Malaika Piolet
Stories (23)
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Sanctuary
The rain had been falling for three days straight. Not the kind that dances on rooftops and sings lullabies, but the kind that soaks through bones — heavy, endless, punishing. The town below was drowning in mud and silence. Yet high on the hill, where the forest thickened into darkness, the old church stood untouched.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Spoke to a Cabbage
They say madness begins in silence. But in my case, it began in the garden. I wasn’t always the man who spoke to vegetables. Once, I was an ordinary shopkeeper with a small life — shelves of canned beans, customers who came and went, and an old radio that hummed away my loneliness. Then came the fire. It swallowed the store, the street, and the pieces of my life that had any shape. After that, words felt useless. I stopped talking to people.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Chapters
Footprints Beside the Handprints
The beach was almost empty that morning — just the slow crash of waves, the cry of distant gulls, and the faint chill that only early dawn brings. I came here every year on the same date, carrying the same flower and the same ache in my chest.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Humans
The Sound Beneath the Floor
The first night it happened, I thought it was the pipes. A faint tapping beneath my bedroom floor — rhythmic, like a heartbeat out of sync. I pressed my ear against the old wooden boards, half expecting silence. But the sound grew louder, then stopped the moment I whispered, “Hello?”
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Fiction
When My Mother’s Silence Revealed More Than Words
It was the spring she stopped making her famous apple pie. I remember the kitchen being too quiet, the smell of cinnamon missing. My mother had always baked on Saturdays — humming softly, tasting with care, dusting flour across the counter like an artist who painted in sugar and butter. But that Saturday, she just stood by the oven, watching it. The pie burned slightly. She scraped the edges away in silence, pretending it didn’t matter.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Humans
The Stranger Who Knew Too Much About Me
It began on a Tuesday night — the kind of quiet evening when scrolling through social media feels like background noise. I was half-asleep, thumbing through Instagram stories when a new follow request popped up: @lifebylena.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Humans
The Empty Chair at the Dinner Table
It started with an argument — the kind that burns through love faster than fire through paper. My brother, Amir, and my father hadn’t spoken in nearly two years. The reason? Pride, misunderstandings, and words said in anger that no one really meant but everyone remembered.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Families
The Neighbor Who Never Forgot My Name
When I first moved into Maplewood Apartments, I didn’t know anyone. I was fresh out of college, broke, and just trying to survive the city. My new place was small, with cracked paint and creaky floors, but it was mine — and I was proud of it.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Criminal
The Last Cup of Tea I Shared With My Grandfather
I used to visit my grandfather only on weekends. Not because I didn’t love him, but because I was always “busy.” Work, friends, life — there was always something more urgent than sitting with an old man who repeated the same stories.
By Malaika Piolet3 months ago in Families
