Love
The Donkey's Grave
A Fakir was very pleased with the service of a Banjara. And he gifted a donkey to that Banjara. The Banjara was very happy. With the donkey, he no longer had to travel on foot. He did not have to carry his luggage on his shoulders either. And the donkey was very devoted to its lord.
By Nikita Angelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Light Beneath the Honeysuckle
At precisely six in the morning, the kitchen flickers to life with a warm, golden glow. My mother, clad in her well-worn black blouse, sweeps her hair into a loose bun, tucking away stray strands with practiced ease. In the rising steam of the kitchen, the soft staccato of her knife against the cutting board creates a rhythm—steady, comforting, almost musical. Her silhouette, bent in quiet industry, is faintly mirrored in the glass of the cupboard door.
By hedgehog_talkabout a year ago in Fiction
"The prophecy made by Prophet Muhammad (Sallallahu Alaihi Wasallam) about Palestine."
"The blessed place is Palestine—where the first Qibla of Muslims, Bayt al-Maqdis, is located. The Prophet (peace and blessings of Allaah be upon him) prayed in this holy mosque on the night of Miraj. He also made several predictions about blessed Palestine.
By MD Raufur Rahmanabout a year ago in Fiction
Midnight Moon, Empty Heart
The night air carried a chill that crept into the bones. It was past midnight, and the world had fallen silent. Streetlights flickered in the distance, and the countryside around the small town of Ridgefield lay quiet under the glow of the full moon.
By Think & Learnabout a year ago in Fiction
The Gift of the Magi
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.
By Muhammad Hameedul Haqabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day Time Broke
It started at exactly 2:17 PM, on a normal Tuesday. Clocks stopped all around the globe. Digital clocks, analog clocks, atomic clocks—everything that told time stopped. Phones did not update. Watches stopped moving. Even the sun, inexplicably, appeared to stop, locked in the same spot in the sky like a photograph.
By Bari Mir Rahamatulabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day I Realized They Never Loved Me
I always thought heartbreak would come with screaming. Maybe slamming doors, ugly crying, a grand finale of a fight where we’d both say too much. I imagined betrayal would be loud—like in the movies, where someone yells “How could you?” and the other person walks out dramatically. But when it happened to me, there were no fireworks—just silence. And somehow, that was worse.
By Muhammad Zohaib Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
I Love You?
It was kind of a dull Saturday night until she walked in. He was on his second PBR in a cocktail glass by then. The bartenders at Le Domain were never this free and he could see how easily they switched glasses, bottles and cans from hand to hand, often between each other as a kind of test. Almost hypnotic to see as he leaned on his stool and let his finger play games with the too-large piece of lime in his glass. After his third hit, he’d head home and call it a dud of a night. The music was some sort of trap track he could not name (getting old, aren’t we?). The lights were darker than he remembered from his first time in that bar (wearing shades was not a good idea; “I wear my sunglasses at night…” That damn song). And the drink was truly awful (why were there so many tips on that counter?). It was a dud. It was a bad night.
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Fiction
