Firdos Jamal
Bio
Not perfect. Not polished. Just honest writing for those who feel deeply, think quietly, and crave more than small talk.
Stories (11)
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The Taxi Only Comes at Midnight
I first noticed it two weeks after moving into Apartment 7B. Every night at exactly 12:00 a.m., a black taxi pulls up to the curb outside my building. Its headlights cut through the mist like twin blades. The engine hums low, steady, as if it’s been waiting for centuries to be heard. Then it just... waits.
By Firdos Jamal6 months ago in Fiction
I Answered a Stranger’s Phone and It Changed My Life
The phone rang on the wet sidewalk like it was meant for me. I wasn’t supposed to be walking that way. My usual route home was faster, drier, more predictable. But the cafe liked had closed early, and I’d decided to wander the long way through the park. That’s when I saw it — a sleek black phone, facedown, blinking with a single incoming call: “Unknown.”
By Firdos Jamal6 months ago in Fiction
🎓🧠 Grades Are Not Intelligence — And I’m Proof
I was twelve the first time I believed I was stupid. It happened on a Thursday, after math class. We had just gotten our exam papers back, and mine had a red "38%" scrawled across the top. That number felt like it wasn’t just grading my work — it was grading me. My mind, my ability, my future. I looked at the paper, then at the girl next to me who always got 90s, and thought, She’s smart. I’m not.
By Firdos Jamal6 months ago in Education
Teaching in 2025: What I Wish Everyone Knew
I didn’t expect to be the kind of teacher who counted the number of “screens off” during a lesson. I didn’t plan to learn how to mute thirty students at once or to explain fractions through a camera lens while my coffee went cold beside me. Yet somehow, here we are — teaching in 2025. A time that feels futuristic and heavy all at once.
By Firdos Jamal7 months ago in Education
The Man Who Counts the Dark
The first time I saw him, I thought my insomnia had finally broken me. 3:17 AM. My cramped studio apartment hummed with the static of sleeplessness. The glow of my laptop screen painted everything in sickly blue—except for the hallway. There, where the light didn’t quite reach, stood a man in a moth-eaten waistcoat.
By Firdos Jamal7 months ago in Horror
The City Where Everyone Forgets Their Name
No one remembers arriving. The City has no welcome signs, no maps, no borders — just a quiet street that stretches endlessly in both directions, and a thick, humming silence that follows you like a shadow. Everyone here is... pleasant. Gentle smiles. Hollow eyes. Voices like distant echoes.
By Firdos Jamal7 months ago in Fiction
The Bench on Sixth Street
I saw her again today. Not her, exactly. Just someone who looked like her — same dark curls tied in a loose knot, same way she tucked her coat around herself like the world was colder than it actually was. She sat down on the bench across from the bookstore on Sixth Street.Our bench.
By Firdos Jamal7 months ago in Fiction
