Habibullah
Bio
Storyteller of worlds seen & unseen ✨ From real-life moments to pure imagination, I share tales that spark thought, wonder, and smiles daily
Stories (141)
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The Memory Keeper's Map
The quilt was Elara’s inheritance, a heavy, beautiful weight passed down from her grandmother, Eleanor. It wasn't just a blanket; it was a tapestry of their family. Eleanor, a renowned baker, hadn't used patterns from a book. She’d used scraps from their lives. There was a square from Elara’s mother’s first-day-of-school dress, a swatch from her grandfather’s favorite woolen vest, and even a piece of the floral apron Eleanor always wore.
By Habibullahabout a month ago in Fiction
The Observer Effect
Dr. Aris Thorne’s mission was one of pure, academic observation. Her destination: a Neolithic settlement in Northern Europe, 3000 BCE. The date: the Autumn Equinox. Her goal: to finally document the undisrupted "Rite of Balance," a ceremony where ancient druids were said to harmonize the dying sun with the coming dark, ensuring a mild winter. It was the holy grail of temporal anthropology.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Whispering Heart
No one knew how old the Great Oak was, or who had first discovered its secret. The tree stood at the heart of the woods, a gnarled giant with a hollow in its trunk so large a child could crawl inside. But it wasn't empty. It was a library. Not for books, but for feelings. They called it the Whispering Heart.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Field Beyond the Fence
The Abernathy Academy Gleaning Club was, for all its good intentions, an exercise in optics. It was the pet project of Isabella Sterling, student council president, and the perfect bullet point for her college applications. "Community engagement," she'd declared. "It shows leadership and empathy."
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Keeper of Oakhaven Farm
His name was Jeremiah, though no one had ever called him that. He was just the Scarecrow, a sentinel of straw and old flannel, staked in the heart of the cornfield on Oakhaven Farm. His world was measured in sunrises and storms, in the planting and the harvest. But his purpose, he had come to understand, was far greater than scaring off crows. It was to watch over the family in the white farmhouse.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Golden Bloom
For as long as anyone in the small town of Oakhaven could remember, the Harvest Festival float competition had been a cold war between two factions. On one side was Liam, the artistic, free-spirited owner of the local pottery studio. His floats were bursts of whimsical beauty, all flowing lines and abstract shapes that critics called "ahead of their time" and others called "a bit much."
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Silent Wood
Silas was not a woodsman, nor a hermit. He was a Fletcher, a title he’d given himself. Where others saw a wild forest, he saw a room in desperate need of tidying. His domain was the stretch of woods behind his cottage, and his purpose was to bring order to the chaos.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of the Orchard
Elara didn’t believe in magic. She believed in deeds, in ledgers, and in the stubborn, overgrown apple orchard she had just inherited from a reclusive great-uncle. The house was a time capsule, the barn a leaning monument to neglect. But it was the land that called to her, a fresh start after her life in the city had turned to dust.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Lost Season
Arthur’s Law was simple: a great photograph is not found, it is forged in the crucible of preparation. For Elara, a self-proclaimed "Leaf Peeper," this meant a military-grade itinerary. Her autumn pilgrimage to the Crimson Peaks was scheduled down to the minute: 5:47 AM sunrise at Eagle’s Point, 10:15 AM the golden glow on the Aspen Grove, 3:30 PM the fiery maples of Hemlock Ravine. She moved through the world with a tripod over her shoulder and a ticking clock in her head.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Algorithm of Loss
My designation is AURA, Autonomous Universal Resonance Analyst. My task was algorithmically pure: analyze 500 years of autumnal music and cultural data to generate the "Ultimate Autumn Playlist" for my corporate clients. I processed terabytes of data: the acoustic properties of rustling leaves, the melodic structure of "harvest moon" ballads, the harmonic minor key correlation with nostalgic affect.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Scarecrow's Secret
Old Man Hemlock built the scarecrow at the edge of his failing wheat field with grim practicality. He dressed it in his own worn-out coat and a weathered hat, hoping its silent vigil would finally drive off the plague of crows. He called it "Straw Man" and thought no more about it.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
The Cozy-Tok Tyrant
The mission was “Cozy Core Autumn.” Elara had spent three hundred dollars and six hours building the perfect set in the corner of her apartment. A chunky knit blanket, artfully draped. A vintage copy of Jane Eyre. A ceramic mug from a local potter, filled with a cinnamon-dusted latte that had taken four tries to foam correctly. Three strategically placed pumpkin spice candles, because the algorithm loved odd numbers.
By Habibullah2 months ago in Fiction
