Psychological
I Married a Man I Met at a Stranger’s Funeral
Prologue I shouldn’t have been there. The church was too quiet, filled with too much grief I hadn’t earned. I sat in the back row, legs crossed, sunglasses on, pretending my heart was shattered by the death of a woman I never knew. My dress was black silk. My lipstick was crimson sin. I looked like grief in high heels, and no one questioned me.
By Adrian-Razvan Ispasabout a year ago in Fiction
"What Happens After We Block Someone? A Digital Ghost Story Told by Algorithms"
I used to think that blocking someone was the end. A digital wall. A simple act of control in a chaotic, hyperconnected world. But what if I told you that’s not true? That when we block someone — or get blocked — it doesn’t delete the bond. It just buries it.
By Hamad Haiderabout a year ago in Fiction
The Brave Cub Who Walked Into the Storm
art of the African savanna, where golden grass whispers stories of survival and legacy, a lion cub named Leo was born. But unlike his siblings, who roared with instinct and leapt with promise, Leo was different. He was smaller. Quieter. Often overlooked. While the others played fiercely beneath the tall acacia trees, Leo watched from a distance—his eyes not on the games, but on the horizon. His paws were too small to race, his roar too soft to intimidate, and his legs trembled in the company of boldness. Yet there was something else inside him. A spark that didn’t show on the surface. A curiosity. A question. “Why don’t you join them?” his mother would ask gently, her golden eyes filled with worry. Leo would lift his head, ever so slightly. “Because I want to learn,” he would whisper. “I want to see the world before I try to conquer it.” Others in the jungle didn’t understand. They dismissed him. “Too small to matter,” scoffed the zebras. “Too quiet to be brave,” mocked the monkeys from their high, swinging homes. But Leo didn’t argue. He didn’t need to. Somewhere deep inside him, a voice far older than his own murmured: “Your time will come. And when it does, the world will know.” he Storm That Changed Everything It came without warning. The sky, once a blue canvas, darkened into a violent grey. Thunder cracked through the heavens, and the jungle trembled. The rain poured like arrows from the clouds, and the wind howled like forgotten spirits. Leo’s family, like many others, found refuge in a rocky cave near the cliffs. They huddled close, seeking warmth and safety as the world outside unravelled. Then came the sound that pierced the storm. A cry. Fragile and distant. Milo. The baby elephant from the neighboring herd. Lost. Alone. The lion king, Leo’s father, growled with authority. “No one moves. The storm is not kind to wanderers.” But Leo couldn’t sit still. His ears twitched at the sound. His heart raced—not with fear, but with purpose. “He’s out there,” Leo said, more to himself than anyone else. “He’s afraid.” “You’re just a cub,” his father barked. “Don’t be foolish.” But Leo had already stepped forward. His mother tried to stop him. But courage moves faster than doubt. And sometimes, a lion’s heart knows exactly when to roar—even if no one else can hear it.
By Arshad khanabout a year ago in Fiction
When She Locked the Door. AI-Generated.
