Abuzar khan
Stories (123)
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Unconventional Love and Quiet Heartbreak
Every morning, the village woke to the smell of fresh bread and the whistle of the mail train. Time moved slowly there—between chimes of the church bell and the clatter of boots on cobblestone. But in the attic room of a small blue house on Finch Lane, time behaved differently.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Humans
Rural and Suburban Loneliness
It wasn’t the quiet that bothered Edith. It was how loud it could get. She lived in a small white house on the last street before the cornfields began. Not quite farmland, not quite neighborhood—just the space in between. The kind of town where people wave but never stop. Where every dog knows its way home, and every secret stays in the soil.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Families
The Magic of Forgotten Objects
Nobody ever meant to find the shop. Tucked between a shuttered bakery and a crumbling watch repair storefront, it had no name. Just a brass bell over the door and a window display that hadn’t changed in years: a single glove with pearls stitched into the wrist, a chessboard missing one knight, and a child’s music box that refused to close.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Marriage
Poetic Acts of Rebellion
They told her not to write. Not in the margins of her notebooks, not on napkins, not under her breath in the classroom, not with eyeliner on bathroom mirrors. “There are better things to do with your time,” her uncle once said, folding her poem into quarters like it was trash. “Girls like you don’t need to dream like that.”
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Poets
When AI Replaces the Muse
It started with a blinking cursor. Not the kind that waits for words—but the kind that taunts. The kind that knows. Harper had written poetry for fifteen years. At least she thought she had. There were notebooks with wine stains and tear-blurred lines to prove it. But those words, once holy and uncontainable, had stopped arriving.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Writers
Walking Through Unspoken Pain
There’s a kind of grief that doesn’t cry out. It doesn’t scream, doesn’t collapse in the kitchen or tear through photographs in fury. It lingers. Quiet. Heavy. The kind you carry in your spine, in the way your shoulders hunch or how you hesitate before answering “I’m fine.”
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Poets
He Was My Brother’s Shadow
My brother came into the world screaming, like he already knew he had something to prove. They named him Adam—strong, simple, biblical. He had this magnetic energy, the kind that made kindergarten teachers forget other kids existed. People used to say, “You must be so proud of him,” and I’d nod, even when I wasn’t sure if I existed in the same sentence.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Fiction
Confessions Over Coffee at Midnight
The neon sign outside the diner buzzed like a tired secret. "OPEN 24 HOURS" it declared, as if endurance was a virtue. Inside, the air smelled of burnt coffee, fryer grease, and something sweeter—perhaps the past. Or regret. Maybe both.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Fiction
Quiet Strength, Unrequited Love
I loved her the way the ocean loves the moon—faithfully, from a distance. Her name was Mira, and she moved through the world like dusk: soft, unbothered, and unaware of the stars she made out of ordinary people. I met her on a Tuesday that smelled of rain. She wore yellow that day, the kind that wasn’t loud but hummed quietly under the weight of gray skies.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Confessions
Ctrl+Alt+Delete” the Life You’re Told You Need
Every morning, Jace Martin sat down at the same desk, in the same cubicle, under the same flickering fluorescent light. He wore a button-up shirt like armor, his tie like a leash, and stared into the glow of his office monitor while sipping bitter coffee.
By Abuzar khan6 months ago in Humans
