Fantasy
A Stranger in Every Photograph
A Stranger in Every Photograph I found the photo album on a rainy Sunday afternoon, tucked behind boxes in the attic of my late grandmother’s house. Its leather cover was cracked and worn, the pages yellowed, and the smell of old paper and faint perfume clung to it like a ghost.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day the Colors Fled
The Day the Colors Fled It started quietly, as if the city had taken a deep breath and let all color escape. I woke to gray skies and streets stripped of vibrancy. My walls, my clothes, the garden outside—everything was a shade of ash, steel, and stone. Even the sunlight seemed pallid, like paper left too long in the sun. I rubbed my eyes, convinced it was a trick of sleep. But the world outside my window confirmed my fear.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Door That Knocks Back
The first night, it was just the wind. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. The old farmhouse had been in my family for three generations, and I’d always loved its stubborn quirks: the way the floorboards groaned like old men, the scent of cedar in the closets, the front porch that tilted just enough to spill your coffee if you weren’t paying attention.
By Masih Ullahabout a year ago in Fiction
The Café That Served Emotions
The Café That Served Emotions The café wasn’t on any map. Not in guidebooks, not on GPS, not even on the neon-lit streets of downtown. You stumbled upon it when you weren’t looking, through a narrow alley framed by ivy and flickering lanterns. The sign read simply: “Café Émotion”, its letters curling like smoke.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Letters to the Future Me
Letters to the Future Me It started on a Tuesday. I was pouring cereal at my tiny kitchen table when I noticed the envelope lying beside my bowl. Brown paper, neatly folded, with my name written in cursive I didn’t recognize. I opened it with cautious curiosity.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Man Who Knew How You’d Die
The Man Who Knew How You’d Die The bus smelled faintly of wet asphalt and stale coffee. It was late—past midnight—and only a handful of passengers sat scattered in their seats, staring at their phones or watching the city blur past.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Fiction
A Grimm’s Fallen. Content Warning.
As a young child, Mistie was a strange creature. His wings and hair were white, which was seen as a omen of bad fortune. In addition, he had more than one pair of wings, which labeled him as a cursed child. But Mistie was smart, and wanted to know more about the world.
By Natalie Irene Gonzales about a year ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse's Whisper
The sky was streaked with faded gold and bruised purples as the sun's last rays disappeared beneath the horizon. The first lantern was lit by Lina, and the warm flame flickered in the refreshing salt air. Her community constantly braced itself against the wind and the waves by clinging to the cliffs like a stubborn barnacle. She tended the flame that protected sailors every night as she made her way up the twisting road to the lighthouse. Her family had held the honor for many centuries, and the villagers referred to her as the Lantern Keeper.
By Muzamil khanabout a year ago in Fiction
