KAMRAN AHMAD
Bio
Creative digital designer, lifelong learning & storyteller. Sharing inspiring stories on mindset, business, & personal growth. Let's build a future that matters_ one idea at a time.
Stories (188)
Filter by community
The Night the Arena Felt Like a Time Machine. AI-Generated.
I didn’t go to the library for answers. I went because it was the only place where silence wasn’t judged. It was the winter after my divorce. My apartment felt too loud with absence—echoes in the hallway, empty chairs at the table, the hum of a refrigerator that used to be background noise but now sounded like loneliness amplified. So every Tuesday at 2 p.m., I walked the three blocks to the public library, took the same seat by the window, and opened a book I never read.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Gamers
The Night I Understood Football
I didn’t go to the game expecting hope. It was a cold November Thursday. My brother had just lost his job. My nephew hadn’t spoken in days after a school incident. The world felt heavy, and the last thing I wanted was to watch a mismatch—our hometown team facing a dynasty that hadn’t lost in months.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Psyche
The Porch Light That Stayed On
I didn’t notice the porch light at first. It was just another fixture on a quiet street lined with oak trees and tired mailboxes. But every night at 9 p.m., without fail, it clicked on—even in rain, even in summer heat, even when no one was home.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Gamers
The Boy in the Stands
I didn’t go for the game. I went for my nephew. He’s thirteen, wears a faded jersey two sizes too big, and talks about football like it’s scripture. “It’s not about winning, Uncle,” he’d said, eyes bright. “It’s about who shows up when it matters.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Unbalanced
The Night Basketball Felt Like Home
I didn’t go for the basketball. I went because my son asked me to. He’s eleven, wears his hair in messy curls, and talks about the game like it’s poetry written in motion. “You have to see how they move together, Dad,” he’d said, eyes wide. “It’s like they’re speaking a language only they understand.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in Unbalanced
The Night a Song Brought Me Back to Myself
I didn’t watch the special for the spectacle. I watched because I needed to hear the song again. Not the version from the movie trailer or the TikTok clip. The one that lived in my bones—the one I’d hummed under my breath during chemo, during layoffs, during the long winter after my divorce. The song that said: It’s okay to be different. It’s okay to fall. It’s okay to rise anyway.
By KAMRAN AHMAD9 days ago in The Swamp
The Quiet That Follows the Applause
I didn’t cry at the end of Better Call Saul. I cried three days later, while washing dishes. The water was hot, the sponge worn thin, and suddenly—without warning—I saw Kim Wexler’s hands again. Not in the courtroom. Not in the finale. But in that tiny Albuquerque office, adjusting the blinds just so, trying to control one small thing in a world spinning out of her grasp.
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Beat
The Day the Stadium Felt Like Church
I wasn’t born into fandom. I was adopted into it. At ten years old, I didn’t understand offside rules or midfield rotations. I only knew that every Sunday, my grandfather would take my hand, walk me three blocks to the edge of the stadium, and sit with me on a cracked concrete step—just outside the gates, where the roar of the crowd bled into the street like a hymn.
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in The Swamp
Why We Watch the Fall
I’ve never worn gloves. But I’ve stood in my own ring. It was a rainy Tuesday in March. I sat across from a hiring panel, my résumé trembling in my hand, reciting answers I’d rehearsed for weeks. I’d been unemployed for eight months. My savings were gone. That job wasn’t just a paycheck—it was my lifeline. When they said, “We’ll be in touch,” I knew. The silence that followed wasn’t neutral. It was final.
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Journal
The Boy Who Didn’t Look Away
I was seventeen the first time I saw someone truly lose—and not just lose, but lose in front of everyone. It was a school assembly. A poetry contest. My friend Mateo had spent weeks writing a piece about his mother’s hands—how they cracked from cleaning other people’s houses, how they still braided his little sister’s hair every morning before dawn. He stood at the mic, voice trembling at first, then rising like a song. For three minutes, the gym was silent. Then he finished. And no one clapped.
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Journal
The Boy in the Rain
I didn’t go for the game. I went for my nephew. He’s twelve, wears a faded jersey two sizes too big, and talks about football like it’s scripture. “It’s not just running and tackling, Uncle,” he’d said, eyes wide. “It’s about heart. About who shows up when no one’s watching.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Geeks
The Night Football Felt Like Church
I’d never been to Lambeau Field. I wasn’t a diehard fan. I didn’t own a jersey. I couldn’t name the starting quarterback. But when my brother called in late November—voice hoarse from crying—he didn’t ask for advice. He just said, “Come with me to the game. I can’t go alone.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD10 days ago in Journal
