Awais Aslam
Stories (8)
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The Vanishing Lighthouse
The Vanishing Lighthouse had always been a myth—a whisper among sailors, a shadowy figure among the craggy rocks of the coast. Few who ventured near the isolated island where the lighthouse stood ever returned. Those who did often spoke of a light that flickered in the mist during the dead of night, though the lighthouse had been abandoned for years. Some claimed it was haunted by its last keeper, a man who vanished without a trace. Others believed the light was a warning from a realm beyond. Clara had heard these stories growing up, but she never believed them—until now.
By Awais Aslamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Shadows of Larkwood Manor
I first saw her by the cracked iron gate of Larkwood Manor, just beyond the woods that bordered the edge of town. She stood still, a figure of striking grace but with an unsettling air of sadness. The late afternoon light filtered through the dense forest, casting her in pale gold, and her long, dark hair caught the sun as it draped over her old-fashioned dress. There was something timeless about her — not in beauty, but in presence, as if she had been waiting at that gate for years.
By Awais Aslamabout a year ago in Fiction
Whispers of the Forgotten Isle
The wind howled through the crumbling stone towers of Arkenmoor Isle, a desolate place abandoned for centuries. Few dared to speak of it, and fewer still ventured near its shores. Legend told of a great kingdom that once thrived there, until one night, it vanished without a trace. The island became a hushed whisper, a shadow lurking in the corner of maps. But for Mara, it was more than a forgotten place. It was the key to her family's curse.
By Awais Aslamabout a year ago in Fiction
The Forgotten Promise. AI-Generated.
I first saw him standing under the flickering glow of a weathered lamppost, just outside the old university library. He wasn’t particularly striking, but the word intriguing kept resurfacing in my thoughts. His dark hair was tousled, not by design but by the wind, and he wore a simple gray trench coat that seemed almost anachronistic in the busy, modern city. His gaze was fixed on something distant, something beyond the reality that the rest of us were moving through. I couldn't help but feel drawn to him, though I assumed he was just another lost soul in the city, perhaps a student or a late-night reader who had spent too long in the musty aisles of the library.
By Awais Aslamabout a year ago in Fiction
