Abdul Hai Habibi
Bio
Curious mind. Passionate storyteller. I write about personal growth, online opportunities, and life lessons that inspire. Join me on this journey of words, wisdom, and a touch of hustle.
Stories (21)
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Expired Stars
The town of Elder shade sat at the edge of a great scrubland where the sky refused to be polite. It stretched upward in an unbroken black scarf, punctured by a thousand indifferent pinpricks of light. People spoke in terms of weather and crops, but for Milo Carter, weather was the mood of the universe, and crops were the quiet way the night asked questions. He kept a notebook tucked into a pocket of his jacket, its pages filled with coordinates, dates, and the names he gave to unnamed stars: a childish habit, perhaps, but it gave him a map to wonder when wonder felt scarce.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Fiction
“When the Camera Blinked First”
Here is a story inspired by the prompt: “When the Camera Blinked First.” It weaves a reflective arc around a single, ordinary photograph that unexpectedly changes a life. If you’d like adjustments in tone, length, or focus (e.g., more memoir, more fiction, more journalistic), tell me and I’ll tailor it.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Motivation
“The Day I Didn’t Break”
The Day I Didn’t Break The clock on the wall clicked with a stubborn patience, each tick a small reminder that time was something you could hold in your hands only if you learned its rhythm, if you learned to breathe with it. The morning light pressed pale through the blinds, turning dust motes into tiny, {{almost}} celestial bodies that drifted in the room like patient witnesses. It was the kind of dawn that suggested a plan, if only you listened long enough.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Motivation
How to Fall in Love Without Saying a Word
Begin with a quiet greeting. Let mornings arrive with a nod, a curve of a smile that travels from eyes to talk and back again. No words needed; just a gentle acknowledgment that you exist in the same orbit, a shared weather of attention.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Motivation
One Brick, One Dream, One Prayer
One Brick, One Dream, One Prayer The sun rose over the city in a dull, patient sort of way, as if it were waiting for something sturdier than the morning news and the smell of stale coffee. The bricks of the old factory district, arranged like an ancient code, absorbed the light and glowed a brick-red that felt almost speakable. In the heart of this neighborhood stood a tumbledown building with a faded sign: Covington & Sons Masonry, Est. 1924. The storefront windows showed nothing but the tired reflections of passersby—three old men arguing about the best way to cut limestone, a woman with a stroller who kept glancing at a flyer on the glass, a kid with a bike who kept pedaling in circles as though trying to chase the morning away.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Motivation
Letters to the Past
Letters to the Past Elena never believed in miracles, not really. She believed in hard work, in persistence, in achieving goals—things that could be measured, tested, proved. But a box of old letters, addressed to her by her future self, challenged every fiber of her rational mind.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Fiction
Instructions for Leaving Quietly
There was no fight. No slammed doors, no thunderous declarations, no broken plates or voice-mails left unanswered. If you’d watched from the outside, you might have thought everything was fine — just two people sitting across from each other in a kitchen full of familiar silence.
By Abdul Hai Habibi5 months ago in Fiction
The House That Watched Me Grow
Clara hadn’t meant to return. Ten years was a long time to stay away, long enough that her childhood home should’ve faded into memory. But it hadn’t. It lingered like a song she couldn’t stop humming, haunting the corners of her dreams.
By Abdul Hai Habibi6 months ago in Fiction
The Sound of Her Shoes
He heard them again at 2:14 a.m. The click. Then the pause. Then the echo. They started exactly three weeks after Marlene died. Not a day before. Not a minute after. 2:14 a.m. sharp, the time she always got up to check the hallway lights, refill her water, or just pace because sleep never came easy to her.
By Abdul Hai Habibi6 months ago in Fiction
The Taste of Lost Memories
The key to my grandfather’s crumbling greenhouse wasn’t metal, but wood – warped oak, smoothed by generations of touch. It felt alive in my palm, resisting the turn. With a groan that echoed through the overgrown jungle beyond the fogged glass, the heavy door swung inward. Dust motes, thick as snowfall, danced in the single shaft of weak afternoon sun piercing the grime-coated roof. The air hit me first – not decay, but density. Wet earth, ancient stone, ozone-like after a storm, and beneath it all, a dizzying kaleidoscope of scents: sharp peppermint, burnt sugar, something like old parchment, and the faint, unsettling tang of copper.
By Abdul Hai Habibi6 months ago in Families
