Muhammad Wisal
Stories (53)
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How I Made My Name in America
I arrived in America with a name no one could pronounce. It was late August, the kind where the East Coast air still clings to the skin like it’s trying to keep summer alive. I was 19, clutching my father's old leather suitcase and my mother’s blessing in my chest like a shield. I didn’t speak much, partly because I was shy, partly because I was still learning how to string English together in real-life conversations, not just school exercises.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Confessions
I Am Lost in You
Chapter One: A Glance That Changed Everything It was a rainy April afternoon in London, the kind that painted the city in silver and blue. The sky hung low with clouds, and the air carried the soft scent of spring blossoms and wet pavement. Emma tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she hurried across Westminster Bridge, the edges of her beige coat fluttering in the breeze.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Confessions
Hope in the Darkness: Finding Light When All Seems Lost
The night was darker than usual. Clouds cloaked the moon, and the silence outside their small apartment felt heavier than ever before. Maria sat on the edge of her bed, her hands trembling as she stared at the stack of unpaid bills on the table. Her son, Leo, barely six, was asleep in the next room, unaware of the storm brewing not outside, but inside his mother’s heart.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Psyche
A Job Fed My Body, A Business Fed My Fire
For nearly a decade, I lived a life that others would call safe. I worked a nine-to-five job as a data analyst for a medium-sized firm. My salary arrived on time, my apartment was neat, and my bills were paid. On paper, everything looked fine. But inside, I was quietly fading.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Motivation
His Back Broke So Mine Could Stand Tall
When I was a boy, I thought my father was made of iron. Not the shiny kind, but the rusted, weathered steel that holds up forgotten bridges and railway tracks—silent, strong, and built to last. He didn’t speak much. He didn’t have time to. His life was measured not in hours but in callouses.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Families
Echoes in the Rain: The Brighton Boy Who Walked Into the Sea
Brighton, with its salt-laced air and pastel-painted lanes, is the kind of place where mystery feels out of place. It’s a city of seagulls, surfboards, secondhand bookstores, and stony beaches where people gather with fish and chips under striped parasols. But in the early autumn of 2011, just as the summer crowds thinned and the skies began to frown, something happened that would ripple through the seaside town for years to come.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Criminal
Vanished in the Fog: The London Girl Who Was Never Found
It was a fog-choked morning in late November when 17-year-old Isobel Hart left her flat in Southwark and vanished. At first, no one noticed. Isobel was quiet, self-contained — the kind of girl who didn’t draw much attention. She wasn’t the sort to stir drama on social media or dominate group chats. Her world was small but stable: her mother, her best friend Ava, her part-time job at a café on Borough High Street, and her notebooks, which she carried everywhere.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Criminal
Echoes of Justice: Inside the Court of America
Washington, D.C., 7:42 a.m. The sun had barely crept over the horizon, casting long golden beams across the marble steps of the Supreme Court of the United States. It was a cold spring morning, but the air hummed with a certain electricity—as if the wind itself were whispering the significance of what was to come.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Criminal
He Earned Every Breath of Power
The world never remembered the quiet ones. That was one of the first lessons Eli Mercer learned growing up in the broken blocks of East Detroit. His voice, when he had one, was too soft to cut through the chaos—a world of sirens, slammed doors, and the throb of people trying to survive.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Motivation
