ibrahimkhan
Stories (39)
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Beneath the Silver Moon
The village of Windmere had long lived under the hush of legends. Nestled between dark woods and misty hills, its cobbled streets echoed with tales whispered over hearthfires—tales of a silver moon that rose once a year, casting more than light upon the land.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
Roots of the Forgotten
The people of Eldergrove whispered of a forest that had once been alive with song—birdsong, laughter, and the voices of a civilization long buried beneath the moss-covered earth. But now, only trees remained—tall, ancient, gnarled, and watchful.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
Where the Pines Speak
It had always been said that the trees had stories to tell, but most people, in their haste, never bothered to listen. Elara had heard the tales as a child—whispers from the older villagers about the ancient forest that lay beyond the hills. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, where the pines whispered secrets to those who were patient enough to hear them. Yet, for most of her life, she had dismissed these as mere legends, stories meant to keep children from wandering too far into the woods.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
Between Ash and Fern
Ashen winds swept through the remnants of the forest, carrying with them the ghosts of what had once been. Trees, thick with age and wisdom, were now mere charred stumps, their branches stretching upward like the desperate fingers of the lost. The land, once vibrant with life, was now a wasteland of scorched earth and smoldering ruins.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
Beneath the Canopy
It was the quietness that first drew Alina to the forest. A silence so profound it seemed to hum with secrets, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath. The village beyond the ridge had always warned its children about the forest that lay beyond, a place where the fog never lifted, and the paths seemed to disappear into the unknown. But Alina had always felt a pull towards it, an inexplicable longing she couldn’t ignore.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
The Lantern Keeper
In the village of Thornwick, nestled between tangled forests and the restless sea, the nights were long and filled with shadow. Every evening as the sun dipped below the horizon, the villagers would look to the old lighthouse on the cliff—a beacon in the dark—and feel a fragile sense of safety.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
Whispers Beneath the Willow
The willow had stood in the same place for generations, its sweeping green tendrils brushing the pond’s surface like the fingertips of a daydream. No one remembered when it first grew there. Some said it had always existed, even before the village had a name. Others whispered that it had grown from a single tear fallen from the moon.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
The Moonlit Thicket
The village of Brindlemoor was a quiet place, the kind of forgotten settlement that rarely appeared on maps. Nestled beside the vast Tarrow Woods, most of its people were farmers, weavers, or simply those who preferred the company of trees to that of towns. Yet, everyone in Brindlemoor knew one thing with certainty: never enter the thicket under moonlight.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
A Cup of Secrets
The bell above the door tinkled softly as Elina stepped into the old teahouse. The scent of spices, citrus, and something faintly floral wrapped around her like a forgotten dream. Dust motes floated in the shafts of light pouring through the stained-glass windows, casting fractured patterns across the wooden floor.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
The Story Behind the Quran Pak
Chapter One: The Quiet Before the Light In the rugged terrain outside Makkah, atop Jabal al-Noor—the Mountain of Light—a man sat alone in the stillness of a cave. His name was Muhammad ibn Abdullah, and at the age of 40, he was known not for wealth or power, but for his honesty, kindness, and reflection. The people of Makkah called him Al-Amin—the trustworthy.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in History
A Tale of Two Lives: When Parallel Paths Collide
Anaya Kapoor was born into privilege. The daughter of a renowned surgeon and a classical dancer, she grew up in a sea-facing apartment with marble floors and silent hallways. Her days were filled with piano lessons, art school, and curated vacations. But beneath the calm exterior, Anaya struggled with the weight of expectation. Her father's name was etched in hospital walls, her mother’s face on posters for cultural festivals. Anaya’s dream of becoming a writer was seen as a hobby—something cute, not serious. So she pursued law at her father’s insistence, her dreams scribbled in journals that never left her desk drawer.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Art
Between Earth and Sky
The sun hovered just above the horizon, spilling golden light over the ridge as if unsure whether to rise or fall. Elara stood at the edge of the cliff, bare feet rooted to the soil, eyes chasing clouds that floated like slow thoughts across the sky. It was the only place where she felt whole—where the earth’s weight met the sky’s call.
By ibrahimkhan8 months ago in Earth
