Moonlit Letters
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Stories (41)
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How I Dodged Knee Surgery—And Walked Pain-Free Again After 12 Weeks
How I Dodged Knee Surgery—And Walked Pain-Free Again After 12 Weeks Written by Raza Iqbal I still remember the way my right knee throbbed every time I tried to climb stairs. The pain was deep, stubborn, and had grown from a nagging discomfort to a full-blown problem that interrupted every part of my daily life. At 49, I wasn't ready to accept that knee surgery might be in my near future. But that’s exactly what the orthopedic specialist suggested: arthroscopic surgery, followed by six months of recovery. I walked out of that clinic both terrified and determined to find another way.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Psyche
She Left Her Diary in My Drawer—Three Days After Her Funeral
She Left Her Diary in My Drawer—Three Days After Her Funeral Written by Mirza I didn’t cry at her funeral. I thought I would. God knows I wanted to. But as the final shovelful of dirt landed on Emily’s casket, all I could feel was silence—a gaping absence that settled somewhere behind my ribs like a forgotten breath.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Woman Who Lived in Room 27
The Woman Who Lived in Room 27 Written by Mirza Room 27 wasn’t luxurious. It didn’t have a sea view or silk curtains. The paint peeled a little at the corners, the bed creaked when you rolled over, and the window stuck halfway when you tried to open it.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
Every Sunday at 4 PM, He Waited for Her—Even After She Died
Every Sunday at 4 PM, He Waited for Her—Even After She Died Written by Raza Iqbal The bench on the corner of Maple and 3rd wasn’t special—not to anyone else. Worn wood, a few cracks, and an old iron frame. It faced the tiny flower shop that had been closed since spring, and beside it stood a coffee cart that had seen better years.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Sound of No Goodbye
The Sound of No Goodbye Written by Mirza The morning she left, there were no slammed doors or tearful hugs. No emotional declarations or scribbled notes. Just the creak of the front door, the whisper of her boots on the wooden steps, and the long, quiet sigh of an engine starting. That was it.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
He Was the Right Person—At the Wrong Chapter
He Was the Right Person—At the Wrong Chapter Written By Shah Zai It was the kind of February that comes with grey skies, wet sidewalks, and too many unresolved thoughts. I was 24, newly moved to a city I didn’t belong to, carrying a suitcase full of dreams I hadn’t unpacked. The coffee shop where I worked part-time smelled like roasted beans and broken promises—half the customers were freelancers trying to write their novels; the other half were couples too deep in silence to bother with small talk.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Chapters
My Roof Doesn't Leak Anymore, But I Still Miss the Rain
My Roof Doesn't Leak Anymore, But I Still Miss the Rain Written by Raza Iqbal ul, but the kind that makes you search for something you didn’t realize you’d miss. There was no dripping sound in the bucket by the stove. No wet corner in the back bedroom. No mildew scent clinging to the edges of the old floral curtain.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Ring Found in the Rain
The Ring Found in the Rain Written by Mirza The rain came suddenly that afternoon, not as a drizzle but a storm—thick, urgent, and uninvited. Anna stood under the rusted awning of the old antique shop, watching the street blur like a smeared watercolor painting. The world had gone gray, and yet, she felt oddly at peace.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
She Read His Obituary Before He Died
She Read His Obituary Before He Died Written by Muskan Maya had always started her mornings the same way since she turned 30 — strong coffee, soft music, and the local newspaper spread across the small wooden kitchen table her grandmother once owned. It was her ritual, grounding her in a world that sometimes felt too fast, too loud, and too fleeting.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Postcard That Arrived 50 Years Late
The Postcard That Arrived 50 Years Late Written by Mirza It was a rainy Thursday morning in the quiet town of Bellhaven when Margaret Fielding opened her mailbox to find a yellowed postcard tucked among the usual bills and catalogs. The paper was brittle, the ink faded, and the stamp bore the mark of 1975.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
