AFTAB KHAN
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Storyteller at heart, writing to inspire, inform, and spark conversation. Exploring ideas one word at a time.
Writing truths, weaving dreams — one story at a time.
From imagination to reality
Stories (95)
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The Shape of the Thing
Elliot first drew the creature when he was six. It was supposed to be a simple art project. His teacher, Miss Carrow, had asked the class to draw their imaginary friends. Most kids sketched knights or fairies, monsters with toothy grins and candy-colored wings. Elliot’s paper, by contrast, was quiet. It showed a corner of his room, scribbled in grayscale, with a crooked figure crouched in the shadows beside his toy chest. He’d labeled it in heavy crayon: The Shape of the Thing.
By AFTAB KHAN5 months ago in Fiction
Everything Looks Better From Far Away
The cabin sat halfway up the mountain, perfectly placed at the edge of a cliff that overlooked the valley below. From the balcony, you could see the river winding like silver ribbon through the trees. The sun rose behind the eastern ridge and set in soft amber over the lake. It was a place photographers hiked miles to find — a place influencers posted and poets dreamed of.
By AFTAB KHAN5 months ago in Fiction
Leave the Light On
It started with the wind. The shutters on the old farmhouse banged open and shut in the gusts like the frantic heartbeat of the night. Rain slapped against the windows as thunder rolled somewhere off in the dark hills. Inside, the house groaned with each blast of wind, an ancient structure battling time and weather alike.
By AFTAB KHAN5 months ago in Fiction
The Summer That Wasn’t
I had a map. Not a literal one, though I did buy one of the laminated ones at the gas station, blue veins of interstate highways cutting through the country like restless arteries. But this map was in my head—of beaches, of reunions, of laughter over bonfires. Of promises made in spring when everything still felt possible.
By AFTAB KHAN5 months ago in Fiction
Porch Lights and Pickup Trucks
In the quiet bend of Mason County, tucked between slow rivers and cornfields that stretched for miles, sat the village of Wesley Hill. It wasn’t marked on most maps. The roads had no stoplights, and the diner served the same five meals since 1974. Yet it was the kind of place where you waved to strangers, left your doors unlocked, and borrowed sugar without asking.
By AFTAB KHAN5 months ago in Earth
Beneath the Rain Tree
There was an old rain tree in the center of Mira Valley, its massive branches stretching like arms over the open hill, casting a dappled shadow over the grass below. For decades, it stood quiet witness to wind, birds, time, and something else far rarer—a love story that waited.
By AFTAB KHAN5 months ago in Families
