Short Story

The Vanishing House
Imagine a home, a seemingly ordinary house nestled in the quiet corners of a peaceful neighborhood. A place where families find comfort, a sense of belonging, and a promise of stability. But what if this house, after nightfall, vanishes disappearing without a trace, as though it were never there at all?
By Fahad Khan2 years ago in Fiction
The Day the Sky Forgot How to Rain
There are moments in life that slip by unnoticed subtle, quiet changes that shape us in ways we may not understand until much later. Sometimes, the world seems to stop in a way that’s not loud or dramatic but soft and imperceptible, like a sky that forgets how to rain. These moments are often the backdrop to our deepest experiences of love, loss, and transformation.
By Fahad Khan2 years ago in Fiction
Regret Story
There was this guy who believed very much in true love and decided to take his time to wait for the right girl to appear. He believed there would be someone special for him, but none came. Every year at Christmas, his ex-girlfriend would return from Vancouver to look him up. He was aware that she still hoped to re-kindle the past romance with him. He did not wish to mislead her in any way. So he would always get one of his girl friends to pose as his steady whenever she came back. That went on for several years and each year, the guy would get a different girl to pose as his romantic interest.
By Zamerun Hasan2 years ago in Fiction
The Unicorn and the Horse
In a quiet valley nestled between silver-tipped mountains and whispering woods, there was a vast meadow where wildflowers grew in every color and the breeze always carried a song. This was where the horses of the valley roamed freely, proud and strong, galloping across the land like the wind itself.
By Jabir Aftab2 years ago in Fiction
Did you just get a $40.67 payment from Facebook? Here’s an update on those lawsuit settlement checks
Many people have been waking up over the last 24 hours to find that they have received a payment of around $40 from Facebook. The first question people have is whether the payment is legitimate. And the good news is: Yes, it is. Here’s what you need to know about the Facebook payment you may have received since yesterday.
By rifat_hakson2 years ago in Fiction
Books, Blunders, and a Beating Heart. AI-Generated.
"I can’t believe it. She thinks I’m losing her." My college friend, Jerry, looked tired and troubled that afternoon. At the end of a semester, we all get a bit worn out, but there was something else on his face—a strange unease, as if he’d just received some heart-wrenching news. We were sitting on a quiet corner of campus, on the bench behind the library, where the autumn breeze was gently rustling the leaves. "Come on, Jerry," I said, "you’re like this every semester’s end. Your heart’s full of shiny dreams—deep talks about books, maybe some fascinating dialogue about Rumi or Jane Austen—when you look at the syllabus. By midterms, you’re irritable. Before finals, you’re ready to give up entirely. It’s our old tradition. Calm down." Jerry looked at me like I’d just broken his favorite pen. There was a strange shimmer in his brown eyes, trembling like the leaves in the sunlight. "It’s not a joke, Alina," he said, setting his bag down on the ground. "This isn’t just some typical semester fatigue or shattered dreams. Do you remember last week when we were talking about *Pride and Prejudice*? You were defending Elizabeth Bennet’s independence, saying she stood by her principles—not a common take, but an interesting one—and I was going on about Darcy’s quiet pain, his loneliness, and the burden of love?" I nodded with a smile. When Jerry talked about books, there was a passion in his voice that always drew me in. The trick to pulling him out of his thoughts was simple: just get him talking about a story or a character. He had this odd theory about *The Great Gatsby* that he could ramble on about for hours. I was about to nudge him that way, but he was saying something else—maybe a confession. "Yeah," I said, "I think we went from Austen to Hemingway that day. I’d had way too much coffee; my head was spinning." "Right. Well, I mentioned it in my lecture afterward. It was about *Wuthering Heights*. I was so excited about Heathcliff’s raw intensity and Catherine’s selfishness, how their love destroys them. I said love can be a curse too, and I think I mentioned your name—that you made me think about it." I laughed. "My name? In class? You’re really crazy, Jerry." He stood up and walked to the other end of the bench, running a hand through his hair. Then he came back and sat close to me, so close I could feel the faint warmth of his breath. There were autumn leaves tangled in his hair, and his eyes had an odd gleam. "Yeah, Alina. I said, ‘Alina made me think about how dangerous love can be.’ And then I heard myself, apologized to everyone, but I could tell they were all looking at me strangely. They thought I’d lost it—or maybe lost my heart." He reached out a hand toward me but stopped, as if unsure whether he should touch me. His voice was trembling, and there was no sound but the rustling of leaves in the breeze. "So what?" I said, leaning toward him. "We all get tangled up sometimes. Our minds are full of stories and characters, like stacks of books in the library. Last week, I said in class that Brontë wrote *Jane Eyre* when I meant *Wuthering Heights*. Someone left a ‘Professor Brontë’ note on my desk. They’re tough, but they forget. Don’t worry." "I’m trying," Jerry said, "but today, during the final review, I told them to start with chapter five, and some guy said, ‘Sir, you forgot four!’ and everyone laughed. They think I’m really losing it. I started with five because it was more interesting, but they thought it was a mistake." I looked at Jerry closely. He was lean, tired, a little disheveled. But there was that spark in his eyes I’d always liked. I put my hand on his, and he looked at me, surprised but relieved. "You’re imagining things," I said. "They mess up too. They know we’re human. Relax." I gave his hand a light squeeze, and he smiled—a small, shy smile. He stood up and grabbed his bag. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. "You’re probably right," he said. "I’m tired and fed up with everyone saying every story’s about love. I’ll be fine after the break." "See you tomorrow, Jerry," I said, brushing a leaf out of my hair. "Goodnight, Alina," he said, then paused and turned to me. "You know, you really do make me think about things—more than just books." And with that, he walked off, but I knew something had shifted between us—maybe a story was beginning, one we’d write together.
