Jawad Khan
Bio
Jawad Khan crafts powerful stories of love, loss, and hope that linger in the heart. Dive into emotional journeys that capture life’s raw beauty and quiet moments you won’t forget.
Stories (36)
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This Poem is an Apology to Myself
I don’t know exactly when I stopped being kind to myself. Maybe it was the first time I looked in the mirror and believed someone else’s definition of beauty instead of my own. Or maybe it was the quiet moment I didn’t speak up in my defense—thinking silence was strength, or that pleasing others was more important than preserving myself.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Poets
How to Fold a Broken Heart
The first thing Clara did when she found the letter was sit on the kitchen floor, still in her office clothes, purse slung over her shoulder, as if movement might make the words vanish. But the words had weight—written in David’s familiar, looping handwriting. Not cruel, not cold. Just final.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Humans
If Dreams Had Teeth
I used to think dreams were soft places—fleeting, strange, and safe. They were clouds you could walk through, colors you couldn’t name, people you missed but didn’t recognize. But all of that changed the night I learned that dreams, if twisted just enough, could grow teeth. And sometimes… they bite.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Horror
When the Rain Knew My Secrets
There’s something about rain that makes people honest. Maybe it’s the way it softens the world around us, washing away the noise, or how it gives us permission to pause. Or maybe it’s because, in those moments, we feel like the sky is crying for us—giving us the freedom to feel without explanation.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Confessions
I Once Saw Myself in a Stranger
It happened on a rainy Thursday afternoon—the kind of rain that softens the edges of the city and makes everything feel suspended, like the world is holding its breath. I was walking home from the café, my umbrella barely shielding me from the drizzle, lost in thought about the chaos in my life. The weight of things unsaid, moments missed, and roads not taken pressed down on me like the clouds above.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Fiction
Where the Silence Slept
Silence had a home here. Not the kind of silence that follows loud noise—the pause in conversation, the hush of an empty room—but a deeper, heavier kind. The silence that settles into the bones of a place, wrapping itself around the walls and the furniture, curling in corners like a sleeping animal that refuses to be disturbed.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Fiction
Thursdays Are for Ghosts
The first time I noticed her was the week after the funeral. A Thursday, to be exact. I was in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea I hadn’t meant to make, in a house too quiet for comfort. The sugar clinked gently against the mug like footsteps on tile. I wasn’t thinking of her, not directly, not consciously. But there she was. A shape in the hallway mirror—quick, soft, and impossibly familiar.
By Jawad Khan6 months ago in Fiction