The clock struck midnight when Ahmed returned home. The street outside their apartment in Lahore was unusually silent, the distant buzz of traffic dulled by the warm, sticky air. He stood at the door, fishing out his keys, but as soon as he twisted the lock—he realized it had been bolted from the inside. He knocked. Once. Twice. No answer. He sighed, frustrated. “Sana, open the door. It’s late.” Silence. After a long pause, he heard her voice. Calm. Steady. Unrecognizable. “No.” He blinked, unsure if he had heard right. “What?” “I said no, Ahmed.” His heart pounded. Not out of anger. Out of fear. He had never heard her sound like that before—like she had nothing left to lose. --- Sana had been sitting by the door for hours. She’d lit a candle and placed their wedding photo beside it. In the picture, she was smiling so wide her eyes crinkled. Ahmed looked nervous but happy, like a man standing on the edge of something good. But that was five years ago. Since then, their apartment had turned into a battlefield—where silence screamed louder than words. She remembered the night he forgot their anniversary. The time he mocked her for wanting to restart her studies. The days he came home, reeking of stress and anger, throwing his phone on the table like she was the problem. He wasn’t cruel—not in the way people warned you about. But he was careless. Distant. Tired of her. And she? She had become invisible. --- Inside, Ahmed’s frustration melted into confusion. “Sana, are you okay? What’s going on?” She replied softly, “I wanted to talk to you. But talking never worked. So tonight, I decided to do something different.” He leaned his forehead against the door. “This is crazy. I’m not standing out here like a fool.” “Then leave,” she said. “You’ve been leaving me every day anyway.” Her words hit him like a slap. “I come home every night.” “Your body does,” she said. “Not your mind. Not your heart.” He stared at the dark hallway, suddenly aware of the weight of his briefcase in his hand, the sweat on his back, the silence in his soul. He sat down outside the door. “Sana, I know I haven’t been present. But this—locking me out—it isn’t the way.” “And ignoring me wasn’t the way either,” she replied. “But you did it for years.” --- In that still night, something broke. But it wasn’t the marriage—it was the silence. Sana started talking. She told him about the loneliness, about the nights she cried herself to sleep. About how she missed the boy who used to write poetry for her. How even the fights would’ve been welcome—at least that would mean he cared enough to argue. Ahmed listened. For the first time in years, he really listened. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t defend himself. He let her words wash over him like a flood he had no strength to stop. And then he spoke. He told her about the pressure at work, about how he felt like a failure every time he looked at her because she deserved better. How he stopped sharing things with her because he didn’t want her to see how broken he felt inside. How ashamed he was that the man she married no longer existed. They sat on either side of that wooden door, pouring out five years of silence like two strangers rediscovering a shared language. --- The candle inside flickered. Sana touched the wedding photo and whispered, “Do you still love me?” His voice cracked. “Every day. But I forgot how to show it.” She stood slowly and unlocked the door. Ahmed stood too, unsure. The door creaked open a few inches. Her face appeared—tired, tear-stained, but softer. “Come inside,” she said. “Let’s try again. Not for the world. Just for us.” He dropped his briefcase and stepped in. No grand gestures. No dramatic music. Just a man and a woman, who had almost lost each other in the noise of life—choosing to begin again, in the quiet.
By Muhammad Usamaabout a year ago in Fiction
My Shadow Has a Mind of Its Own
I first noticed it on a Tuesday. The light outside was harsh, slicing in through the blinds, turning the floor into alternating stripes of brilliance and darkness. I was pacing, rehearsing a difficult phone call in my head. That’s when I saw it — the shadow on the wall.
By Mahayud Dinabout a year ago in Fiction
When Morning Touches the Sea
The mornings were different here. Back in the city, mornings meant chaos—car horns, clattering shoes, hurried coffee, and inboxes that never emptied. But here, in the tiny coastal town of Miramar, mornings whispered instead of shouted. They tiptoed in slowly, painting the sky in soft pastels, brushing light across the ocean’s restless surface. And every morning, Isla was there to greet them.
By Wasif islamabout a year ago in Fiction
Bunker Home
The day of his return yielded the same anxieties and discomforts in Penelope Farwell. Found hundreds of meters inside an asteroid, Penelope’s stomach tightened as she viewed the screen of her husband, Stayer Farwell. Her hands wrung in conspicuous fear. He, however, looked confident, relaxed and focused in his solo flight. No sweat beads gathered around his temples. He remained cool. Penelope, usually strong when thinking about the presence of her husband, had slight palpitations. The artificial lights blazed like drops of sunshine as they simulated solar rays. She could at least bask in the glow of the various light sources. She wore a pair of blue jeans and a red blouse and black tortoise rimmed glasses. Her long black hair had been put into a bun. Her skin looked like alabaster. He wore a black business suit. His skin was the color of charcoal.
By Skyler Saundersabout a year ago in Fiction
Shh!
We’ve been friends for a long time. A very long time. Ever since Billy Blockhead tried to initiate me on the first day of freshman year in high school. Remember? You beat him up—him and the other three boys that were with him. I can guarantee that was something they’ll never forget. I heard Billy still has nightmares about that day.
By David E. Perryabout a year ago in Fiction
