Psychological
Where We Left the Watch – Part 3: The Room With No Clock
Where We Left the Watch – Part 3: The Room With No Clock By Mahboob Khan It took me six days to text her after the call. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I did — more than I realized. And when something feels that important, you start to hesitate. You wonder if maybe the magic was in the distance, in the waiting, in the not-quite.
By Mahboob Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Light
The Last Light – A Story of “Luminous” There was once a village wrapped in quiet hills and thick, whispering woods. It was a place time had mostly forgotten. The world beyond it rushed ahead with noise and invention, but the people of Velden lived slowly, holding onto rhythms older than clocks.
By Terence Lisherabout a year ago in Fiction
Where We Left the Watch
Where We Left the Watch By Mahboob Khan It started with a coincidence. Three years ago, I was digging through a box of old postcards at the Sunday flea market when a girl leaned over, picked one up, and said, “You’re holding the best one.”
By Mahboob Khanabout a year ago in Fiction
Bread across barbed wire
The Weight of Sweat The summer sun scorched the rooftops as Kurt dragged himself home from school, sweating lines down his dust-covered face. upon arriving home, his mother woke up, who was taking a siesta rest break. She woke up and fried yesterday’s cooked beans by adding some tomatoes and served him the meal. After making his lunch, his mother told him to check upon his father, who did not come to the lunch, which was unusual.
By Ihtisham ul haqabout a year ago in Fiction
WHO IS SHE ?
Who is SHE ? long ago a lingering memory in my mind which is still articulate and definite . The dream I perceive on a regular basis almost for a year. I still clearly remember each and every moment of that dream more clearly than a reality . Conveying that dream ," I saw a large dark forest surrounded by black thick fog which was suffocating me , choke me and strangle me". I began to run , run toward the exist only to found that there was no place to go , there was neither the beginning nor the exist , I was stuck helplessly , cluelessly , wandering here and there struggling in that dark meadow.
By Roosie Roseabout a year ago in Fiction
"The Last Animal on Earth Spoke in Dreams
The Last Animal on Earth Spoke in Dreams Four decades past the final meltdown, Earth lay in ruins. Cities lay silent beneath gray skies, forests regrown only in memory, and oceans a distant myth echoed in shattered vessels stranded on dried seabeds. Humanity had withered—broken by its own creation. Only a few scattered survivors clung to life in scattered enclaves, relics of flame and steel amid the ash.
By Khurram Munir about a year ago in Fiction
Login After Death
The first message came on a Monday. “Don’t forget your umbrella today. It’ll rain by 4. I love the way you look in grey.” It popped up in Daniel’s inbox like any other notification—his wife’s avatar name, “@BlueMagnolia86,” attached like a stamp from another dimension. He stared at it for a long time, barely breathing.
By Prince khanabout a year ago in Fiction
You’re the New Night-Shift Worker at a Remote Roadside Diner — And Something is Watching
--- The Job Seemed Perfect - Until the Rules Came You're twenty-three, broke, and stranded in a nowhere town off Route 46. So when the Sunset Grille offers a night-shift position, you take it without blinking.
By Ridhima Gandhiabout a year ago in Fiction
When Silence Began to Shape Me
There was a time when my life was filled with noise — not only the noise of the world but the noise I created trying to keep up with it. Conversations, laughter, arguments, explanations — it all felt endless. I was surrounded by people, yet I often felt lonely. I was always talking, but rarely heard. I didn’t realize it at first, but my words had become a shield — something to hide behind, something to fill the emptiness I didn’t want to face. I feared silence, mistaking it for sadness, for abandonment, for weakness. But then, slowly, I began to withdraw. Not out of bitterness or anger, but from exhaustion. One day, I simply didn’t have the energy to explain myself anymore. The need to prove, to please, to entertain — it all began to fade. پھر کم کردی گفتگو لوگوں سے میں نے “I started speaking less to people…” And with that, the world grew quiet around me — but inside, something began to stir. At first, the silence was uncomfortable. I didn’t know what to do with it. I would pick up my phone just to scroll, open a chat just to feel less alone, turn on the TV just to hear voices. But eventually, I let the silence sit beside me. I allowed it in like a guest, and to my surprise, it wasn’t as empty as I thought. In the quiet, I started noticing things I had never truly seen. The sky changing its shades at dusk. The way my own breath felt in my chest. The sound of birds just before dawn. These were not grand discoveries — but they were real. And they belonged to a world I had ignored. Silence became my mirror. Without constant words, I could finally hear the voice within me — the one I had long silenced with busyness. That voice didn’t shout. It whispered truths I had long buried. I remembered old dreams, long-lost feelings, regrets I never addressed, and strengths I never acknowledged. And that’s when something beautiful began to happen. پھر خاموشی سے میری خوب بننے لگی “And then, slowly, silence began to shape my beauty…” Not beauty in the way the world defines it — not through appearances, filters, or attention. This was a different beauty. A quiet confidence. A steady grace. A strength in knowing who I am without needing others to validate it. I no longer craved constant company. I found joy in solitude — not loneliness, but solitude. I would sit by the window with a cup of tea and feel full. I started journaling, pouring my thoughts onto paper, not for anyone to read but to understand myself better. I started walking — just walking — no phone, no distractions, just me and the rhythm of my steps. I began to forgive myself. I stopped expecting perfection. I stopped measuring my worth by how many people I could impress or how many replies I received. My inner world started blooming in ways my outer world never could. People noticed the change. Some drifted away, confused by my calm. Others came closer, drawn to the peace I now carried. And I didn’t mind. I was no longer trying to keep everyone close. I was no longer afraid of being misunderstood. My silence had taught me that not everyone needs access to my soul — some things are sacred, and silence guards them well. Through silence, I began healing. I began writing poems again — ones I thought I had forgotten how to write. I picked up books that once gathered dust. I prayed not with words but with presence. I understood the value of a slow, quiet life in a world chasing noise and speed. There was still pain, still memories that visited me in the night. But now, I welcomed them like passing clouds. They didn’t scare me anymore. I had learned to sit with them in silence, and eventually, they left — softer each time. I didn’t isolate myself. I simply chose peace over pressure. I still smiled, still met people, still loved. But everything was quieter now, calmer. More real. If someone asked me what changed, I wouldn’t say much. How do you explain that silence rebuilt you in ways words never could? The beauty I found in myself was never loud. It didn’t demand to be seen. It just existed — in the way I walked, the way I breathed, the way I no longer rushed to speak. And I wouldn’t trade this stillness for anything. Now, I sit beneath the sky and listen to the wind. I speak only when my heart feels the need to speak. And when I’m silent, I am not lost — I am deeply found. Because in the end, I didn’t lose people when I stopped talking too much. I found myself.
By Fazal Wahidabout a year ago in Fiction
