Muhammad Hayat
Bio
"Hello, I'm Muhammad Hayat | Welcome to my profile"
"Embracing the journey | Learning from failures | Growing stronger"
"Passionate learner | Enthusiastic writer | Sharing insights on [industry/field]"
"Bringing ideas to life"
Stories (87)
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Pages He Never Read
In a dusty attic, under a weak flickering bulb, sat an old leather-bound notebook. Its pages were yellowed, its cover cracked by time. But what made it special wasn’t how it looked it was what it contained: the story of a life waiting to be read.
By Muhammad Hayat7 months ago in Motivation
The Window That Cried
In a quiet town wrapped in mist, stood an old wooden house on the corner of Hollow Street. It wasn’t the biggest house, nor the brightest, but something about it made people slow down as they walked by. Maybe it was the strange ivy that grew only on one side. Or perhaps it was the small window on the second floor the one everyone called The Window That Cried.
By Muhammad Hayat7 months ago in Families
The Mountain He Moved for Me
A Bond Like No Other In a quiet town in Turkey, lived a man named Harun, a humble tailor known for his calm voice and strong hands. He didn’t have much no car, no big house, no fancy clothes but he had a heart larger than the mountains around his village.
By Muhammad Hayat7 months ago in Futurism
When the Letters Forgot My Name
Introduction In a sleepy village, nestled between old willow trees and cobblestone roads, lived a girl named Ayla quiet, thoughtful, and a believer in stories that only the heart could understand. She worked in a tiny bookshop filled with dusty covers and forgotten pages.
By Muhammad Hayat7 months ago in Writers
Beneath the Tree That Watched Us
The Tree on the Hill On the edge of a quiet village named Kalwara, stood a tall, old peepal tree, alone on a small hill. Its branches were wide, its bark dark and cracked like an ancient face, and its leaves sang with the wind. The villagers called it “The Watching Tree”, because no matter where you stood on the hill, it felt like the tree was looking right at you.
By Muhammad Hayat8 months ago in Fiction
The Day Silence Screamed
A Village of Quiet Faces In a faraway valley hidden between gray hills and quiet rivers, there was a village called Meerabad a place so silent that even the wind moved softly. The people there lived with zipped lips, cautious hearts, and eyes full of unspoken thoughts. Children played without laughter, weddings had no music, and even tears were wiped away quietly.
By Muhammad Hayat8 months ago in Families
A Candle Called Hope
The Beginning of Darkness In a small, forgotten village surrounded by endless hills and thick forests, there was a girl named Lina, just twelve years old, with eyes full of dreams. Her village, once full of joy, was now covered in shadows. The sun rarely peeked through the clouds, the trees stopped blooming, and people had started to lose their smiles. Something strange had happened a deep sadness had spread, and no one knew why.
By Muhammad Hayat8 months ago in History
The Sky Remembers Everything
A Boy Who Watched the Clouds In a quiet town surrounded by hills and open skies, lived a 13-year-old boy named Aiden Vale. He didn’t have many friends, but he loved the sky. Every day, he would lie on the grass, arms behind his head, and watch the clouds drift by.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in Art
Footprints in the Wrong Direction
A Trail That Shouldn’t Exist In the cold, mountain village of Ravenshade, 15-year-old Noah Elwin had always followed the rules. He never wandered into the forest, never stayed out after dark, and never questioned why the old northern path was forbidden.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in Fiction
When Rain Sang Her Name
The Girl Who Heard the Rain In a small village surrounded by forest and fog, there lived a 14-year-old girl named Lyra. She was quiet, thoughtful, and always carried a notebook. People in the village said she was strange because she liked to sit outside when it rained.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in Families
Letters From a Locked Drawer
The Drawer No One Touched In the quiet town of Meadowridge, 16-year-old Clara Wren lived with her father in an old, creaky house full of memories. Her mother had passed away when Clara was just a baby, and the only thing left of her was an antique wooden desk in the attic. It had belonged to her mother, and on that desk sat a single drawer locked tight for as long as Clara could remember.
By Muhammad Hayat9 months ago in History
