Muhammad Ahmad
Stories (8)
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Things I Wish I Had Said Before She Left
I still remember the exact day she left. It wasn’t dramatic, like a door slammed shut or words screamed in anger. It was quieter. Quieter than I expected. One of those endings that doesn't feel like an ending until you look back and realize you never spoke again.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Writers
The Time I Didn’t Cry at My Grandmother’s Funeral
I stood at the edge of the grave, my hands in my coat pockets, the December wind folding around my ankles like cold silk. People around me cried—quiet sobs, open weeping, shoulders shaking beneath black wool. I didn’t cry.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Writers
Borrowed Dreams
In the city of Lysoria, dreams were currency. Not just metaphors for ambition—but real, vivid dreams you could rent, download, and live in like a midnight theater. Wealthy clients paid thousands to relive the perfect kiss, the thrill of flying, or the comfort of a lost loved one’s voice. Those who couldn’t afford the high price of hope? They rented secondhand dreams—cheap, blurry, and half-wilted.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
Exit Sign
He woke up in a hospital bed again. The beeping monitors, the antiseptic smell, the sterile white walls—it was all different from yesterday’s dusty motel room, but one thing was exactly the same: the glowing green exit sign, mounted just above the door.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
My Neighbor Is Haunting
The house next door had always been empty—or at least, that’s what everyone said. It was the kind of old place that looked like it was holding its breath: porch sagging, curtains drawn tight, windows like tired eyes. Every kid on the block had a story about it. Some said a woman once walked off its roof thinking it was a stairway to heaven. Others claimed the furniture moved itself when the moon was full. But I wasn’t afraid.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
The Postman Who Delivered Secrets
In the quiet town of Elmsworth, where gossip was a second language and everyone waved at everyone else, a man named Elliot Bell carried the post. He had done so for 23 years, walking the same cobbled roads in his brown uniform and creased cap, knowing every barking dog and every doorbell tone. People liked Elliot—not because he talked much, but because he listened. He delivered joy in birthday cards, sadness in final notices, and routine in bills. The town trusted him.
By Muhammad Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
