Mystery
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 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
The Visitor. Top Story - August 2025. Content Warning.
The first flash came at 7:17 p.m. Eliza sat up in her cot, eyes wide in the dark room. The sterile white walls of Ward B had blinked with blue light—like a camera flash—illuminating the hallway just outside her door. She scooted back against the cold wall, shoving the pillow into her lap. She studied the crack under the door—waiting, listening.
By Baby Josieabout a year ago in Fiction
Mystery At The Museum
The quiet was the most challenging part. The halls were vacant with no sound or movement. The desk had no entertainment to keep Dylan awake. The night shift pays more but is always the most boring job in the world. The silence was welcoming at first, with the world at a standstill. The museum was full of so many things, and all stood alone as the night arrived. Dylan looked over the many screens that showed nothing. Even a shadow would be more interesting at this point. The halls were cleaned for hours as the lights shone, but no real movement could be seen. Each night was the same, with no more than an occasional shadow tripping the cameras. His eyes blurred as he sat at most of the screens were clear. Even the basement rooms were clear, as they contained costly items, such as the Circum Diamond, one of the rarest in the world, in terms of both shape and color. Dylan could just stare and wonder at such priceless items.
By Sarah Danaherabout a year ago in Fiction
The Chair by the Window. AI-Generated.
Mara had been in the apartment for three days before she noticed the chair. It wasn’t an extraordinary chair—wooden, low-backed, scuffed on the legs—but it sat in the far corner by the window as though it had been put there deliberately. The cushions were sun-faded on one side, as if someone had sat there for years, facing the street.
By Mohammedseid Ahmedinabout a year ago in Fiction
