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 Xenobotanist's Secret
The planet Sylvan wasn’t green. It was a world of twilight hues—indigo forests, silver rivers, and a deep, violet sky. My mission, as a xenobotanist for the Astra Corporation, was to catalog its flora for potential profit or peril. Mostly, I found peril.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Sentient City's Plea
The first time I saw the city bleed, I was walking home in the rain. A crack in the pavement, usually filled with black grime, was seeping a liquid, golden light. It pulsed faintly, in time with the flicker of the streetlamp above me. I wrote it off as a weird refraction, a trick of the water and neon.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Chronos Weaver
My grandmother was a weaver, but her tapestries didn’t hang in galleries. They hung in the air for a moment, shimmering with light and memory, before fading into the fabric of reality itself. She was a Chronos Weaver, the last in a long line of women who could mend time.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Glimmer Protocol
The watch was my grandfather’s only possession of value, and it was worthless. At least, that’s what the appraiser said when he opened the polished brass case, saw there were no gears, no hands, just a swirling, starry mist where the face should be, and snorted. “A clever trinket. Not a timepiece.”
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The River That Stopped Flowing
In the town of Rivermist, the river was the town’s heartbeat. But it wasn’t an ordinary river. Its waters were silvery and faintly luminous, and if you listened closely as you drew a bucket, you might hear the echo of a long-ago laugh or the faint scent of a forgotten summer day. The river didn’t just carry water; it carried the town’s story.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Sparrow’s Feather
My grandmother’s magic was a quiet thing. It lived on the highest shelf in her kitchen, in a simple glass jar filled with feathers. A brilliant blue jay feather for calming a child’s night terror. A stark black crow feather for helping a man forgive himself. A downy white owl feather for granting clarity to a confused heart.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Empty Chair
The empty chair was the most important seat at the table. It had been five years since Grandpa Jack passed, but his place at the head of the table was always set. A full plate, a polished fork, and his favorite, slightly chipped “World’s Best Grandpa” mug. It was our family’s quiet religion. A way of saying, You are still here with us.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Bridge of Words
In the town of Twin Oaks, the only thing we had in common was the ravine. It split the town in two—not with water, but with a deep, silent chasm of old grievances. On the East side, the Millers. On the West, the Hargroves. A hundred-year-old argument over water rights had fossilized into a permanent cold war.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Candle Maker’s Secret
The shop smelled of beeswax, honey, and secrets. When my grandmother passed, she left me two things: her creaky, clapboard house and her beloved candle shop, “The Wick’s End.” The will had one peculiar instruction: “Elara, you must keep making the candles. The recipe is in the red book. Do not deviate.”
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Fisherman’s Net
The Fisherman’s Net The net was my grandfather’s true legacy. Not the small cottage, not the rickety boat, but this twenty-foot span of hand-knotted cork and twine. It smelled of salt, seaweed, and a lifetime of hard work. After the funeral, it was the only thing I wanted.
By Habibullah5 months ago in Fiction
