Moonlit Letters
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Stories (41)
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When the Sirens Stopped
When the Sirens Stopped Written by Noor Khan The air smelled like smoke, and the sky never turned blue anymore. In a shattered corner of Eastern Ukraine, just miles from the frontlines, 22-year-old Lena clutched her backpack tighter and glanced over at Amir. Dust clung to his eyelashes, and his hands trembled as he checked the half-broken radio for updates. The sirens had stopped two days ago, but no one knew whether that meant safety — or silence before the storm.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Librarian's Apprentice
The Librarian's Apprentice Written by Noor Muhammad In a quiet seaside town in Portugal, far from Lisbon’s buzz and the glamour of tourist trails, lived a boy named Luca. He was the son of a fisherman who rarely returned home dry and a mother who worked at a local diner, wiping tables and dreams at the same time.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Light Beneath the Streetlamp. AI-Generated.
The Light Beneath the Streetlamp Written by Noor Muhammad In the heart of a crowded Pakistani city, where honking rickshaws and endless duststorms ruled the day, lived a boy named Ahsan — a name that meant "perfection" in Arabic, though life had rarely been perfect for him.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
The Window Without Glass. AI-Generated.
The Window Without Glass By Noor Muhammad In the dusty corner of a crowded street in Lahore stood a crumbling house with no proper gate, faded paint, and a window that hadn’t seen glass in years. Behind that window lived a boy named Haris.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Fiction
Born to Rise: A Boy Who Rewrote His Destiny. AI-Generated.
Born to Rise: A Boy Who Rewrote His Destiny Written by Noor Muhammad he dusty lanes of a forgotten village in northern Pakistan, lived a boy named Zaid. His home was a cracked mud house with no running water, no electricity most days, and no dreams—at least, not according to others. His father, a wheat farmer with rough hands and a bent back, barely earned enough to put food on the table. His mother stitched clothes from scraps for the neighbors just to buy kerosene oil for the lantern at night.
By Moonlit Letters6 months ago in Motivation
