Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan
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Stories (41)
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A Second Chance
The accident should have killed him. When Jack Taylor opened his eyes, it was not the blinding light of a hospital room he saw, but the soft golden haze of a sunrise over his childhood home. The sharp scent of dew and cut grass hit him like a wave of memory. He sat up on the front porch, his old sneakers beside him, just like they had been twenty-five years ago.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Humans
The Forgotten Name
The villagers of Eldhollow spoke of the old mansion only in whispers. Perched at the edge of the woods, half-swallowed by ivy and mist, it was said to be cursed. No one had lived there for decades—not since the last of the Greve family vanished without a trace.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Horror
Not Him. Not Now
The first time Clara saw the man outside her window, she froze. It wasn’t just that he looked like someone she had buried six years ago—it was the fact that he looked exactly the same. Same deep-set eyes. Same black coat. Same crooked smile that never quite reached his eyes.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Confessions
The Joker: Smile for Tomorrow
Gotham was quiet. For once, the city’s constant scream was more of a whisper, hidden behind the steady rainfall and hum of neon lights. The Arkham State Hospital sat like a monument of madness at the edge of the Narrows, its windows flickering dimly in the dark.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Interview
Spider-Man: Web of One Day
The sun rose over New York City, casting gold onto the skyline and bouncing light off the polished glass of Midtown towers. In a small Queens apartment, Peter Parker sat at his cluttered kitchen table, cradling a cold cup of coffee. His Spider-Man mask lay beside an open envelope—one with shaky handwriting that simply read:
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Humor
Uh Hiesd
The wind howled over the deadlands of Eirath, sweeping dust across cracked earth and blackened stone. In the center of the desolation stood a lone traveler, cloaked in ash-stained robes, his hand resting on the hilt of a curved blade. His eyes scanned the horizon, not for enemies—but for answers. His name was Corren, and he had come in search of something spoken only in riddles: Uh Hiesd.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Humans
The Last Catch of Marrow Bay
On the jagged coastline of Marrow Bay, where cliffs dropped sharply into the churning sea, lived a fisherman named Thomas Grey. His face was weathered like driftwood, skin tanned and cracked from decades of salty winds and blazing sun. His hands, calloused and strong, had pulled countless nets from the ocean, but his eyes held a quiet wisdom that spoke of more than just years spent at sea.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Earth
The Awakening of Elysia
In the heart of a sprawling city, where glass towers pierced the sky and neon lights danced like constellations, the most ambitious experiment in artificial intelligence was underway. At the helm was Dr. Lena Arkwell, a brilliant but solitary scientist who had dedicated her life to creating an AI capable not only of learning but of feeling—of understanding the world not through cold data alone, but through empathy.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Earth
Whispers of Kumamoto
In the heart of Kyushu, where cherry blossoms danced along the Shirakawa River and ancient rooftops glinted in the morning sun, stood the proud walls of Kumamoto Castle. Its black-and-white façade had weathered centuries of storms, fire, and war. And within its shadow, lived stories few dared to tell.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Humans
The Golden Egg
In a quiet village nestled between the emerald folds of ancient hills, a strange tale lived on the lips of its oldest inhabitants—the tale of The Golden Egg. It was a story children whispered during twilight games and elders repeated around crackling hearth fires. Most called it a myth. A bedtime tale. But every story has a seed of truth.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan5 months ago in Humans
Not Him. Not Now.
The wind howled through the firs that surrounded the remote lakeside cottage, dragging its cold fingers against the windows. Inside, Anna sat by the fireplace, her hands cupped around a half-drunk mug of tea gone cold. The cottage smelled of pine, old books, and something sweeter—lavender, maybe, or memory.
By Muhammmad Zain Ul Hassan6 months ago in Motivation
