Ahmed aldeabella
Bio
"Creating short, magical, and educational fantasy tales. Blending imagination with hidden lessons—one enchanted story at a time." #stories #novels #story
Stories (141)
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Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 11) . AI-Generated.
The morning after the package arrived felt unreal—too quiet, too still, too watchful. Snow had stopped falling, leaving behind a white sheet across the Brooklyn streets, reflecting the pale sun like a cold mirror. Evelyn stood by the window of her apartment, staring down at the street with a numbness that felt heavier than fear itself.
By Ahmed aldeabella29 days ago in Fiction
From a Small Island to Global Immortality
Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro was born on February 5, 1985, on the small Portuguese island of Madeira, in the city of Funchal. From the very beginning, his life was far from easy. He was born into a humble family that struggled daily to survive. His story is not just about football; it is a story of sacrifice, pain, determination, and an unbreakable will to succeed.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Gamers
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 10)
The tenth night felt heavier than the nine before it—thicker, denser, as though the air itself sensed what Evelyn had uncovered at the library. Snow fell lazily outside her apartment window in Brooklyn, soft flakes drifting downward like a curtain that wanted to isolate her from the world. December was growing harsher, but what chilled her more was the knowledge she carried.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 9)
Evelyn stood completely still. Her name. On a list. A list of people who were supposed to disappear. Her breath came slow, uneven. Snow pressed against her cheeks like cold fingers, grounding her in a reality she wished wasn’t true.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 8)
Snow swirled around them like white ghosts drifting through the cold night. Evelyn pulled her coat tighter as Rowan lowered his hood completely. Now she could see his face clearly — not dangerous, not cold, just haunted.
By Ahmed aldeabella30 days ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 7). AI-Generated.
Evelyn stayed frozen on the corner, breath forming trembling clouds in the cold air. Her heartbeat thudded painfully in her ears. The second-floor windows of the house remained dark, like hollow eyes staring back at her.
By Ahmed aldeabellaabout a month ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 5). AI-Generated.
Evelyn stared at the envelope for what felt like a full minute before she could bring herself to touch it. The handwriting was the same as the first letter — thin strokes, slightly slanted, almost elegant but unnerving in its precision.
By Ahmed aldeabellaabout a month ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 4). AI-Generated.
Evelyn barely slept. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the man’s silhouette pressed against the window, his hand against the glass, his face hidden in shadow. Even after he disappeared into the snowfall, she sensed him lingering in the air, like the afterimage of a nightmare.
By Ahmed aldeabellaabout a month ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 3). AI-Generated.
By the time Evelyn stepped out of the café, the sky had darkened into a deep winter blue. The streetlights flickered on, scattering yellow circles across the snow-covered sidewalks. The city seemed softer at dusk, quieter, as though hiding whatever secrets it carried in the daylight.
By Ahmed aldeabellaabout a month ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 2). AI-Generated.
The letter haunted Evelyn long after she closed the box. She placed everything back exactly as she found it, locked the lid, and set the box at the foot of the bed. But the words kept echoing in her mind:
By Ahmed aldeabellaabout a month ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Turning Seasons (part 1)
The first morning of December arrived with the kind of cold that stung through fabric. New York was already dressed in its winter lights—stringed across balconies, wrapped around lamp posts, and blinking through the morning fog like distant stars waking late. Breath rose in white clouds from hurried commuters clutching hot coffee cups. The city felt alive, loud, restless… everything Evelyn Hart wasn’t.
By Ahmed aldeabellaabout a month ago in Fiction
