Hubaib ullah
Stories (11)
Filter by community
The Café That Taught Me How to Live Again
[ by Hubaib Ullah] When I first walked into the café on the corner of Seventh Street, I wasn’t looking for anything profound. I only wanted coffee—something strong enough to push through the fog that had been following me for months. The world felt muted back then, like someone had turned the volume of life down to a low hum.
By Hubaib ullah5 months ago in Fiction
The Last Message in a Bottle
The storm had passed, leaving behind a bruised sky and a restless sea. Sand clung to my boots as I walked along the shore, scanning the debris scattered by the tide—broken shells, tangled seaweed, and the occasional piece of driftwood.
By Hubaib ullah5 months ago in Confessions
The Letter That Arrived Too Late
It had been raining for three days, the kind of steady, unhurried rain that soaks into everything. The streets outside Claire’s bookstore were slick and shining under the streetlamps. People passed with umbrellas tilted forward, their faces hidden.
By Hubaib ullah5 months ago in Confessions
Beneath the Mango Tree
By[Hubaib Ullah] In the heart of a dusty village in Sindh, Pakistan, where summers hung heavy like secrets and children ran barefoot through sugarcane fields, there stood an old mango tree. Its trunk was thick with time, its roots tangled deep into the earth, and its branches arched like open arms over the narrow path between two homes.
By Hubaib ullah6 months ago in Fiction
Letters She Never Sent
There are some love stories that don’t end—they just wait. I was twenty-two when I fell in love with him. He had ink on his fingers, poetry in his voice, and eyes that never quite looked directly at the sun. I was still learning how to be someone. He already was.
By Hubaib ullah6 months ago in Fiction
The Message I Almost Sent
By [Hubaib Ullah ] I still have it saved in my drafts. One hundred and seventy-three words. Seven paragraphs. Three spelling errors I never fixed. The kind of message you type furiously in the heat of midnight clarity and then stare at for twenty minutes, unable to hit send.
By Hubaib ullah6 months ago in Fiction
The Cure Code
By [Hubaib Ullah] I was seventeen when my sister stopped breathing on a Wednesday morning. Her lips were pale. Her chest, still. By the time the ambulance arrived, I’d been screaming her name for five minutes straight. I didn’t know then that I would spend the next five years trying to bring her back — not with prayers or memories, but with code and cells and a belief that death could be hacked.
By Hubaib ullah6 months ago in Education
Things I Didn’t Say at the Funeral
Things I Didn’t Say at the Funeral By [Hubaib Ullah] I stood three feet from the casket, my hands clenched so tightly in front of me they left crescent moons in my palms. The pastor was talking, something about grace and eternity and peace, but it all sounded like a foreign language. I wasn’t hearing the words, just the silence between them. The thick, suffocating silence of things unsaid.
By Hubaib ullah7 months ago in Horror
