, under the dull glow of a streetlamp, he kissed me for the first time. And for the first time in years, I didn’t flinch. We weren’t perfect. I had my walls; he had his ghosts. But we tried. He’d make late-night playlists and send them with captions like “for when the world feels too loud.” I’d write him letters I never gave, because part of me was still afraid he’d leave. He told me once, “If I ever hurt you, it won’t be on purpose.” He didn’t lie. But life… life didn’t care about purpose. The unraveling came slowly, like winter fading into spring—you don’t notice it until the warmth feels unfamiliar. His visits to the café became less frequent. His notebook stayed shut. I found myself re-reading old napkin notes like scriptures from a fading religion. I asked, “Is something wrong?” He smiled, too quickly. “No, just busy. Work’s chaotic.” But chaos had never stopped him before. The truth came three weeks later. He got an offer. Berlin. A year-long artist residency. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, sitting across from me, hands clenched like a child waiting to be scolded. “I would’ve been happy for you,” I whispered. “I still want us,” he said. “We can try long-distance. Video calls. Letters. I’ll come back—” But we both knew. You don’t pause a chapter hoping the story will resume the same. He left in April. I stood at the airport gate, holding a sketch he’d made of me. I told him I loved him. Not so he’d stay—but so he’d know. He kissed my forehead and said, “Wrong timing, right person.” And then he was gone. People say closure comes with time. That you forget the details, that the ache dulls. But that’s not always true. It’s been three years. I’ve moved on. Different job. Different city. I’ve dated since. Some were kind. Some were temporary. None were him. And sometimes, when it rains, I pull out that old notebook I eventually asked for. Inside are napkin notes, sketches, a plane ticket stub. And one last entry, in his handwriting: “You were the first place that felt like home. I just wasn’t ready to unpack.” I don’t regret loving him. He didn’t promise forever. He promised presence. And sometimes, that’s braver. He was the right person. Just… at the wrong chapter. But what a chapter it was.
By Moonlit Lettersabout a year ago in Chapters
Dead Man's Playlist: Chapter 10
Junie hadn’t gone back into the storeroom since the incident. She told herself it was silly. Chalk it up to a long shift, a shadow, a weird customer with a weirder sense of humor. The basement light had always flickered. The man could’ve just looked like someone she once saw in a dream. The way trauma warped memory, it was a known thing.
By Aspen Nobleabout a year ago in Chapters
After The Sunset The Stars As My Witness. Content Warning.
Whispers paced around him with hints of his name. Blinking his eyes open his eyes were met by blurry figures hovering above him. When his eyes finally cleared, standing above him were two unfamiliar faces, he sat up to study his surroundings. Surrounded by trees that stood away from them, letting the sunlight dance between the three strangers before them. Choirs of birds screamed competitively, it seemed. Perseus ran his fingers through the soft rich grass trying to figure out how he'd gotten there as the two strangers studied him. Where am I? He silently asked himself. “Mycenae, your new home” The woman responded as if she read his mind. “Not yet, ” The man snapped “At Least let us Introduce ourselves first before we…” She shot a deadly glare that instantly muted and paralysed the man. She was dressed like a warrior ready for war, black hair as dark as charcoal. She had thick eyebrows that seemed to be permanently furrowed, her lips didn't show any sign of a crescent or welcoming expression, her face was hard. Her face seemed to exude anger, annoyance, dissatisfaction and boredom. Her eyes were a deep grey, that seemed like they could cause chaos and order by just glaring. They looked like the kind of eyes you wouldn't dare explore because it would drive you crazy, those eyes weren't the gateway to her soul but elsewhere. She stood with a perfect posture that revealed the weight of her confidence and authoritative aura, she was not to be messed with. Though Perseus would dare not to admit it through words or body language, this woman intimidated him a bit. “I am Athena, daughter of Zeus. I am the goddess of wisdom and war” she introduced herself. “And I am Hermes, also the son of Zeus. I am the herald to the gods and humans. I am the god of wealth and travellers” The man introduced himself. He was dressed like a traveller with a petasos adorned with a pair