Love
Love at first sight in coffee shop
It was the kind of morning that smelled like rain and second chances. The little coffee shop on 8th and Main—Bean & Bloom—was bustling with quiet conversations and the rich scent of roasted beans. She came in every Saturday at 9:04 AM, always ordering the same thing: medium oat milk latte, one pump of vanilla, no foam.
By Dr Gabriel about a year ago in Fiction
The Platform Where He Waited
The sky was heavy with low, grey clouds as if it mourned something unspoken. The breeze carried a chill, not just from the cold, but perhaps from memory. On days like this, time felt slow, and the ordinary took on a strange beauty.
By Md Jubayer Hasan Tanvirabout a year ago in Fiction
Pilgrim’s Price
She came with dust on her boots and a prayer on her lips. The town was too quiet. Shops still had fruit in their baskets—wrinkled, dry. Horses stood frozen like statues. Children curled on porches as if caught mid-laughter. But no one breathed. No one blinked.
By F. M. Rayaanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Silent Choir
They called him the Mute Miracle. No one remembered his name—only his presence. A calm figure who walked through broken villages with a satchel of herbs and a soul full of song. But no one had ever heard his voice. Only a low hum, like a lullaby echoing from another world. When he placed his hands on wounds, the pain lessened. When he closed his eyes, the restless slept.
By F. M. Rayaanabout a year ago in Fiction
Ashes of the Burned
When Aelia's village was reduced to ash by the Unitist Seekers, all that remained was silence—and her. The fire that consumed her home did not touch her skin, but it scarred her soul. Justice was preached as flames devoured her past. The Seekers called it divine cleansing. She called it annihilation.
By F. M. Rayaanabout a year ago in Fiction
"Echoes of the Unexpected: Today’s Tale of Fate and Fortune"
When ordinary moments unravel into extraordinary destinies. The town of Evershade was the sort of place you might pass through without remembering. Tucked between dense woods and rolling hills, it clung to traditions long forgotten by the rest of the world. The streets were lined with timeworn cobblestones, and the air always carried the scent of pine and old stories.
By Kine Willimesabout a year ago in Fiction
The Widow’s Watch
Perched on the wind-beaten cliffs of Darnham Bay stood Greystone Manor, a crumbling Victorian estate known less for its grandeur and more for its sorrowful legend. At its highest point rose a narrow tower with a single arched window—locals called it the Widow’s Watch. And there, every evening at precisely 7:00 p.m., a figure in black was said to appear, peering out toward the sea.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
Inheritance: The Lost Prayer
The ruins of the monastery always whispered, but no one listened anymore. Toma did. He had grown up on their edges, sleeping under shattered stone arches and moss-covered saints whose faces time had erased. The villagers called him "beynaam" — the nameless. No parents, no lineage, just a boy who wandered too close to sacred ground.
By F. M. Rayaanabout a year ago in Fiction
