Ali Rehman
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Stories (140)
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“The Science of Memory: Why Some Moments Refuse to Fade”
The Science of Memory: Why Some Moments Refuse to Fade B y [Ali Rehman] Some memories slip away quietly, dissolving like mist at dawn. Others cling to us with surprising strength — a scent that pulls us backward in time, a voice we still hear years later, the moment someone left or the moment someone arrived.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in FYI
“The Dog Who Waited at the Window for 11 Years”
The Dog Who Waited at the Window for 11 Years By [Ali Rehman] In a small, sunlit house at the edge of town, there was a window that looked out onto the dusty road. For eleven years, a golden-furred dog named Marley sat by that window every day, watching. Waiting.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in Petlife
“Maps of the People I Used to Be”
Maps of the People I Used to Be By [Ali Rehman] There are days when I feel as if my skin is made of maps — thin, fragile pages carrying the faint outlines of every version of me I’ve ever lived through. If I press my fingers into certain places, memories rise like old ink. Some lines are bold, carved by choices I was certain about. Others fade like watercolor trails, belonging to lives I almost lived but left behind before I ever learned their names.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in 01
“The Street That Loved Us More Than We Loved Each Other”
“The Street That Loved Us More Than We Loved Each Other” By [Ali Rehman] There are some streets in the world that feel less like places and more like witnesses. They remember our footsteps, our laughter, our silence, and the way two people can drift apart while still walking the same path. And then there was our street—the narrow, cobblestone lane tucked between the old bakery and the bookstore that smelled like forgotten summers.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in 01
“The Bridge That Had No End”
The Bridge That Had No End By [Ali Rehman] The first time I saw the bridge, I thought it was a trick of the morning fog—a wooden path stretching into a white, hushed nothingness. There were no signs, no footmarks, no sounds but the soft groan of the planks beneath the wind. I had wandered far that day, farther than I meant to, driven by a restlessness I couldn’t name.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in 01
“The Person I Almost Became”
The Person I Almost Became By [Ali Rehman] There are moments in life when I catch a glimpse of someone I recognize, someone who moves like me, thinks like me, even dreams like me—but isn’t me. A shadow-version of myself walking in the margins of my memory. A life that could have been mine if I had turned left instead of right, said yes instead of no, stayed instead of leaving.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in Humans
“When the Rain Started Calling My Name”
When the Rain Started Calling My Name By [Ali Rehman] The first time it happened, I thought it was the wind. A soft whisper curling beneath the storm clouds, brushing against the window like a forgotten breath. The rain was gentle that night, tapping its fingers along the glass in a rhythm that almost resembled speech. I leaned closer, half-asleep, half-curious, telling myself I was imagining things.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in Poets
“The Night My Shadow Refused to Follow Me”
“The Night My Shadow Refused to Follow Me” By [Ali Rehman] I first noticed something strange when the streetlamp at the end of my block flickered, sputtered, and went out—just as I stepped beneath it. I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the sudden dark. It took only a moment, and when they did, I felt a quiet cold crawl down the back of my neck.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in Poets
“The Photograph That Shouldn’t Exist”
The Photograph That Shouldn’t Exist By [Ali Rehman] Elias Rowan never believed in curses, omens, or anything that couldn’t be explained by logic. He spent his life cataloging artifacts in dusty archives, identifying the age of paper from its fibers, determining truth from forgery with the confidence of a scientist.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in Photography
“Maps of the Heart: Places We Leave Behind”
Maps of the Heart: Places We Leave Behind By [Ali Rehman] There are maps drawn on paper, inked in neat lines and careful strokes. And then there are maps we carry inside us — invisible, unrolled only when memory calls them. They are stitched with emotions instead of roads, landmarks built of moments instead of cities. These are the maps of the heart: the places we loved, the corners where we broke, and the quiet roads where we grew, sometimes without even knowing.
By Ali Rehman2 months ago in Writers
