meerjanan

Joined August 2025

61 stories

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A curious storyteller with a passion for turning simple moments into meaningful words. Writing about life, purpose, and the quiet strength we often overlook. Follow for stories that inspire, heal, and empower.

Stories (61)

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Echoes Beneath the Dust
Amaan Khan had never been drawn to the spotlight. Even as a child, while other boys chased cricket balls under the Lahore sun, he’d wander the old book markets near Anarkali, fingers brushing the spines of dusty volumes, imagining lives lived centuries ago. His grandfather, a retired schoolteacher, used to say, “History isn’t just in textbooks, beta. It’s in the cracks of old walls, in the silence between ruins.” Those words stayed with him.
By meerjanan5 months ago in History
Echoes in Color
In Lahore, where the call to prayer weaves through the morning air and rickshaws weave through traffic like stubborn thoughts, lived a boy named Rehan. He was seventeen, soft-spoken, and carried the quiet intensity of someone who sees more than they say. His hands were always stained—blues under the nails, ochre on his wrists, charcoal smudged at the edge of his palm. Paint wasn’t just something he used; it was something he lived with, like breath.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Art
The Last Train
Rain whispered against the station roof, a soft rhythm beneath the stillness of Platform 7. Anaya sat alone—though not quite alone—on a worn wooden bench, her fingers tracing the edge of a train ticket like it might vanish if she stopped holding on.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Fiction
The Tail That Taught Me Love
Ariba had never imagined herself as someone who’d come home to a wagging tail and muddy paws. She grew up in a house where everything had its place—shoes lined neatly by the door, cushions always plumped, and the idea of fur on the sofa was nothing short of a disaster. Her parents valued order, silence, and control. So did she—until one rainy evening rewrote everything.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Petlife
The Climb Within
Zayan grew up in a quiet village tucked between sleepy hills and fields of wheat that swayed with the wind. Life moved slowly there—predictable, familiar, safe. He wasn’t the brightest student in class, nor the fastest runner. He didn’t stand out in the way heroes do in stories. But inside him lived a quiet fire, one that had been lit years ago by a single photograph.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Motivation
Colors of Her Silence
Meher was never loud. Not in voice, not in presence. As a child, while others ran and laughed, she sat with a pencil and paper, tracing the world around her—the curve of a leaf, the shadow on a wall, the way light fell through the window at different times of day. Words never came easily, but lines did. Colors, too.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Art
*The Forgotten Scroll*
In the quiet, sun-scorched village of Kanodar, nestled on the fringes of the Thar Desert, life moved slowly—like the shifting dunes after a windstorm. Dust coated the rooftops, goats wandered narrow lanes, and time seemed to pause between prayers and market calls. Here lived Ayaan, a seventeen-year-old with ink-stained fingers and a mind full of questions no textbook could answer.
By meerjanan5 months ago in History
The Turning Point
Adeel was 42, a manager at a busy corporate firm in Lahore, where his reputation was built on long hours and relentless focus. He wore exhaustion like a badge of honor. “If I’m not working, I’m falling behind,” he’d often say, pushing through fatigue with strong coffee and late-night takeout.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Psyche
The Weight of Pride
In the quiet village of Chandapur, nestled between fields of mustard and dusty footpaths, lived an old potter named Hariram. For over fifty years, his hands—gnarled and stained with red clay—had shaped vessels that held water, oil, and sometimes even prayers. His pots were known for their strength, their balance, their fine carvings of peacocks, lotuses, and gods. People from nearby towns would travel just to buy one, saying, “A Hariram pot never breaks.”
By meerjanan5 months ago in Pride
The Accidental Artist
Vikram Sharma had never considered himself creative. Not really. Sure, he once tried making samosas from scratch and nearly set off the smoke alarm, but that was more chaos than artistry. At forty, he worked at a bank, wore the same shade of blue shirt every Monday, and found excitement in perfectly aligned sticky notes.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Art
Ramesh and the Talking Goat
In the small, sun-drenched village of Bhatkpur, where roosters crowed like they had something to prove and the chai was always just a little too sweet, lived a man named Ramesh.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Humor
The Man Who Listened
In a narrow lane of the city, where the sun barely touched the ground by midday, stood a tiny shop no wider than a doorway. Its paint was peeling, the glass smudged with fingerprints and rain, but inside, everything was in order—neat rows of tiny gears, magnifying glasses, and clocks of all kinds, some ticking, some frozen in time. This was Arman’s world.
By meerjanan5 months ago in Humans

meerjanan

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(61)

Filter by community

Echoes Beneath the Dust

Echoes in Color

The Last Train

The Tail That Taught Me Love

The Climb Within

Colors of Her Silence

*The Forgotten Scroll*

The Turning Point

The Weight of Pride

The Accidental Artist

Ramesh and the Talking Goat

The Man Who Listened

Stories (61)

The Forgotten Scroll