Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)
Bio
“A passionate writer who loves to express feelings through words. I write about love, life, emotions, and untold stories. Hope you enjoy reading my thoughts. Thank you for your support!”
Stories (43)
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The Clockmaker’s Regret
In a quiet little village nestled between rolling hills, lived an old man named Eliot, known far and wide as the finest clockmaker anyone had ever seen. His hands, though wrinkled by age, still moved with the precision of a metronome, carving time into wood and gears. People came from faraway cities to buy his clocks—grandfather clocks, cuckoo clocks, even delicate pocket watches. They all ticked with perfection, just like Eliot's life.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Writers
The Music Box That Never Played Again
a sat cross-legged in the attic, the musty scent of old books and forgotten time thick in the air. Cobwebs clung to the wooden beams, and dust danced like fading memories in the golden light slipping through the window. In her hands, she held a small music box.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Motivation
The Clock That Stopped at Midnight
The clock on the living room wall stopped at exactly 12:00 a.m. the night Anna died. It was strange—eerie even. For twenty years, that clock had ticked steadily through laughter, arguments, celebrations, and sleepless nights. But the night the light left her eyes, time itself seemed to pause.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Families
The Man Who Waited by the River
There was a man who visited the river every evening. No matter the season—rain, snow, or burning sun—he would sit quietly on the same bench, facing the flowing waters. He was always dressed in a faded brown coat and carried a small paper bag that looked soft from years of use.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Motivation
The Bench Beside the Lake
Every Sunday afternoon, David sat on the same old wooden bench beside the lake. It had become his ritual after losing his wife to cancer three years ago. That bench wasn’t just a place; it was a memory capsule. That’s where he had proposed to her. That’s where they used to laugh, dream, and sometimes cry. And now, it was where he came to feel close to her.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Motivation
"The Window Across the Hall"
Mr. Harold Bennett was the kind of man no one really noticed. At 82, he had become a permanent fixture in the retirement home, much like the paintings that hung on the beige walls—quiet, still, and barely acknowledged.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Writers
The Decision at Midnight
Start writing...Arman stood on the bridge, frozen, as the chill of the midnight wind cut through his jacket. The city behind him pulsed with lights and life, but none of it reached the emptiness inside him. In his hand, he held a small letter — torn, wrinkled, smudged with his fingerprints. It had no addressee. Just his final thoughts.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Motivation
The Letter She Never Sent
Emily sat at her kitchen table, the morning sunlight filtering through the window, bathing the room in gold. In front of her lay a single sheet of paper and an old fountain pen. She hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and began to write.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Motivation
The Old Man at the Station
The rain had just started when Sarah entered the small railway station. She was on her way to visit her grandmother in another town, carrying a bouquet of flowers and a heart full of excitement. The station was nearly empty—just a few people waiting silently on the wooden benches, avoiding eye contact, staring at the arrival board.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Motivation
"The Empty Swing"
In the courtyard of an old village house, an ancient swing dangled silently. It creaked with the breeze, swaying ever so slightly, as if invisible hands rocked it gently. But no one had sat in that swing for years. Dust had settled, memories had aged, and the swing… remained still.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Families
Echoes of the Lighthouse"
Echoes of the Lighthouse The lighthouse had been abandoned for years. Perched on a lonely cliff in the seaside town of Dorrington, it stood like a forgotten sentinel—windows shattered, its once-white stone now stained with salt and time. Locals said the light had gone out a decade ago, after the keeper passed away and no one bothered to replace him.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Horror
When We Met Again
The first time they met, it was raining. Ayaan was late for a lecture; Zoya was standing under a tree trying to protect her sketchbook from the downpour. He offered his umbrella, and she declined with a polite smile that stayed with him longer than it should have.
By Afzal khan dotani (story uplode time 10:00 PM)6 months ago in Families
