arsalan ahmad
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Stories (97)
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The Stranger Who Returned My Lost Journal
I’ve always kept a journal. Not a neat, leather-bound diary with perfect cursive entries, but a messy little notebook that went everywhere with me. It was filled with scribbled ideas, unfiltered feelings, doodles in the margins, and dreams I wasn’t ready to say out loud. That journal was more me than any photo or social media profile could ever be.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Humans
The Coffee Cup Left Behind
It was a Tuesday afternoon when I noticed the cup. It sat on the windowsill of the little café I sometimes escaped to when I needed quiet. The cup wasn’t anything special — chipped white ceramic with a faint blue ring around the rim. It looked as though it had been forgotten, maybe set down by someone who had stepped out for a smoke and never returned. But there it was, catching the soft light that spilled through the glass, and for reasons I couldn’t explain, I couldn’t stop looking at it.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Fiction
The Window I Never Opened
There was a window in my childhood home that I never opened. It was in the corner of my bedroom, overlooking the narrow street where bicycles rattled and children shouted until the sun dipped below the roofs. The glass was always a little foggy, the frame painted thick with layers of white over the years. My mother used to say the window was stubborn, that it had been painted shut long before we moved in.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Poets
The Shoes I Couldn’t Throw Away
They sat in the corner of my closet, tucked behind a row of boots and dress shoes I never wore. Old sneakers, frayed at the edges, laces gray instead of white, and soles so thin they could barely hold together. Every time I tried to throw them out, I froze. My hand would linger on the torn fabric, my chest tightening as if I was about to give away more than just a pair of shoes.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Confessions
The Day I Stopped Answering Unknown Numbers
It started with one of those relentless calls that always seem to come during dinner. The phone buzzed against the table, lighting up with the words “Unknown Caller.” I remember staring at it, fork in hand, wondering if this would be the one time it mattered.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Confessions
The Library of Forgotten Sounds
Thomas had always loved the quiet corners of the library. As the town’s archivist, he spent most of his days surrounded by brittle newspapers, parish records, and maps that no one had touched in decades. The work was steady and unremarkable, which suited him fine.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Fiction
The Leftover Umbrella
It had been raining since dawn, the kind of steady, gray drizzle that made the city seem quieter than usual. Cafés filled up quickly on mornings like this, everyone seeking refuge with hot drinks and dry corners. I slipped into a small coffee shop near the station, shook the rain from my jacket, and ordered a cappuccino.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Humans
Tea on the Rooftops of Marrakech
The sun was setting when I first climbed the narrow staircase to the rooftop. Marrakech has a way of hiding its treasures in plain sight. From the street below, the house seemed like any other—dusty pink walls, a wooden door that had seen decades of use, and an alley crowded with scooters and the occasional donkey cart. But once I reached the roof, the city opened up like a secret whispered only to those willing to listen.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Humans
Love Letters to a Stranger
The first thing Emily noticed about her new apartment was the creaking floor. Every step echoed faintly, as if the wood remembered all the lives that had passed through before her. She had moved in with little more than a suitcase and a box of books, determined to start over after a breakup that had left her heart heavy and her trust fractured.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Humans
The Last Dance in New York
It was the kind of evening New York City was famous for—buzzing lights, the restless rhythm of footsteps, and the hum of voices in a dozen different languages. Alejandro, a Spanish dancer from Seville, had only been in the city for two weeks, yet it already felt like he had lived a lifetime. For years, he had dreamed of performing at the International Dance Festival, a stage where legends were born and forgotten in equal measure. Tonight, his name would be among the hopefuls.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Humans
The Door of Light
Arman had always loved old libraries. The silence, the smell of dust and paper, the way stories seemed to whisper from every shelf—it felt like a place where secrets lived. One rainy evening, when the city outside was wrapped in thunder, Arman wandered into a forgotten corner of the library. That was where he saw it.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Fiction
A Letter Between Us
The small town of Willow Creek was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone’s business, where streets were lined with familiar faces and the rhythm of life moved slowly. Emma had always loved the quiet comfort of the town, but as she stood by her mailbox, clutching a folded piece of paper in her hand, she felt an unfamiliar nervousness. Today, she was sending a letter to Alex—her oldest friend, someone who had been by her side since childhood.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Fiction
