Hanif Ullah
Bio
I love to write. Check me out in the many places where I pop up:
Stories (35)
Filter by community
What Nobody Warns You About Growing Up
Nobody warns you that growing up doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no clear moment when childhood ends and adulthood begins. It sneaks up on you quietly, disguised as routine, responsibility, and small decisions that suddenly feel heavy. When we’re young, we imagine growing up as freedom. We think it means staying up late, earning money, making our own choices, and living life on our terms. Adults look powerful from the outside—confident, certain, and in control. What nobody tells you is that most adults are still figuring things out, just like you were, only with higher stakes. One of the first shocks of growing up is realizing that no one is coming to save you. As a child, there is always someone to fix things—parents, teachers, elders. A bad grade can be explained. A mistake can be forgiven easily. But as you grow older, the safety net thins. Mistakes start costing time, money, relationships, and sometimes self-respect. You learn that accountability isn’t just a word; it’s a weight you carry every day. Nobody warns you about how lonely growing up can feel. Even when surrounded by people, there’s a quiet distance that forms. Friends you once spoke to every day slowly drift away. Not because of anger or betrayal, but because life pulls everyone in different directions. Jobs, families, priorities—all rearrange your circle without asking for permission. You stop expecting people to stay forever and start appreciating those who do. Another thing no one talks about is how often you’ll doubt yourself. As a child, you dream without limits. You want to be everything at once—successful, admired, fearless. Growing up introduces comparison. You see others moving faster, earning more, achieving milestones you haven’t reached yet. Social media makes it worse, turning life into a scoreboard you never agreed to play on. You learn that confidence isn’t permanent; it’s something you rebuild again and again. Growing up also teaches you that hard work doesn’t always pay off immediately. You can do everything right and still feel stuck. Effort doesn’t guarantee results, and patience becomes one of the hardest lessons. Nobody warns you how exhausting it is to keep going when motivation fades and only discipline remains. Yet this is where growth actually happens—in the moments when quitting feels easier than continuing. Then there’s the emotional part no one prepares you for. You start seeing your parents as human beings, not just authority figures. You notice their fears, regrets, and limitations. Sometimes you understand them more; sometimes it hurts to realize they didn’t have all the answers either. Growing up often means forgiving people—not because they apologized, but because holding on to resentment is too heavy. You’re also not warned about how your definition of success changes. It stops being about applause and starts becoming about peace. A quiet mind. A stable income. A few people who genuinely care about you. You learn that happiness isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s often found in ordinary moments—coming home tired but safe, laughing at something small, sleeping without anxiety. One of the hardest truths of growing up is learning to let go. Let go of versions of yourself that no longer fit. Let go of people who can’t grow with you. Let go of timelines you once believed were fixed. This letting go feels like loss, even when it’s necessary. Nobody warns you that growth and grief often walk together. Yet, despite all this, growing up gives you something valuable—clarity. You begin to understand your boundaries. You learn when to say no without explaining yourself. You start choosing what matters instead of chasing everything. Strength stops looking like loud confidence and starts looking like quiet resilience. What nobody warns you about growing up is that it will break you in small ways—and rebuild you stronger in others. You’ll lose some innocence but gain wisdom. You’ll trade certainty for understanding. And even on days when you miss the simplicity of who you once were, you’ll realize you’re proud of who you’re becoming. Growing up isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about learning how to keep going, even when you don’t. And maybe that’s the lesson no one warns you about—adulthood isn’t a destination. It’s a continuous act of becoming.
By Hanif Ullah a day ago in Fiction
The Child Who Dreamed in Color
Mira was born in a world that had forgotten color. People spoke of red, blue, and gold the way elders spoke of myths—softly, wistfully, as if afraid the words might break. Generations ago, the sky had faded to a permanent gray, buildings had lost their brightness, and even flowers grew in dull, lifeless shades. No one knew why it happened. It simply did, the way seasons change or rivers dry.
By Hanif Ullah about a month ago in Fiction
Where the Streets Turn Into Freedom
The sun had just begun its slow climb over the skyline, spilling gold across the tops of buildings and washing the long avenue in a warm, gentle glow. It was the kind of morning that felt almost unreal—too calm, too open, too perfect for a city known for noise, rush, and endless motion. But for one morning each week, everything changed. Cars disappeared. Horns went silent. And the streets became something else entirely.
By Hanif Ullah 2 months ago in Fiction
Footsteps Behind the Wall
The first time Mira heard the footsteps, she blamed the old building. Her apartment in Halliston Heights had a habit of making strange noises—pipes cooling, wood bending, air shifting through tight spaces. It was the kind of place where you either learned to ignore sounds or drove yourself mad trying to interpret them.
By Hanif Ullah 2 months ago in Fiction
Simplicity Wins
We live in a world that constantly whispers — sometimes shouts — that we need more. More money, more success, more clothes, more things. Everywhere we look, advertisements tell us that happiness is just one purchase away. But the truth is, the more we chase, the emptier we often feel.
By Hanif Ullah 2 months ago in Motivation
The Garden of Empty Chairs
There is a small corner of the world where silence grows heavier than words, and time seems to pause in reverence. It is not a place marked on any map, nor one that travelers will find in guidebooks. It is simply known as the Garden of Empty Chairs.
By Hanif Ullah 3 months ago in Confessions
A Heart Made of Ashes
There are people who walk through life carrying scars no one can see—burns of memory, flames of loss, and smoldering embers of love that never quite died. Their smiles may look whole, but inside, something fragile has already burned to ash. This is the story of such a heart, one shaped not by ease or comfort, but by fire.
By Hanif Ullah 4 months ago in Poets
Whispers Between the Raindrops
When love lingers in silence, even the rain begins to listen. The rain had always been my companion. Not the soft drizzle that barely clings to the windows, but the kind of rain that soaks through everything, leaving behind an echo of solitude. It was on nights like these, when the sky wept without restraint, that I felt closest to him.
By Hanif Ullah 5 months ago in Fiction
The Last Lightkeeper
The sea had a voice. Not the gentle hum of waves lapping against the shore, but a deep, endless murmur — the kind you felt in your bones long before you heard it in your ears. Elijah Crane knew that voice better than his own heartbeat. For forty years, he had listened to it through fog, through storms, through nights so black the horizon dissolved into nothing.
By Hanif Ullah 5 months ago in Fiction
Footprints Across the Water
The waves whispered that night, pulling secrets from the moon and scattering them across the shore. I stood barefoot at the edge of the ocean, toes sinking into the cool sand, staring at the trail of shimmering footprints leading out onto the water.
By Hanif Ullah 5 months ago in Fiction
Ashes Where the Snow Should Fall
It was supposed to snow that night. The air had that sharp, metallic taste that always comes before winter, and the world held itself in a kind of breathless pause. The weather reports swore a blizzard was on its way. The children in town were already giddy at the thought of waking to a white world, to sleds and snowmen and steaming mugs of cocoa.
By Hanif Ullah 5 months ago in Fiction
