Muhammad Aizaz
Stories (13)
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The Day I Let Go
The Day I Let Go There’s a moment, not as dramatic as in the movies, when the heart quietly realizes it can’t keep holding on. It doesn’t come with tears or screaming or fireworks—it comes with silence. A silence so complete, it feels like the end and the beginning all at once.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Men
The War No One Wanted
The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting a pale glow across Omid’s small room. Outside, the streets of his quiet town stirred awake—the familiar calls of birds and the distant chatter of neighbors preparing for the day. In the corner of the room, a small portable radio crackled softly. It was old, scratched, and battered, but it still worked. It had belonged to Omid’s grandfather, and every morning, Omid would turn it on to listen to music and stories from faraway places.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Fiction
When the Waters Came: A Texas Flood Story
The morning started quietly in my Houston neighborhood. The sky was heavy with gray clouds, and a light drizzle fell as I got ready for school. My mom warned me to keep an eye on the weather, but none of us expected what was coming.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Fiction
Deforestation: Earth’s Slow Bleed
I was ten years old when my grandfather first took me to the forest behind our village. It wasn’t big or famous, but it was beautiful. Birds chirped from branches high above. Sunlight broke through the thick canopy in golden beams. The ground smelled of damp earth and wildflowers.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Earth
“The Sky Over Gaza Never Sleeps”
The sky over Gaza never sleeps. It hums. It watches. It remembers. Twelve-year-old Sami knows this well. Every night, he lies awake on the thin mattress next to his little sister Noor, listening. Not for lullabies or stories, but for the distant, rising thunder of engines overhead. Sometimes drones, sometimes worse. Their hum is quieter than a whisper, but Sami always hears it—because it means he must be ready.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Humans
“Rising Through the Ashes”
Leena sat on the cracked bench outside the small café, the weight of the past few months pressing down on her like an invisible storm. Her job at the marketing firm had been her world — her identity, even. But when the company downsized, she was the first to go. No warning, no second chance. Just a sudden, harsh goodbye.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Motivation
"Salt in the Walls"
The house on Lorne Street was never supposed to be rented. At least, that’s what the realtor muttered as he handed Mia the keys—eyes darting, voice dry as old wood. “It’s cheap because of foundation issues,” he said. “Old houses settle… in strange ways.”
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Fiction
“Things My Father Never Told Me”
My father was a quiet man. He wasn’t cruel. He didn’t drink. He didn’t raise his voice. But he didn’t speak much, either. Conversations with him were like walking through fog—vague, cool, and over before you realized where you were going.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Critique
“Don’t Look in the Mirror”
I was eight the first time I saw it. The house on Elder Street was old, creaky, and always cold no matter the season. My mother used to say it had "character." But there was one place in that house I never felt safe—the upstairs bathroom. The mirror above the cracked porcelain sink was too tall for me back then, but sometimes, when I stood on my toes, I’d catch the edge of my reflection.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Fiction
"The Last Light in Room 203"
The Brookline Hotel wasn’t supposed to be open anymore. Once a proud five-story structure with marble floors and velvet drapes, it had been shuttered for nearly a decade. But tonight, Room 203 was lit from within — one soft, flickering light visible from the street.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Fiction
The Last Breath of the Amazon
The dawn in the Amazon unfurled like a silent symphony, a green expanse stretching beyond the horizon, where towering ceiba trees pierced the sky, and thick vines clung to their ancient trunks. The jungle, alive with the chatter of howler monkeys, the iridescent flutter of butterflies, and the distant call of harpy eagles, whispered secrets older than time itself. This was a kingdom where every leaf, every creature, played a role in a delicate dance of life.
By Muhammad Aizaz6 months ago in Earth
