Muhammad yaseen
Stories (6)
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The Lantern in the Fog. AI-Generated.
The fog had rolled in thick, pressing like a silent ocean against the narrow cobbled streets of Braxton Hollow. Most nights in the village ended by eight, the townsfolk tucked away behind heavy drapes and bolted doors. But tonight, one light still burned—a solitary lantern swaying gently from a crooked wooden post just outside the tailor’s shop.
By Muhammad yaseen5 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Spoke to Shadows. AI-Generated.
In the heart of an old forest where even birds hesitated to sing, there stood a forgotten village. The village had no name. Not because it never had one, but because no one dared to speak it anymore. For generations, a strange silence had fallen over the place, as if the trees themselves whispered warnings through their branches.
By Muhammad yaseen5 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern Keeper. AI-Generated.
The villagers said no one could survive the storms up on Wyrm’s Peak. The winds tore roofs off houses, the snow fell sideways, and lightning danced like angry spirits. But at the very top, near the ruined watchtower, a single light always flickered through the worst nights.
By Muhammad yaseen5 months ago in Fiction
The Rain That Stayed Too Long. AI-Generated.
It began with a drizzle—innocent, almost welcome. The dusty leaves of the neem tree outside my window trembled as droplets danced upon them. The sky was painted in strokes of ash and pearl, and I remember thinking, Finally, the heat has surrendered.
By Muhammad yaseen6 months ago in Families
The Clockmaker's Promise. AI-Generated.
In the heart of a quiet town stood a shop that didn’t quite fit the modern world. Its sign was faded, its wooden door creaked, and the windows displayed clocks that had long fallen out of fashion. Some were grand and ornate with brass pendulums, others small and delicate, ticking in unison like a choir of memories.
By Muhammad yaseen6 months ago in Fiction
The Lantern in the Storm. AI-Generated.
The wind howled like a wounded animal through the dense pines of Darwain Forest. The clouds above pressed down like a lid on a boiling pot, heavy and brimming with rain. Beneath this stormy sky walked a lone girl, perhaps no older than sixteen, clutching an old brass lantern to her chest.
By Muhammad yaseen6 months ago in Fiction
