Abuzar khan
Stories (123)
Filter by community
Haunted Rural Settings / Family Homes
We hadn’t spoken of the house in thirteen years. Not since the night it swallowed our mother’s voice. It stood at the edge of a forgotten road, nestled between skeletal trees that leaned in like gossiping neighbors. The air around it always seemed slightly colder, slightly older, like it remembered more than it should. A farmhouse, built by hand and held together by grief.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Fiction
Parenthood as Transformation
Before the baby, her mornings were quiet. She would stretch like a cat beneath linen sheets, sip slow coffee, and read pages without rereading. The plants on her windowsill whispered between themselves, the sunlight moved lazily, and she felt steady in her small, tidy life.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Fiction
Poetic Nature Personification
The river knew her name long before she ever arrived. It had tasted her in the wind, caught her scent in the petals that floated past. It murmured her syllables through the moss, echoing them in droplets that slipped over stones polished by centuries of waiting.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Wander
Raw Emotional Confessionals
I’m writing this now because it’s too late to say it out loud. And maybe that’s the point. You never heard me—not really. You heard the filtered versions of me: the polite one, the funny one, the one who apologized too much. I told you I was fine even when I couldn’t breathe. I laughed at your jokes when they cut like glass. I pretended the silence between us was peaceful instead of painful.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Earth
Modern Witchcraft & Mysticism
Most people didn’t know that apartment 4C in the crumbling red-brick building on Juniper Street was enchanted. The landlord thought the old lady who lived there just liked incense. Amazon delivery drivers complained about how the air always smelled like burning lavender and salt. But if you stepped inside—and you were meant to—you’d feel the spell.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Fiction
Snowball and the Whispering Moon
Snowball was not quite a rabbit, nor exactly a fox. He had fur as white as freshly fallen dreams and eyes like polished sapphires. In the village, they called him the quiet wanderer, for he never made a sound. Not even his paws left prints in the snow.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Fiction
Old Technology and Memory
The attic smelled like dust and summers long gone. Light fell in slats through warped wooden beams, catching the air in golden flecks. Adam pushed aside a moth-eaten quilt, a cracked globe, a teetering stack of yellowing newspapers, and found the thing that would change everything: a boxy, brown Bakelite radio.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Earth
