Psychological
The Weight of Forgotten Things
The house on Sycamore Lane wasn’t the kind of place you’d notice unless you were looking for it. Tucked behind a curtain of overgrown willow trees, its peeling paint and sagging porch made it seem like it was trying to disappear. Clara hadn’t meant to find it. She’d been wandering, as she often did when the world felt too heavy, her boots crunching through the autumn leaves that blanketed the outskirts of her small town. But something about the house—its silence, maybe, or the way the windows seemed to watch her—drew her closer.
By Fahad Contentabout a year ago in Fiction
The Next Chapter
Clara hadn’t touched the book in months. It sat on her shelf, its plain gray cover blending into the shadows of her apartment, now just a silent relic of that strange autumn. The locket, though, she wore every day, its crescent moon engraving catching the light as a quiet reminder of the impossible. Life had moved forward—Clara had started writing again, short stories at first, then a novel, her words spilling out with a courage she hadn’t known she possessed. The bookstore’s disappearance still haunted her, but she’d convinced herself it was a chapter closed.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
The Last Page
The old bookstore on Maple Street was a relic, its faded sign barely legible under years of dust and weather. Clara, a 32-year-old librarian with a penchant for dog-eared paperbacks, had been coming here since she was a kid. The smell of aged paper and leather bindings was her sanctuary, a place where time seemed to pause. But today, something felt different.
By Shohel Ranaabout a year ago in Fiction
10 Years of Marriage Equality
A Decade of Love and Progress Where were you on June 26, 2015? For me, it was a normal day at work. But that day changed history—it was the day same-sex marriage became legal across all 50 states in the U.S. We celebrated love, equality, and a hard-won victory for the LGBTQ+ community, activists, and everyone who believes in justice.
By Shafi Ullah Darweshabout a year ago in Fiction
Memory Auction
In 2047, memory was no longer sacred. It was currency. They called it "Mind Vault"—a sprawling marketplace of experiences. From the taste of mangoes in Havana to the terror of skydiving over the Andes, everything could be uploaded, polished, and sold to the highest bidder. Joy, pain, regret—packaged and distributed like souvenirs.
By Salah Uddinabout a year ago in Fiction
Door Glass
Elise first saw him in the mirror. It wasn’t a reflection. It was a presence. She’d been in the changing room, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead like lazy flies. Her skirt was half-zipped when something flickered at the edge of the mirror—a stain, a shadow too dense to be a trick of the light.
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
Stillness in the ICU
The waiting room was cold—not from the air conditioning, but from the silence that clung to the walls. I remember the buzzing of fluorescent lights above and the distant, rhythmic beeping of machines through the thin walls. It was the sound of life hanging on. It was the sound of hope stretching itself thin.
By aadam khanabout a year ago in Fiction