of wings with golden hair that seemed to have a tint of pink or mahogany or copper peeking from underneath his petasos. He had a smooth youthful face that made him appear to be a boy approaching his manhood or beginning the journey. He had a permanent smile engraved on his face even when he tried to be serious. He had blue eyes, reflecting adventure and excitement but a mystery as well. “We have come to assist you with your quest to retrieve Medusa’s head," Athena said, her eyes pinned on Perseus. Perseus found himself nodding involuntarily it seemed until he remembered that he was supposed to be going to Argos and nowhere else. “But…” Perseus attempted to concoct an excuse that was god worthy. Before he could come up with an excuse Hermes picked up a bag from beside Athena that seemed to have appeared from nowhere. “Our gifts to you,” Athena said, digging into the bag, dismissing whatever Perseus had attempted to say. She pulled out a golden band that illuminated a golden light on the engraving of a pair of eyes at the front, a pair of wings at the side, one on the left and the other on the right with claw marks randomly engraved throughout the band. “This is a crown. You must wear this when you encounter her. This will protect you from her deadly gaze, you will not be turned to stone.” She handed the band to Perseus. As soon as the band was in Perseus’ hands the light that illuminated and the engravings from it died out. The golden band was smooth; he could neither feel nor see the engravings that disappeared with the light. “This is the sword you will use to behead her. It can cut through anything even that which you can not see” she ran her finger across the blade cutting herself, her blood sinking into the sword like water on the soil. She handed Perseus the sword after studying the sword like she had never seen it before or a valued gift she didn't want to part with. “Be Careful, like the head of Medusa, when this sword falls into the wrong hands, inconceivable damage worse than that of Pandora” She watched Perseus’ eyes glimmer with excitement as he studied the magnificent sword that felt majestic and powerful in his hand. “This bag is where you will store the head and the sword for now,”She threw the bag from Hermes to Perseus. “And to get there…” she paused to stare at Hermes who was meant to finish what she had said “We will make sure as you cruise through the oceans or anywhere you will be safe” he said quickly turning away from them so he could leave. Athena Lunged in front of him clearing her throat with her jaws clenched and her grey gaze of terror looking straight into Hermes’ eyes “Oh, how could I forget” he said with a nervous hysterical laugh. He turned away to face Perseus with the annoyance and anger of someone who couldn't shoot the messenger. “For fast cruising…” He crouched, removing his sandals as slowly as he could without making it look like he was intentionally being slow, pretending like he was struggling to remove them. Finally he had taken his sandals off after an agonizing wait “These sandals will take you anywhere you want. They are as fast as lightning bolt,” Holding the sandals close to his chest as if he was giving away his life. “Only to be worn during emergencies…Do not damage them,” He said with an ingenuine smile because Athena stood near Perseus to have a clear view of Hermes. “And I will be dropping in to see…to check on you” He gently handed them to Perseus. “How do I use them?” Perseus asked. “ Would you like me to show you how to wear them too?” Hermes Sarcastically asked, throwing his hands onto his waist. “I dont know either.You will have to figure it out,”He scoffed with a menacing shrug. “How will I find her?” Perseus looked away from Hermes seeming unphased as he faced Athena. Before Athena could say anything Hermes dashed between them, his arms crossed his face attempting to be fearful “Firstly you’ll get a companion who will help…” “No need to search for them, they will offer themselves to your disposal” Athena Continued “After that…the gorgons location will be revealed to you by” Hermes dramatically paused, smirked with the excitement he had before or an attempt of an evil smile “AN EYE AND A TOOTH”He sighed waiting for Perseus to ask questions, but Perseus dared not to waste his time asking questions. He simply nodded hoping they’d add more to the information “And Perseus, when you have beheaded her bring her head to me. In Mycenae and in return I will gift this kingdom to you. Zeus, our father, will bless you and your kingdom with power and all the riches” Our father. That made shivers erupt all over his body, Athena had