Israr khan
Bio
I write to bring attention to the voices and faces of the missing, the unheard, and the forgotten. , — raising awareness, sparking hope, and keeping the search alive. Every person has a story. Every story deserves to be told.
Stories (73)
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The Regret of a Creator: The Man Behind the World's Deadliest Weapon
In 1947, deep within the Soviet military-industrial complex, a young Russian military engineer named Mikhail Kalashnikov gave birth to a weapon that would eventually shape modern warfare—and haunt his soul for the rest of his life.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Fiction
"Garage Band of Survivors"
All I Could Hear Was the Harmony after the feedback fades The basement always smelled like dust and secrets, old amps humming even when they were off. Your mother’s voice — a soprano lost in static, your father — a snare drum too quick to snap.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Poets
The Farmer, the world War2, and the Clever Plow
The world was at war. Borders were burning, cities were crumbling, and loyalties were being tested in the harshest of ways. In a quiet village, far removed from the battlefronts but not the consequences, lived a humble farmer. Like many others, his only concern had always been his land, his crops, and his family. But even remote lives get caught in the webs spun by great powers.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Fiction
"Where You Used to Be"
I sit where you used to stand, Where your laughter echoed, And the air still feels like you, Even when you’re not here. I tiptoe through our shared moments, Wishing I could rewind, To when your smile was my safe place, Before the medicine and the silence.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Poets
''Silent Honeymoon''
by [khan] The ocean whispered secrets to the shore, but no one was there to listen. Not anymore. Three days had passed since anyone last saw Olivia and Marcus Dale — newlyweds who checked into the Cliffside Resort for their honeymoon and vanished before sunrise.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Fiction
I Slept With a Dead Man
I didn’t realize he was dead until morning. By then, the room had grown too quiet—too still in a way only absence can explain. The air had a weight to it, thick and unmoving. I lay beside him, still half-asleep, my arm draped across his chest, when I noticed the unnatural cold beneath my skin.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Confessions
Barefoot and Unbothered: A School Day’s End
The other day, the moment I heard the closing bell ring, I practically bolted. The school day was finally over, and I was ready to head home — my mind already shifting away from lesson plans and school duties. Thank God I wasn’t the teacher on duty that day. Sharp-sharp, I was halfway out the school gate when a small voice called from behind me.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Writers
🌿 The Cracked Pot: A Story of Hidden Strength and Beauty 🌿
Once upon a time, in a quiet village nestled among rolling hills, there lived a humble water bearer. Every day, without fail, he carried two large pots on a wooden pole across his shoulders. His daily journey took him down to the river, where he filled both pots to the brim with fresh, clear water, and then back up the long, winding path to his master’s house.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Earth
The Last Broadcast
The Last Broadcast by israr khan On the outskirts of a forgotten town, there stood a rusted radio tower, black against the blood-red sky. It hadn’t transmitted anything in decades — or so people thought. The locals called it “The Devil’s Antenna.” Kids dared each other to touch it, but none stayed near it after dark. Not since the incident in 1982.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Horror
