Mystery

The Path To One Question
Once upon a time, there existed a traveler in a faraway land. He wasn't a merchant seeking buyers for his goods, nor was he an explorer in search of riches beyond this world, but a mere man - broken and lonely, crossing land upon land to break free of something invisible to his eyes but felt by his soul. Walking under the skies stitched with shimmering stars, he met bizarre wonders known to not many people. He gained knowledge of this world and beyond, from books and scrolls and from scholars and legends, he found truth and he found myth. But even after knowing so much, one question still puzzled him all the same - as it has done for all those past years. 'Why was he so devastated over the loss of something that wasn't his to even begin with?' The wound burned in his heart alive and fresh every day, refusing to give any reason or to be forgotten.
By Kartikey Mishra2 years ago in Fiction
"The Clock That Whispered Wishes"
The Story Begins... In a quiet village where nothing unusual ever happened, there stood an old clock shop at the end of Moon shadow Lane. No one remembered when it opened, or who owned it, but everyone knew one rule: Never ask the clock for a wish unless your heart truly means it.
By Ayesha Maryam2 years ago in Fiction
The Silver Feather and the Brave Princess
Once upon a time, in a quiet kingdom nestled between misty mountains, there lived a princess named Amira. Her heart was as gentle as the morning breeze, and her love for animals and the people of her land was well known. She was often called upon to settle disputes and bring peace between villages. Everyone admired her for the way she listened, cared, and worked towards harmony. But there was one mystery that had always intrigued the people of the kingdom: ''The Silver Feather''.
By Ayesha Maryam2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers Between the Lines
By [Aqib Mahmood] The apartment was quiet—too quiet. Claire sat alone in her favorite armchair, the same one she’d had since college, wrapped in a threadbare blanket and surrounded by unread books. The journal in her lap lay open to a blank page, a pen resting just above the date: May 1st. She’d written the date an hour ago. Nothing more. Outside, the city buzzed—cars, sirens, laughter—but in her living room, there was only the low hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of a wall clock. The kind of silence that presses in, demanding to be noticed. Claire had always found comfort in quiet. As a child, she was the quiet one. As a teenager, she took pride in being “low maintenance.” In relationships, she was the understanding partner, the patient listener, the one who never raised her voice. But tonight, silence felt different. It didn’t soothe her. It scraped at her, pulling at thoughts she had tried hard to keep buried. Today was her mother’s birthday. Claire hadn’t called. She hadn't forgotten—not really—but she had avoided it. She told herself she was busy, distracted, tired. But deep down, she knew better. There was something else. Something she didn’t want to admit. She picked up the pen and began to write. “I didn’t call you today. Not because I don’t remember. But because I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.” The words surprised her. She hadn’t planned to write them, hadn’t even known she felt them so clearly. But they had waited quietly for years, and now they were out. Growing up, Claire’s mother had been emotionally distant. She wasn’t cruel—just cold. Practical. She didn’t hug often, didn’t ask questions that went deeper than school or chores. When Claire cried, her mother told her to “stop being dramatic.” When Claire achieved something, her mother nodded but rarely celebrated. Claire learned young that emotions were a burden, and silence was safer. She internalized it. Mastered it. Even now, in her thirties, she often found herself defaulting to silence. In meetings, she held back ideas. In friendships, she rarely asked for help. In love, she didn’t speak up when she was hurt. “I’ve spent years telling myself that staying quiet is noble. That keeping peace is better than telling the truth. But that’s not peace. That’s fear wearing a polite mask.” The pen paused. Her hand trembled slightly. She thought back to a moment last year, when she’d been at her breaking point. Burned out from work, ghosted by someone she loved, and battling an internal storm no one knew about. She had considered calling her mother—not for advice, but simply to feel connected. But she didn’t. She knew the call would end with hollow platitudes or awkward silence. It always did. “I told myself I was strong for never needing you. But maybe strength isn’t silence. Maybe strength is admitting I did need you—and you weren’t there.” A tear slid down her cheek, landing on the journal page. She didn’t wipe it away. That was the thing about hidden truths—they didn’t shout. They whispered, quietly, persistently, until one day the silence cracked just enough to let them breathe. Claire stood up and walked to the mirror across the room. Her reflection looked tired, but something else shimmered behind her eyes: clarity. “I’m not too much,” she whispered to herself. “I’m not too emotional. I’m not wrong for feeling.” She had believed those lies for so long. Told them to herself with a practiced smile. But no more. Tonight, she chose truth. Not the dramatic kind. Not loud confessions or fiery arguments. Just quiet, steady honesty. The kind that starts inside and works its way outward, reshaping the way you see everything. She returned to the journal and wrote: “This silence was never peace. It was protection. But I don’t need to hide anymore. I deserve to be heard—even if the only one listening is me.” Claire closed the journal gently. The city continued humming beyond her windows, but now the silence inside felt lighter. Not empty—but cleared. Ready for something new. Maybe she’d call her mother tomorrow. Maybe she wouldn’t. But for the first time in her life, Claire wasn’t afraid of her own voice. She had heard it. And it was enough.
By AMK_AQIB2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Transmission
The year was 2189, and the Eidolon was Earth's most advanced deep-space research vessel—equipped with AI-driven diagnostics, a quantum engine, and a crew of twenty of humanity’s brightest minds. But something had gone wrong.
By Muhammad Sohail2 years ago in Fiction
Whispers in the Static
I was scanning the radio late one night, half-asleep, when I stumbled onto a station filled with static. Through the crackling, I heard voices—whispering my name.
By Lucian2 years ago in Fiction
The Room Behind the Closet
When we moved into the old house, my son found a tiny door in his closet, barely big enough for a child to crawl through. I told him it was just a crawlspace.
By Lucian2 years ago in Fiction
WHY IT HURTS
Expectations are a natural part of being human. We all have them—about ourselves, others, and the future. We expect kindness in return for kindness, success after hard work, love from those we care about, and stability when we follow the rules. But often, reality does not align with our hopes, and that gap between what we expect and what actually happens can lead to disappointment, frustration, and pain. This is why expectation hurts.
By Gayatri Nagpal2 years ago in Fiction
The Sun No Longer Rises
Year: 2135. The sun no longer rises over Earth. After the last massive solar storm, the ozone layer was completely destroyed. Humanity now lives deep underground in cities known as “New Undercities.” One such city, Enclave-7, lies 15 kilometers beneath the surface. Artificial light, filtered air, hydroponic farms, and constant surveillance have replaced the sky, the breeze, the soil.
By Allen Rihab2 years ago in Fiction
She Left Her Voice in the Cradle
The house was never silent, though no one had lived there in thirteen years. Wind passed through its broken panes like breathing through cracked lips, and on quiet nights, neighbors whispered that they could hear someone singing lullabies—faint, soft, and unbearably sad.
By E. hasan2 years ago in Fiction
The Hollow Box (Part-9)
Episode 9 – “The Truth Beneath” Lara sits by the window, holding their mother’s journal. Lana flips through an old family album. A torn photo falls out — a younger version of their mother and father, smiling in front of the hospital.
By StoryTime2 years ago in Fiction
The Sleep Study Paid $10,000. They Never Told Us We Wouldn’t Dream Alone.
The Ad That Changed Everything When the flyer appeared on my dorm bulletin board—"Earn $10,000 in 7 Nights. Healthy Volunteers Needed for Sleep Research"—I laughed. Who wouldn’t? As a broke med student drowning in loans, it sounded like a scam.
By Wiki Rjm2 years ago in Fiction