Ayan khan

Joined July 2025

15 stories

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Stories (15)

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The First Word of Baby
Rain tapped softly on the windowsill, the way it does on Sundays that feel like soft lullabies. The house was quiet, but not empty. It carried the sound of breathing—gentle, slow, and steady—from the nursery down the hall. Emily sat curled on the couch, a lukewarm cup of coffee in her hand, watching the storm make lace patterns on the glass.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Families
“Neon Confessions”
The bass thrummed like a second heartbeat, pulsing through the floor and vibrating up through their shoes. Neon lights rippled across the club in electric pinks and violets, a swirling galaxy of color washing over a sea of dancers. In the center of it all stood two people—strangers only hours ago—drawn together by rhythm and curiosity.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Poets
Whispers Beneath the Floorboards
When Mia inherited the old Victorian house from her late aunt, she thought it would be the fresh start she desperately needed. Nestled on the edge of a quiet town, the house was charming in its eerie way — with creaky floors, tall windows draped in heavy curtains, and a dark history that her aunt had hinted at but never fully explained.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Horror
The Reflection Room
There was a house at the end of Elder wood Lane that no one talked about anymore. Children crossed the street to avoid walking past it. Teenagers dared each other to peek through its shattered windows. Adults simply whispered, “That’s the Lockwood place,” and changed the subject.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Horror
The Vow That Survived the Storm
It started on a Thursday afternoon—the kind of overcast day that mirrors the mood of a marriage unraveling. Emma sat at the kitchen table, swirling cold coffee in her mug, staring through the window but seeing nothing. Across from her, Daniel scrolled his phone in silence. Ten years of marriage had quietly slipped into a rhythm neither of them recognized—one made of sighs, silent dinners, and separate lives under the same roof.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Marriage
America Great
Jackson Hayes stood under the faded stars and stripes waving in his small-town backyard. The flagpole leaned slightly from years of Midwest wind, but he never let it fall. His daughter, Emily, had once asked, “Why do you still fly that flag when things feel so broken, Dad?”
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Confessions
“The Cloud Painter”
In the sky, high above the tallest mountains, floated a village made of clouds. The houses were soft and puffy, the streets were made of mist, and the sun shone like honey through the vapor.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Letter Under Her Pillow
Elena hadn't been home in seven years. The town she left behind was the kind that held onto gossip tighter than it did people. Her absence was both her rebellion and her sanctuary. But now, standing in her mother’s dimly lit bedroom, suitcase still in hand, it felt like the past hadn’t moved an inch.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Confessions
My Love in a Wheelchair
I met Ayaan on a rain-slicked afternoon when most people would rather stay indoors. I was at the community center, reluctantly helping with a book donation drive. He was there for the same reason, though I found out later that he volunteered every Saturday, rain or shine. He wheeled in quietly, his presence graceful yet unassuming, and offered a soft “hi” that echoed louder in my heart than the loudest thunder outside.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Humans
World at My Door
I had always believed the world to be distant—something that happened beyond the cracked sidewalk of my neighborhood or the fogged-up window of my cramped apartment. I lived in a pocket of routine, comforted by silence and the regular tick of the clock on my kitchen wall. But everything changed on the evening the world arrived—literally—at my front door.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Fiction
"Welcome to the House"
The sign above the creaking gate read: “Welcome to the House.” No other name. No address. Just those four words carved in old wood, faded and splintered by time.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Fiction
Married Like Bella, Fighting Like Real Life
When I was nineteen, I believed in the kind of love Bella Swan had—the all-consuming, world-shaking kind. I thought marriage would be a series of perfect moments, slow dances in kitchens, warm embraces after long days, and soft-spoken words under moonlight. I wanted the fantasy, the kind that feels like magic and lasts forever.
By Ayan khan6 months ago in Marriage