Muhammad Wisal
Stories (53)
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Silent Storms Behind Her Eyes
The world saw Elena Moore as composed, intelligent, kind — the kind of woman who never raised her voice, never let a hair fall out of place, never lost her cool. She was the pillar in every room, the one friends leaned on during heartbreaks, the dependable colleague, the one who always “had it together.”
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Fiction
Because She Believed in Me
It was a quiet morning in early December when Ethan Blake stood in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting his tie for the third time. He had worn this navy-blue suit before—at interviews, weddings, even his father's funeral. But today, it felt different. Today was not about appearances. Today was about gratitude, redemption, and love.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Fiction
A Diamond for My Queen
It was a crisp winter morning in Connecticut when Daniel Carson stood in front of the mirror, his fingers nervously straightening the collar of his navy-blue suit. The pale light slipping through the blinds painted long shadows on the wooden floor. Today wasn’t just any day. It was the day he had spent nearly a year planning for, dreaming about, and quietly working toward. The day he would finally give back to the woman who had given him everything.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Humans
What the Night Said to the Firefly
The night stretched like an endless ocean — deep, infinite, and velvety. It was not just darkness; it was the quiet breath of the world, a vast expanse woven with whispers and secrets. The stars, like scattered diamonds, blinked softly, their light distant but steady, threading through the fabric of shadow.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Motivation
Father
The early morning sun peeked over the edge of the small village rooftops, casting long golden shadows across the narrow mud path. In one of the quieter corners of the village, Ravi adjusted the old, fraying strap of his bicycle and looked back at the sleeping house. A small handprint was still visible on his shirt from his son’s sleepy hug last night. He smiled faintly, brushed the dust off his trousers, and pedaled toward the city.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Families
Mother
The rain fell gently against the windowpane, rhythmic and soothing, like a lullaby whispered by the skies. The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the heart monitor and the occasional murmur of nurses walking by. Inside, Meera lay still, one hand on her belly, the other gently curled beside her pillow. Her eyes were closed, but she was not asleep. She was remembering.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Families
Power Belongs to the Silent
The World Before the Silence Before the Collapse, the world was deafening. Screens screamed for attention. Leaders barked commands. Citizens shouted opinions over one another, believing volume equaled truth. Every moment was broadcast, every act filtered, every silence filled. Even grief was performative, rage pre-recorded, and joy monetized.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Fiction
The Thought That Changed Me
There are moments in life that arrive so quietly, so subtly, that you almost don’t notice them at first. A glance, a word, a fleeting idea — a single thought that lingers, settles, and slowly begins to reshape the way you see the world, yourself, and everything in between.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Motivation
Time Didn’t Heal Me — It Taught Me
The first time I heard someone say, "Time heals all wounds," I was only twelve. My grandmother had just passed away, and people around me whispered that phrase like a magic spell. It sounded kind, maybe even comforting, but I remember thinking how hollow it felt. Time didn't bring her back. Time didn't explain the ache in my chest every time I walked past her room.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Motivation
The Silence That Thinks
The Silence That Thinks No one ever taught Arham how to sit still. In fact, like most people, he was raised in a world where movement was prized more than meaning, where speed was mistaken for progress, and where silence was either feared or filled with noise.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Motivation
The Last Scientist on Earth
The rockets left in waves, carving streaks of fire through the sky. Each departure was a wound across the heavens. Humanity, desperate and disillusioned, had turned its eyes away from Earth toward a new beginning among the stars. Mars. Titan. Europa. The names of salvation. The names of escape.
By Muhammad Wisal7 months ago in Futurism
