Excerpt
Midnight Sun and Moonlight Hearts
In the farthest reaches of the world, beyond towering mountains and endless forests, lay a village unlike any other. This village was unique because it existed at the very edge of the Arctic Circle, where the sun never fully set in summer and never fully rose in winter. Here, the people lived by the rhythms of the midnight sun and the haunting glow of the moonlight hearts.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
Love in the Time of Dial-Up
In the fall of 1999, when the world was still bracing for Y2K and everyone saved their documents on floppy disks, love bloomed slowly—pixel by pixel, word by word, across the shaky lines of dial-up internet. Back then, the web was not yet a stream but a sputter. Connections were noisy, unreliable, and precious. It was in this static-laced symphony that Adam met Eliza.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
In Love With a Stranger on the Train
It started on a Tuesday—ordinary, gray, unremarkable. The kind of morning when the sky forgets to rise with conviction and people shrink into their coats, blending into the city’s shuffle. Mia boarded the 7:45 a.m. commuter train from Willow Creek to downtown like she did every day, earbuds in, coffee in hand, mind already halfway through her to-do list.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
Rain Fell, and So Did I
The sky was a heavy, bruised gray when I stepped outside that afternoon. I hadn’t noticed the weather report—probably because I didn’t want to. Sometimes, ignorance feels like protection. But as the first cold drops began to fall, I knew I was caught unprepared. The rain had come sudden and relentless, as if the heavens themselves were weeping for reasons I could only guess at.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
The Shape of Love in the Dark
The world went dark for Lila one winter morning when her vision vanished without warning. It had begun with blurred shapes, flashes of light, and migraines. Doctors called it a rare degenerative condition—fast, irreversible, incurable. By the time the snow had melted, Lila lived in permanent night.
By Haris Raheemabout a year ago in Fiction
The Chocolate Soldier . Content Warning. AI-Generated.
Pennsylvania, 1943 They called it Operation Sugar Rush and Private Joe Kowalski carried its secret in his duffel bag: 12 pounds of dark chocolate bars stamped For Military Use Only. Joe wasn’t supposed to open them. But as his troop train rattled toward New York Harbor, a sobbing girl in a patched dress changed everything. She’d lost her doll. Joe slipped her a chocolate squar. Shh, kid. This is magic rations.Her smile cracked his resolve.
By Tariq Pathan about a year ago in Fiction
The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
By Nadeem Shah I found the letter by accident. Tucked inside the back of my mother’s worn-out recipe book, behind a page smudged with gravy stains and faint ink scribbles about nutmeg, was an envelope that didn’t belong. It was brittle, yellowed with age, and sealed with a faded wax stamp I didn’t recognize.
By Nadeem Shah about a year ago in Fiction
The Clock That Ticked Backwards”
Part 1: The Discovery I had never seen a clock like that before. It wasn’t beautiful or fancy. It had a plain wooden frame, a cracked glass face, and bold black numbers. But what made it unusual wasn’t how it looked — it was how it behaved.
By Naimat ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
Kindness Tastes Like Lemon Tea. AI-Generated.
I never liked tea. Not the bitter green kind, not the herbal kind my mom kept insisting would help me “balance out,” and definitely not the flowery ones that tasted like wilted garden petals. But I drank it anyway—every day at 4:15—for nearly four months, sitting at a round table by a window in Mrs. Calloway’s faded yellow kitchen.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
