Noman Afridi
Bio
I’m Noman Afridi — welcome, all friends! I write horror & thought-provoking stories: mysteries of the unseen, real reflections, and emotional truths. With sincerity in every word. InshaAllah.
Stories (202)
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She Was Drying Her Hair in the Bathroom — But Had No Reflection
She Was Drying Her Hair in the Bathroom — But Had No Reflection It was supposed to be just three nights. I was in northern Pakistan, researching old architecture for a historical travel piece. The haveli, they said, was “safe,” just abandoned, dusty — but structurally sound.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Horror
After My Mother Passed, Her Kitchen Never Went Silent
After My Mother Passed, Her Kitchen Never Went Silent It’s been three months since my mother passed away. She died gently — on her prayer mat — just after Asr, with her hands still scented with flour and rose water.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Families
The Old Woman Who Disappeared Before My Eyes
The Old Woman Who Disappeared Before My Eyes It was a quiet Sunday morning. The kind of morning where the world still seems half-asleep — hushed, sacred, untouched. I was walking back home from Fajr prayer. The streets were still cold with the remnants of night, the sky dipped in a soft, dim blue. Birds were only just beginning to stir, and the trees stood still like sentinels. The lane I walked was always empty at this hour.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Lifehack
I Tried to End My Life — But an Unseen Hand Pulled Me Back
I Tried to End My Life — But an Unseen Hand Pulled Me Back It was winter. Not outside — inside me. I was 28 years old. A graphic designer by profession, living in a bustling city where the noise never stopped and the crowds always moved fast. Everyone seemed to have somewhere urgent to be — but no one had a moment to pause and ask, “Are you okay?”
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Motivation
Every Friday, My Sister’s Empty Room Smells of Mehndi
Every Friday, My Sister’s Empty Room Smells of Mehndi My sister Iqra was the light of our home. Laughter followed her, and so did the scent of mehndi — henna she applied every Thursday night, a family tradition passed down by our grandmother.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Horror
She Dreamt of a Burning House — Then Watched It Burn
She Dreamt of a Burning House — Then Watched It Burn Her name was Areeba. Nine years old. Soft-spoken. Always drawing things she didn’t understand — flames, staircases, cracked ceilings. Her mother thought she had an overactive imagination.
By Noman Afridi7 months ago in Horror
