Muhammad Sabeel
Bio
I write not for silence, but for the echo—where mystery lingers, hearts awaken, and every story dares to leave a mark
Stories (306)
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I Left My 9–5 to Take Care of My Parents: This Is What I Learned
I didn’t plan to quit my job. In fact, I’d spent the better part of a decade climbing the ladder, surviving on coffee and late-night emails, wearing "busy" like a badge of honor. I had a decent apartment, a predictable schedule, and a LinkedIn profile full of polished achievements. Life was “on track”—until the call came.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Families
What the Next Generation Thinks of Us: A Letter From 2050
Dear Ancestors, My name is Ilya, and I was born in the year 2034. I’m sixteen now—old enough to understand what you left us. Old enough to question why. Old enough to write this letter from what remains of Earth, in the hope that it echoes back through the data archives and makes someone, somewhere, feel what I’m feeling.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Families
Digital Nomad in 2025: Dream Job or Burnout Blueprint?
Chapter 1: The Laptop Life When I first saw the image on Instagram—a smiling woman with sun-kissed skin, legs crossed on a beach lounger, and a sleek laptop perched beside her coconut water—I was sold. She was a digital nomad, living the dream, working from anywhere, and making the rest of us stuck in cubicles look like fools.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Futurism
How Dating Apps are Accidentally Teaching Us to Be Better Humans
Marcus sat in his favorite coffee shop, staring at his phone screen with a mixture of fascination and horror. He'd just spent twenty minutes crafting the perfect response to Emma's message about her weekend hiking trip, deleting and rewriting it four times before settling on something that felt authentic yet engaging. Three months ago, he would have sent a lazy "cool" and moved on. But something had changed.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Lifehack
Why Your Side Hustle is Probably Making You Miserable
Sarah's eyes burned as she stared at her laptop screen, the clock reading 2:47 AM. Her Etsy shop dashboard showed three new orders for her handmade jewelry, which should have felt like victory. Instead, it felt like a prison sentence. Between her full-time marketing job, managing customer complaints, sourcing materials, and trying to maintain some semblance of a social life, she hadn't slept more than five hours in weeks.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Futurism
What If Your Memories Were Sold to the Highest Bidder?
The bidding began at midnight. In a sleek, chrome-paneled room somewhere deep beneath the ruins of what used to be Chicago, men and women in expensive suits clicked their virtual paddles as images flickered across a wall-sized screen. The auctioneer’s voice echoed through the air like a machine-generated chant: “Lot 244. Childhood. Age range: 6 to 10. Vivid. Intact. Unfiltered. Starting bid: 250,000 credits.”
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Fiction
What I Learned About Friendship After Losing Everyone I Thought I Needed
I Thought They Were My Forever People I used to believe friendship was permanent. We had matching lockets, group chats that buzzed all night, inside jokes etched into the corners of notebooks, and plans that stretched far into the future. We called each other family. We promised weddings and godparent duties. I clung to that belief as if it were a lifeline—that the people I surrounded myself with in my twenties would be the ones who watched me grow old.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Confessions
Whispers in the Bookshop: chapter 2
The note sat on the kitchen counter, right beside Mara’s chipped coffee mug, as if it belonged there—like a bookmark slipped into a morning ritual. She hadn’t slept much. Her mind kept replaying the words from the letter, the curve of the handwriting, the way it had been folded so precisely, so carefully.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Fiction
The "What If" Lives of Jeanie the Dreamer
'Let’s have no two ways about it. Jeanie really could be a twat.' El leaned over the lectern and looked the front row of mourners straight in the eyes. She had one elbow on the celebrant’s notes, and for all the world looked like she was ordering a pint of Bishop’s Finger down at her local in Dalston.
By Muhammad Sabeel8 months ago in Humans