finally addressed their relation after what felt to him as though she was treating him like a mere mortal that they helped because of pity. She pointed out in the distance to show him his way out, As he walked he felt himself fade away from the realm. “Do you really think he will manage” Hermes attempted to whisper his doubt “Yes, he is more than capable” Athena responded coldly And I will be victorious Perseus whispered in his heart, disappearing from the realm that would be his. Lost in her thought, Medusa recounted her dreams like a vivid memory she shouldn't remember. It was the silhouette again but like all the times she had dreamed of it she couldnt tell what the shape was meant to be. They were searching for a waterfall, the river reaching her waist. When they found the waterfall, she was amazed by the view, she turned around but the silhoette was not there anymore. As her eyes paced around, they were caught by the water that had been pigmented by blood that surrounded her. As she tried to figure out why she seemed to be the epicenter of the blood she saw a sword in her hand and a deep wide wound where her heart was supposed to be. Before she could ask questions to herself she saw Athena’s reflection on the sword, all she could think of was to run because the last they had met she had regretted. Running through the water that hugged her and slowed her down, she started to sink, the more she fought the faster she sank. She woke up before she could hit the bottom “Medusa!!!” Euryale disturbed, peeking through the whole at the top of her cave. “Another dream you’re wondering about?” Euryale asked curiously. “Yes” Medusa responded a bit deflated climbing out of her cave “It’s the same dream again” she sat beside Euryale watching Meritus boarded the survivors on to boats to assist them escape. “The dreams seem to hint death” Medusa nudged Euryale “Mama always used to say such dreams mean the end of something to allow new beginings” Euryale tried reassure her. She scuffed at the thought of her getting a new begining. “Medusa…” Stheno shadow glided above them,interrupting Euryale “We have eachother” she continued before flew off to catch up⁰ with Stheno to follow the boats to make sure the survivors would remain survivors. Medusa watched her sisters fly further and further until they were as far as the stars. She ran her fingers on the scars engraved on her back rougher than her silk look scales, Her wings used to be there. Perseus paced back and forth as he watched the ship approach their final destination docking. Anxiously waiting for his mother who seemed to be discussing with the captain or probably thanking him. Finally she approached him. “Mama,” he cleared his throat, swallowing his tongue in the process. “Here,” He simply said giving his mother the bag. She studied the contents in the bag, everything seemed normal until she saw Hermes shoes. “Where did you find these?” Her eyes confused but scared. “I got it from the gods,” he whispred “Athena and Hermes,” he continued avoiding her eyes. Silence loomed between them. “Then I’ll go to Argos by myself. If the gods want you to do this who am I to stand in your way?” He had been hoping and praying she’d change her mind but didnt think it would be uncomfortable and make him feel guilty. “Perseus,” She said with a loving tone once more “Dont use this ship when you find out where Medusa is. To avoid hurting…innocent people,” He nodded slowly to avoid seeming he was excited. “And…” she ran her hand on the scar that peek out on his collar bone that seemed to travel deeper into his clothing “Promise me you will return to me, and if the the task seems impossible. Return to me…don't risk your life. Promise you will return”
By Ropafadzo Thokozani Zinyuke (Fadzo) about a year ago in Chapters
Dead Man's Playlist: Chapter 9
Junie woke to the smell of toasted bagels and the quiet hum of morning radio. For a moment, she let herself pretend things were normal. That she’d just overslept, that she hadn’t vanished for days with nothing but a cryptic note and a trail of records to explain her absence. But the illusion broke the moment she opened her door and saw Sasha in the kitchen, stirring honey into her tea.
By Aspen Nobleabout a year ago in Chapters
Dead Man's Playlist: Chapter 8
Junie woke later, sunlight filtering through the blinds in stripes that cut across her quilt like old scars. Her room felt heavier than usual, as if the fight from the night before had soaked into the walls and refused to dry out. She lay still for awhile, starting at the ceiling fan, watching it do slow, lazy circles.
By Aspen Nobleabout a year ago in Chapters