By Jerry wam 2 years ago in Fiction
The Fractured Symphony of Love and Lies: When Secrets Shatter the Harmony of Two Hearts:
The music shop smelled of rosewood and regret. Clara traced her fingers over the neck of her violin, its strings humming faintly as if echoing the tension in her chest. Across the room, Daniel adjusted the sheet music for his piano recital, his brow furrowed in concentration. To outsiders, they were a duet perfected by time—a musician couple whose love bloomed alongside their shared passion for melody. But Clara’s heart beat to a dissonant rhythm now.
By Sanchita Chatterjee2 years ago in Fiction
The Last Stop. AI-Generated.
The old train station in Dunhill hadn’t seen a real passenger in over thirty years. The tracks were rusted, the benches half-swallowed by weeds, and the timetable board still clung to the year 1992 like it was afraid of the future. Yet every Thursday night, just after midnight, the same sound echoed through the forest that surrounded the station: the distant, rising whistle of a train.
By Wilson Burrell2 years ago in Fiction
Human with God
Preface This story is a reflection of every soul that has ever felt distant from its Creator but longed to return. In a world full of noise, distractions, and spiritual fatigue, many of us—especially the youth—find ourselves struggling to hold on to faith, to feel that closeness with Allah that once came naturally.
By DreamLines2 years ago in Fiction
The Heist - Part 2
If you haven’t read part 1 to this story, written by Archery Owl, then please do so via the link below: Several weeks prior, Jasper had gotten home from work later than usual. Working in IT, suited his personality well. He walked in the front door.
By Rowan Finley 2 years ago in Fiction
Brother's Stone
He took another swig of ale and Samuel burst in. He approached DJ Stone, the broad chested brute. His blue eyes wanted to mask his pain but could not. Samuel approached DJ.“I have found your brother,” Samuel said. DJ looked at Samuel.“Be you lying to me?” DJ asked. Samuel vehemently shook his head. “My words are true,” Samuel said.“Where is he?” DJ asked.“I’m here, you dog faced troll,” Clay Stone said. DJ looked behind him and saw his brother standing there. DJ embraced his brother. “I thought those thieves had murdered you,” DJ said.“Their leader’s skull sits on my mantlepiece,” Clay declared. “Your finest mead,” Clay ordered “Why are you still here Samuel?” DJ asked. Samuel’s mousey features seemed to add to his squirrely essence. “Your girlfriend has been kidnapped!” Samuel told them. DJ looked at Samuel.He was looking for any kind of hint of deception. “Who took her?” DJ demanded. “Lord Darquay,” Samuel whispered. “That son of a bitch!” DJ remarked. Clay gulped his mead and slammed his mug on the counter. “I’ll have another trophy,” Clay said.“This fight is mine,” DJ stated. “Your fights are my fights,” Clay insisted. 1
By DJ Robbins2 years ago in Fiction
I Keep on Falling
I remember boarding the small plan. It was a last-minute decision to get to the Highlands. I was supposed to be on one of those big jumbo jets, but things happen. A storm in the middle of the night knocked out the power. So, when 5 AM arrived, Alexa did not wake me up. I woke up at 6 AM instead. This gave me one hour to get ready, not my normal 2.
By David E. Perry2 years ago in Fiction