Muhammad Hamza Safi
Bio
Hi, I'm Muhammad Hamza Safi — a writer exploring education, youth culture, and the impact of tech and social media on our lives. I share real stories, digital trends, and thought-provoking takes on the world we’re shaping.
Stories (68)
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The House with the Red Door
There’s a house at the edge of town that nobody talks about anymore. It sits quietly behind an overgrown hedge and a creaking iron gate, with ivy crawling up its wooden siding like veins. The shutters are always slightly ajar, and the paint is peeling, but the door—always locked, never open—is a vibrant red. Oddly untouched by time or weather. The kind of red that lingers in the mind, like a name you can't quite remember.
By Muhammad Hamza Safi8 months ago in Education
The Rain That Raised Me
I was raised by thunder. Not in the literal sense, of course. I had parents—flawed, hurting, sometimes kind, often distant—but when I think back to what shaped me most, it wasn’t them. It wasn’t teachers or friends or the awkward stretch of my adolescence.
By Muhammad Hamza Safi8 months ago in Education
The Girl Who Carried Fire
She wasn’t born with a flame in her hand. But somewhere between silence and survival, she learned to carry fire. Her name was Saira. A girl from a small, overlooked village tucked between hills too shy to speak their names out loud. The kind of place where the wind carried more stories than the people did, where dreams often grew roots and died in the soil before ever seeing the sky.
By Muhammad Hamza Safi8 months ago in Education
The Girl Who Fed the Crows
She was born during a storm. The kind that tears branches from trees and names from mouths. Her mother held her only once before vanishing into the mist — some say willingly, others say taken by the wind itself. They raised the girl in silence, fed her soft food and softer lies.
By Muhammad Hamza Safi8 months ago in Education
The Orchard of Forgotten Names
There is an orchard they don’t mark on any map. You won’t find it in guidebooks or satellite views. It exists between the last breath of twilight and the first blink of memory — a place you only find when you're not looking. When you’ve lost something so vital it no longer has a name.
By Muhammad Hamza Safi8 months ago in Education
The Girl Who Wore the Moon
They called her strange from the beginning. Not for anything she did — but for what followed her. The way candles flickered when she entered a room. The way animals paused, mid-step, as if listening to something only she could hear. And the moon. Oh, how the moon clung to her. Like a mother. Like a wound.
By Muhammad Hamza Safi8 months ago in Education
