Mystery

“She Rented a New Life for £1 — But Someone Else Wanted It Back” Part 2
The woman stepped inside like she owned the place. Same face. Same posture. Same chipped tooth on the left. Cleo backed up. “What is this? Some prank?”
By Buzzleabout a year ago in Fiction
Out In The Woods. Content Warning.
Chapter One August 18th, 2003. It was a cold and windy night while heading back home to Otsego, Michigan. Home of the Bulldogs, a football game they had just won from an away game. It’s dark and the surrounding area is nothing but trees and the sound of water. A group of teenagers Doug, Travis, Roy, Linda, Stephanie and Sierra were listening to music, drinking and dancing in a Tata Harrier SUV. The driver, who was also drinking, was not paying attention and went to turn up the music on the radio while having his eyes off the road for simply 3 seconds, and had just hit something hard.
By Hayleigh McClellanabout a year ago in Fiction
City of Dreams
In a city where millions pass each other without a second glance, two strangers unknowingly share something intimate: the same dreams.
By Solene Hartabout a year ago in Fiction
Timeless Insights from the Sufi Poet’s Heart
Rumi’s Eternal Wisdom: A Journey Through His Most Famous Quotes Timeless Insights from the Sufi Poet’s Heart Jalaluddin Rumi, the 13th-century Persian poet, scholar, and Sufi mystic, has left an indelible mark on the world through his words. His poetry, steeped in themes of love, spirituality, and the human experience, transcends time, culture, and language. Rumi’s verses invite us to explore the depths of our souls, embrace the divine, and find unity in a fragmented world. This article delves into some of his most famous quotes, unpacking their meaning and relevance for modern readers. Through these timeless sayings, we’ll journey into Rumi’s world of wisdom, where every word is a spark of enlightenment.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Divine Call to Learn
As-salamu Alaikum wa Rahmatullahi wa Barakatuh, my dear brothers and sisters. Today, let us gather under the shade of Allah’s mercy to reflect on a blessing that elevates humanity above the angels: knowledge. The first revelation to our beloved Prophet Muhammad (peace be upon him) was “Iqra”—read! This divine command is not just a call to recite words but an invitation to seek understanding, to awaken the soul, and to draw closer to our Creator. Knowledge is the heartbeat of faith, the compass of life, and the key to eternal success. Let us explore this sacred gift and its role in shaping our lives and our hereafter.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
ADVICE !!!
You’re not stuck. You’re just waiting — for a perfect moment, a green light, or some invisible sign that it’s finally time. But here’s the truth: *no one is coming to tell you it’s your turn*. Life doesn’t wait for permission slips. Opportunities don’t knock on doors that never open. If you’ve been wondering when to write that book, start that business, leave that toxic situation, or just try something new — this is it. This is the moment. And it’s not because the stars are aligned. It’s because you’ve decided to stop waiting.
By FAIZAN AFRIDIabout a year ago in Fiction
Men on the Moon
Nobody at NASA gave a goddamn about the weather in Jersey. This fact, as true and as simple as it was, had not stopped my Aunt Rosie from pacing around the parlor all morning and pressing her face to the front window in search of thunderstorms. My mother had yelled at her for smearing rouge on the glass, and she, of course, had yelled right back. And soon, everybody was yelling.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
The Day Everyone Got the Same Dream
Sarah Martinez thought she was losing her mind when she woke up at 3:47 AM on Tuesday, October 15th, drenched in sweat and haunted by the most vivid dream of her life. A massive digital countdown floating in an endless white void: 72:00:00. Seventy-two hours. And behind the numbers, a door—ancient, wooden, with intricate carvings that seemed to move when she wasn't looking directly at them.
By Muhammad Sabeelabout a year ago in Fiction
Beyond The Fog
It happened in 2012… One evening in Gulshan-e-Iqbal, Karachi something weird, kinda scary, and totally unexpected happened.
By Usamaabout a year ago in Fiction
“The Letters in the Wall”
M Mehran When I bought the old farmhouse on Millers Ridge, I wasn’t looking for magic. I wanted peace. Something simple. I was thirty-three, freshly divorced, and ready to forget that the city had ever swallowed me whole. The house had been empty for years. The floors creaked like they were sighing, and the wallpaper peeled like it was tired of pretending. But I loved it immediately—its quietness, its secrets. It was on the second week of fixing up the place that I found the letters. They were behind a loose wooden plank in the hallway wall. Just above eye level, where you’d never think to look. Tied in a pale blue ribbon, yellowed with time, and smelling faintly of lavender and dust. There were thirteen letters. All addressed to “My Starling.” The handwriting was neat. Careful. The kind of script people don’t write in anymore. I told myself I wouldn’t read them. I read the first one that night. --- June 17, 1961 My Starling, Today I saw you on the porch in that yellow dress. I nearly forgot to breathe. I’ve been trying to gather the courage to say what I must—but words feel foolish when I think of your laugh. I will leave this letter here, where only someone looking with love could find it. If you ever find it, know this: I loved you long before I had the right to say so. Ever Yours, E. --- I read all thirteen that night. They weren’t love letters in the usual sense—not poetic declarations or dramatic pleas. They were soft. Intimate. Full of tiny details. How “E” liked the way Starling hummed while sweeping the porch. How her absence made the walls feel empty. How he was building a small music box for her, in secret, just in case. The final letter, dated November 1962, was different. --- My Starling, You’re gone. They say time will pass, but no one tells you what to do with the hours that don’t. I sit by the fire and pretend you’ll come through the door again. I’ve sealed the others away, where only a soul who’s searching might find them. If you’re reading this, maybe in another life, leave me a sign. I’ll wait. E. --- It felt wrong, having read them. Like trespassing. But also… like something sacred had passed into my hands. I asked around town about the house. Most people didn’t remember much. Some whispered about a woman named Lydia Harrow, a schoolteacher who’d lived there in the early ’60s. No one knew what had happened to her. The next week, I found the music box. It was tucked inside a broken drawer in the basement. Carved with tiny stars. And inside—taped to the lid—was a photo. A man with dark eyes and a crooked smile. Holding a woman in a yellow dress. Her laugh was frozen in the frame. Written on the back: E & L. Ridgeview County Fair, August 1961. I took the photo and pressed it against the wall where I found the letters. It felt right. Like putting something back in place. That night, the music box played for the first time. I hadn’t wound it. The sound was faint. Like a lullaby from another room. --- I live in the house still. I never told anyone about the letters. Not really. Some things feel too alive to share. But every now and then, I light a candle in the hallway. I place the music box by the wall. And I whisper: "He waited."
By M Mehran about a year ago in Fiction
When He Disappeared
Whit was the kind of boy you’d pass by without really noticing. He wasn’t shy in the usual sense—he just sort of melted into the scenery. Like one of those fading snow patches near the end of winter. Quiet, a little distant. Always watching. Always somewhere just on the edge of everything.
By Umar Aminabout a year ago in Fiction
The Empty Chair at the Dinner Table
It had been three years since Dad passed away, but every evening, his chair still waited. The wooden chair at the end of the dining table hadn’t moved an inch. No one dared sit there. Not because it was forbidden, but because it felt sacred. A silent relic of the man who once led every meal with warmth, laughter, and the occasional corny joke.
By Abid Malikabout a year ago in Fiction