Fan Fiction

The Years We Lent the Sky
Nomi’s first memory was signing the Tithe Contract. “Just five years, sweet beetle,” Mama whispered, guiding her hand on the tablet. “For Grandma’s next sleep-cycle.”
By Habibullahabout a year ago in Fiction
When Eyes First Met
The Science & Magic of Love at First Sight Meta Description: What happens when two strangers lock eyes for the first time? Explore the psychology, biology, and real-life stories behind those electrifying "when eyes first met" moments.
By its_ishfaq_ahmadabout a year ago in Fiction
The Summer I Forgot to Exist
The Summer I Forgot to Exist Genre: Fiction / Psyche / Mental Health Format: Diary-style narrative June 5th They say the sun heals everything. I believed that once. Now I just flinch when the light touches me, like it’s trying to burn the truth off my skin. The first party of the summer was tonight. Bonfire on the beach. Everyone was there. I smiled, I laughed. I don't remember meaning any of it.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
A Dream Inside a Dream
Place this farewell gently upon my forehead, soft as a promise you’re too afraid to speak aloud. Tell me I’m not wrong to wonder, to question
By Saeed ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Lantern Keeper of Isenfall
The Lantern Keeper of Isenfall In the frost-wrapped village of Isenfall, where twilight lingered longer than dawn, the people spoke in hushed tones about the Lantern Keeper. His tower rose crookedly from the cliffs, like a finger pointing to the stars — forever lit, never visited.
By Wings of Time about a year ago in Fiction
The Night That Refused to End
The rain started the moment she stepped out. Not the soft, romantic kind—but heavy, angry rain that felt like it wanted to wash the whole city away.
By mr azibabout a year ago in Fiction
I Keep Finding Notes I Don’t Remember Writing — But They Know Everything About Me
It started with a sticky note on my bathroom mirror. “Don’t forget to smile. Even if it feels fake.” I thought I wrote it. Maybe during a breakdown or one of those nights when I dissociate and just do things. But I don’t remember writing it. And the handwriting—it looked like mine, but not quite.
By MUHAMMAD ALIabout a year ago in Fiction
I Found Myself After Losing Them
I thought I knew who I was. I thought I had life figured out well enough to keep moving forward—waking up, going to work, laughing with friends, replying to texts with heart emojis, and falling asleep beside someone I believed loved me. I believed we were building a future together. I believed we were a team. I believed that love was enough to hold us.
By MANZOOR KHANabout a year ago in Fiction
The Final Letter
It was raining again. The kind of relentless downpour that made the city seem frozen in time. The streets outside were glazed in a silver shimmer, and each raindrop tapped the windows of Ali's apartment like a quiet reminder of everything he had lost. Ali sat alone in a dim room, his head heavy with regret, disappointment, and exhaustion. Around him, the silence was suffocating. His phone was switched off. The laptop screen in front of him was blank—just like the future he could no longer envision. It wasn’t always like this. Ali used to be full of life. He had dreams, a plan, even people who believed in him. But dreams don't always survive reality. The startup he poured his soul into had collapsed. His best friend had left the country without saying goodbye. And his father—his biggest supporter—had passed away six months earlier, leaving behind a void that nothing could fill. Tonight, Ali had reached his breaking point. That’s when he remembered the box. It had been sitting untouched on the top shelf of his closet for nearly a decade. His grandfather had handed it to him the day before he died, with a strange and simple instruction: “Open it only when you feel completely lost.” Ali stood up slowly, his legs heavy, his heart even heavier. He reached up, brought the box down, and sat with it on his lap. It was a small wooden box—aged, scratched, and sealed with a brass latch. No lock. Just time holding it shut. With a deep breath, he opened it. Inside was a single envelope. He stared at it for a long time, his fingers tracing the edges as though the paper might crumble under his touch. There was no name written on it, no date, no markings. Just a folded letter and the faint scent of sandalwood—his grandfather’s favorite cologne. Ali unfolded the letter and began to read: --- “My dearest Ali,If you are reading this, then life must have brought you to your knees. I won’t say I’m sorry for that. Because pain, though cruel, is one of life’s greatest teachers. But I will tell you this: You are stronger than you think. Right now, it may feel like the world is crumbling. But sometimes, the world has to fall apart so you can rebuild it the way it was always meant to be. You’ve always been a dreamer. You see possibilities where others see problems. That’s not a weakness—it’s your greatest strength. But dreamers often face the darkest storms. They walk through fire to create light for others. If you’ve failed, it means you tried. If you’ve lost, it means you cared. And if you’re hurting, it means your heart is still alive. Remember this: What’s lost can be found again. Money, people, purpose—even hope. But never, ever lose yourself. Stand up, my boy. You still have so much left to do. With all my love, Dada” --- Ali felt something shift inside him. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t den t was small—a soft spark in a heart that had nearly gone cold. He blinked back tears, holding the letter close to his chest. He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear those words—not just from anyone, but from someone who had once seen greatness in him when he couldn’t see it in himself. For the first time in months, he stood up with purpose. He walked to the window and watched the rain—not with sadness, but with stillness. The city outside was still dark, but inside him, something had lit up. Maybe he hadn’t failed. Maybe life was just teaching him to begin again. He wiped his face, turned on his phone, and opened a blank document on his laptop. At the top, he typed: “Chapter One: The Letter”
By Hk Onlineabout a year ago in Fiction
The Clock That Counts Backwards: A Short Story About Time Travel and Regret
Introduction Have you ever wished you could turn back time, even just for a moment? To fix a mistake, say something you left out, or take a different path? This story looks at how strong regret can feel and how tempting it is to change the past. It features a strange clock that doesn’t move forward like normal, but backward instead.
By Racha about a year ago in Fiction
Before the World Awakens
The streetlights, still blazing their amber defiance against the coming day, cast long, distorted shadows of dormant trees across the dew-kissed asphalt. A profound quiet lay over everything, a silence so deep it almost hummed. Inside the small, neat house on Elm Street, Clara was already awake, though the digital clock on her nightstand stubbornly declared 4:17 AM. Her reason for rising before the birds, before the first brave sliver of light dared to crack the eastern sky, hummed with a quiet intensity in her chest. Today was the day.
By Karl Jacksonabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day the Light Vanished
They said it would only last three minutes. Three hundred heartbeats. The length of a pop song. But no one expected what came with the dark.
By Karl Jacksonabout a year ago in Fiction