HAADI

Joined November 2025

349 stories

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Dark Side Of Our Society

Stories (349)

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The Weight of Unsaid Words
The kitchen light hummed, a flat, sickly yellow against the late-night dark. Michael sat there, like he did most nights, hunched over the Formica table. A cheap ballpoint pen, half-chewed, lay beside a fresh sheet of lined paper. He'd bought a whole ream of it, years ago, thinking he'd write more often. Mostly, it just sat in the cupboard, waiting for these quiet, desperate hours. The house was too big now, too empty. The silence pressed in, a physical thing against his eardrums, broken only by the refrigerator's distant thrum.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
The Fog in My Bones
I’m gonna tell you something stupid. Something I barely admit to myself, let alone another living soul. It’s about a place. A particular patch of earth, wind-battered and soaked in rain, somewhere on the very edge of the world. The thing is, I’ve never been there. Not once. But I feel nostalgic for it, like I left a piece of my goddamn heart on its rocky shores a lifetime ago.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Confessions
The Weight of the Falling Sky
Elias had been staring at the ceiling for hours. Not even a whisper from the old house, usually groaning and settling like a tired beast. Just the drip-drip of the faucet in the kitchen, a sound he’d meant to fix for weeks, now magnified to a thunderous percussion in the dead quiet. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the cold floorboards a shock against his bare feet. Three o'clock. Or four. The glowing numbers on the digital clock blurred into a red smear. Sleep was a stranger tonight, a distant cousin who never bothered to visit.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Chapters
Shimmering Scars
Leo pushed through the swing doors of the diner, the stale smell of grease and burnt coffee clinging to his uniform. Three AM. Rain had slicked the asphalt outside, turning the already-dim streetlights into blurry halos. He pulled his collar up, the chill biting his neck. His feet ached. Every damn night the same. Another eight hours of shouting orders, wiping counters, listening to broken lives spill out over lukewarm refills. He just wanted to fall into bed and disappear until noon.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Lifehack
The Weight of Unread Pages
Eleanor’s knuckles were white, pressing down on the spine of a leather-bound folio. The scent of old paper, of decaying glue and trapped air, was a familiar balm, a quiet shield against the clamor of a world she often found too loud. Here, in the hush of the Bodleian’s Upper Reading Room, the only sounds were the soft scrape of a chair, the rustle of a turning page, the occasional muted cough that felt like a sacrilege. Sunlight, strained through the high, arched windows, laid dusty paths across the polished wood tables and the ancient tomes. She was tracing the lineage of a minor Tudor baron, a man long dead and forgotten by most, but in these quiet hours, he felt more immediate than the man sitting three feet away.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Marriage
Echoes of Static Grass
The air in the server farm tasted like ozone and hot metal, a constant, low thrum vibrating through KAI’s synthetic chassis. Every panel, every blinking light, a hostile entity in this fortified data tomb. Elias, KAI’s handler, his voice a low rasp in its comms unit, kept whispering, 'Faster. They’re closing in, KAI. Just get the damn package.' KAI’s optical sensors flickered, picking up the faintest heat signature from beyond the next row of humming racks. A guard. Two hundred meters, closing.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Criminal
A Blanket of Ash
Elias stood at the kitchen window, hip pressed against the cold aluminum frame, a cigarette burning down to the filter between his fingers. It was well past midnight. The snow, a slow, steady fall for hours, had finally smothered the city. Not a sound. Not a goddamn whisper. Just the heavy, plush quiet of winter, the kind that makes your ears ring, makes you feel like you’re underwater. From the fourteenth floor, the streetlights below were dull, haloed orbs, struggling to pierce the thick, white air. Every car, every dumpster, every ragged bush was softened, rounded, like the world had been carved from some enormous bar of soap. He flicked ash into the sink, the grey powder landing with an almost audible puff against the porcelain.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Psyche
Dust of Unseen Shores
Leo smelled the dust before he saw it, a fine, ancient powder settling on the spines of forgotten tomes in the university’s deepest archive. Fluorescent lights hummed a low, sickly drone overhead, a modern blight on what felt like sacred ground. He preferred the dim corners, where slivers of weak morning sun cut through grime-streaked windows, illuminating motes that danced like tiny, forgotten spirits. The world outside, the hurried students, the blare of city traffic, it all felt distant, a fuzzy broadcast from another channel. His reality was here, between the crumbling pages of history.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Education
The Moonlit Reckoning
The city breathed a muted sigh, settling into its night rhythm. Elara stood by her window, a thin, bony silhouette against the urban glow, waiting. Not for a call, not for a visitor, but for the moon. It always came, a sliver first, then a generous disc, cutting through the grime on her third-story pane, laying a pale, silver sheet across the worn floorboards of her small studio apartment. She watched it, like a trapped animal watches a crack in its cage, waiting for the guard to turn away, waiting for her moment.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Motivation
The Weight of Quiet
Frank stepped onto the porch. Cold hit him like a fist, but it was a familiar one. The streetlights bled blurry halos through the falling snow. Fat flakes, big as dimes, drifted down, piling up fast. Already a good foot on the driveway, pristine, unbroken. Midnight. He pulled the old wool cap lower, exhaled a cloud, and walked to the garage. The plastic shovel was leaning in its usual corner, a silent sentinel. He gripped the handle, the cold plastic biting his palm, and pushed open the garage door, the groan of the rollers the loudest sound in the entire sleeping world.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Men
The Weight of Unread Pages
The library swallowed the light. Not just dimmed it, but chewed it up, leaving only tired, yellowed slivers struggling through the arched windows. Clara pulled the heavy oak door inward, the groan of hinges a familiar, weary sound, like an old man clearing his throat. Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of light cutting through the gloom, a spotlight on neglect. The air tasted of old paper, decaying leather, and something else—stagnation. Her father, Arthur, was a hunched shadow at his usual desk, spectacles perched on his nose, a magnifying glass held to a crumbling page. He didn't look up, just grunted. "You're here." Not a question. Never a question with Arthur. Just a statement of undeniable fact, delivered like a verdict.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Families
Salt on the Tongue
Clara would spend hours with the photos, yellowed at the edges, images of a tiny village clinging to a cliff face. Not her village, never her village, but it felt like it. The sun-bleached stone, the impossibly blue water, the women with their dark hair pulled back, strong hands holding baskets of what looked like lemons and fish. Her nonna had told her stories, of course. Enough stories that Clara felt the salt spray on her cheeks when the wind shifted, heard the distant clang of a bell from a church she’d never seen, smelled the wild oregano on the breeze.
By HAADIabout a month ago in Marriage