Love
Her Last Room. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge. Top Story - December 2025.
I stand face-to-frontal with this latched door. Somehow, its hold over me is more than the sum of my cerebral parts. The door senses my hesitancy to move beyond it, to cross a threshold, to clasp its cold handle as a first steppingstone. They say the maiden stage of grief is the hardest part.
By Edward Swafford10 months ago in Fiction
ECHOES OF MISUNDERSTANDING. AI-Generated.
The late afternoon sun spilled warm orange light across Hoshizora High School, painting the courtyard in long shadows. Students laughed, chattered, and slowly filtered out of the gate, eager to escape another day of classes.
By forhad hossain10 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Repaired Sunsets. AI-Generated.
Every evening at precisely 6:21 p.m., the sky above Old Harbour performed the same tired ritual. The sun dipped low, the clouds gathered in a half-hearted formation, and the horizon glowed in a colour that looked incomplete—like an artist who left the canvas unfinished and simply walked away.
By shakir hamid10 months ago in Fiction
The Thursday Murder Society
The "Wellspring Oaks Retirement Village Thursday Book Club" had, for years, been a sedate affair dedicated to gentle historical fiction and benign bestsellers. That changed when sharp-tongued, former literature professor Martha took over as moderator. She introduced them to Dark Academia.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Room
I had lived in my grandmother’s old house for six months before I gathered the courage to open the room at the end of the hallway. Every night I walked past it. Every morning I ignored it. The door was always closed, the key always cold, and the air around it always heavier than the rest of the house. My grandmother used to call it “the room that sleeps.” I never asked why. I never wanted to know.
By Kashif Wazir10 months ago in Fiction
The Wabi-Sabi of Time. AI-Generated.
In the near future, memory is no longer something fragile, fading, or human. It is editable. The world calls it The Polisher—a sleek, palm-sized device that can smooth out the rough edges of any memory. A heartbreak becomes a polite farewell. A failure becomes a valuable lesson. A lonely night becomes a quiet moment of “self-reflection.” In this era, no one carries emotional scars. No one remembers the rawness of living. Everything is curated. Everything is clean.
By shakir hamid10 months ago in Fiction
The Jilted Bride!. Runner-Up in The Forgotten Room Challenge. Top Story - December 2025.
🕊️ The Courtship of Morylda Morylda met him - Chalen - in the greenhouse of her aunt’s estate, where she’d gone to escape the suffocating expectations of her lineage. He was not a gardener, though he wore the green apron like one. He was a composer, moonlighting among orchids to pay for studio time. His hands smelled of soil and sandalwood, and when he spoke, his voice had the cadence of an unsung lullaby.
By Novel Allen10 months ago in Fiction
The Memory Keeper's Map
The quilt was Elara’s inheritance, a heavy, beautiful weight passed down from her grandmother, Eleanor. It wasn't just a blanket; it was a tapestry of their family. Eleanor, a renowned baker, hadn't used patterns from a book. She’d used scraps from their lives. There was a square from Elara’s mother’s first-day-of-school dress, a swatch from her grandfather’s favorite woolen vest, and even a piece of the floral apron Eleanor always wore.
By Habibullah10 months ago in Fiction
