Muhammad Kaleemullah
Bio
"Words are my canvas; emotions, my colors. In every line, I paint the unseen—stories that whisper to your soul and linger long after the last word fades."
Stories (59)
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The Day a Stranger Changed My Life Forever
It was a bitterly cold winter morning — the kind where the wind feels like tiny needles piercing your skin. I stood at the bus stop, clutching my thin jacket around me. The zipper was broken, and no matter how tightly I held it closed, the icy air still found its way in. My fingers were numb. My stomach was empty. My mind… restless.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah5 months ago in Humans
From Rock Bottom to Sky High: How I Turned My Failures Into My Biggest Strength
When I hit my lowest point, I truly believed my life was over. It wasn’t just a bad day or even a bad month. It was a complete breakdown — emotionally, financially, and spiritually. I lost my job unexpectedly. The savings I had painstakingly built up over years vanished to pay off debts and basic living expenses. Friends I thought would stand by me quietly drifted away. Family calls became rare, their concern tinged with pity. I felt utterly alone, as if I were invisible in a crowded world.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah5 months ago in Motivation
The Night the Ocean Breathed Back
The storm had stopped hours ago, but the wind still howled through the tiny coastal town of Grayford. From my attic window, I could see the ocean—a restless black mass under a silver moon. I’d grown up with that view. The tide always came in and out like clockwork, as if the sea and the town had an unspoken agreement: I take, I give, I take, I give.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah5 months ago in Horror
The Train That Never Stopped
The rain had been falling for hours. My shoes were soaked through, and my jacket clung to me like wet paper. I’d been waiting at the deserted station for what felt like an eternity. The last scheduled train had passed an hour ago, but my only chance of getting home was to wait for an unscheduled freight or passenger train that might, just might, stop.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah5 months ago in Fiction
The Last Call from Room 6
It was a quiet night shift at St. Mary’s Hospital. The kind of silence that feels heavier than noise, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. I sat behind the nurse’s station, flipping through patient charts, sipping stale coffee to stay awake. The old building groaned under the weight of time, and the flicker of fluorescent lights made the air feel colder than it was.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah5 months ago in Horror
The Last Orange She Peeled for me
I hadn’t spoken to my mother in three years. Not since the night everything fell apart—when the weight of years and unspoken words cracked the fragile glass between us. The fight itself was stupid, if I’m honest. Something about who I loved, how I lived, and how much of that didn’t match the picture she had carried in her head since I was a child.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah5 months ago in Confessions
The Last Bench We Sat On
There’s a wooden bench outside our village school. It’s old — the paint is chipped, the legs are slightly bent, and one side creaks when you sit. Most people don’t even notice it anymore. It blends into the background like a forgotten photograph on a dusty shelf.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah6 months ago in Confessions
The River That Took My Sorrow Away
Some places don’t just exist in geography — they live in memory. For me, that place was the river. It ran quietly through the edge of our village, hidden between tall reeds and whispering trees. My mother used to call it "the soul’s mirror." She believed it could show you what you were truly feeling, even if you didn’t want to admit it.
By Muhammad Kaleemullah6 months ago in Wander
