Musawir Shah
Bio
Each story by Musawir Shah blends emotion and meaning—long-lost reunions, hidden truths, or personal rediscovery. His work invites readers into worlds of love, healing, and hope—where even the smallest moments can change everything.
Stories (47)
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My Father’s Voice Inside the Broken Radio
The old radio had been sitting in our attic for years—dusty, broken, and forgotten. It belonged to my father, who passed away when I was only twelve. I remember how he used to tune in every evening, smiling as the soft crackle of old jazz filled the room. After he died, the radio went silent. So did our home.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Families
My Grandfather’s Forgotten Internet Café
My Grandfather’s Forgotten Internet Café When I was nine, I used to spend summer mornings at my grandfather’s internet café—a place now buried in the memory folders of time like a long-lost desktop shortcut. It sat quietly on the corner of an aging street, a blinking relic of the early 2000s, with thick CRT monitors humming gently and posters of “Need for Speed” peeling off the walls.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Journal
The Day the World Went Online
The Day the World Went Online I grew up in a town so small, you could walk from one end to the other without passing a single stranger. The streets were quiet, the nights quieter. We knew our neighbors, their dogs, their dramas, and what time they boiled their evening tea. The world outside felt like a distant planet — something we read about in newspapers or watched delayed on national TV.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Journal
The Tree That Remembered Me
I hadn’t been back in twelve years. Not since the funeral. Not since I stood in the middle of my grandmother’s backyard, too young to understand what grief really meant, clutching a paper flower I made in school because I didn’t know what else to bring.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Fiction
My Dead Brother Sends Me Voicemails
The first voicemail came on the anniversary of his death. It was just after midnight. I was scrolling through old photos of us when my phone buzzed. The caller ID said “Unknown.” I let it go to voicemail. A minute later, a notification lit up:
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Fiction
My Tattoo Tells the Future — But Only in America
My Tattoo Tells the Future — But Only in America I never believed in fate. I’m a rational person — raised in Birmingham, educated in logic, grounded in facts. So when I got the tattoo, it wasn’t a spiritual moment. Just a silly dare in my uni days. A small Celtic symbol on my wrist — meant nothing to me then.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter in the Attic
The Last Letter in the Attic It was a cloudy Sunday morning when Maya decided to finally clean out the attic of her late grandmother’s house. The wooden ladder creaked beneath her as she climbed, each step sounding like a whisper of time gone by. The attic smelled of old paper and cedar, the scent of things that had remained untouched for decades.
By Musawir Shah6 months ago in Fiction
