Numan writes
Bio
I write across worlds and emotions, turning everyday moments into unforgettable stories. Explore with me through fiction, poetry, psyche, and life’s reflections
Stories (17)
Filter by community
When Friendships Break,
I never thought losing a friend could feel like losing a part of myself. Not someone I barely knew, or an acquaintance from a passing phase, but someone I had shared years of laughter, secrets, and midnight talks with. Someone I thought would be there when I laughed, when I cried, when I stumbled—and when I soared.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Humans
My First Volunteer Experience
My First Volunteer Experience I had always admired people who volunteered. To me, they seemed like superheroes—quiet, selfless, and unstoppable. But I had never actually stepped into that world myself. That all changed last summer, when a simple choice turned into a day I’ll never forget.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Humans
The Shadow Painter
The Shadow Painter The first time Elara discovered her gift, she was only nine years old. She had been sitting cross-legged in her grandmother’s attic, where dust floated in beams of late-afternoon light and the smell of turpentine lingered. Her grandmother, once a painter of modest renown, had left behind dozens of cracked canvases and jars of half-dried paint. Most children would have found the place eerie, but to Elara, it was a sanctuary.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Fiction
The Sound of My Name in Other People’s Mouths
The Sound of My Name in Other People’s Mouths by [Numan writes] There’s a way my mother says my name that folds time. It carries the softness of early mornings and warm milk, the scent of jasmine from her shawl, and the quiet weight of lullabies hummed rather than sung. In her mouth, my name is a prayer—gentle, deliberate, each syllable laced with a kind of trembling care, like she’s still afraid to break me.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Psyche
Mind & Heart
Mind & Heart: A Journey Through Words I never thought words could save me. I had always seen poetry as something delicate—flowers pressed between the pages of a notebook, fleeting lines that sounded pretty but didn’t mean much. But when the world started to feel heavy, when mornings became battles and nights stretched endlessly, I found myself turning to the one thing I had ignored: poetry.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Poets
The Hidden Library
The Hidden Library Max had always loved books. His room was stacked from floor to ceiling with novels, short stories, and dusty encyclopedias he’d inherited from his grandparents. But nothing in his collection compared to the thrill of the local library—the scent of old pages, the quiet hum of readers, and the promise that somewhere, in the middle of those shelves, a story might reach out and grab him.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror That Remembers
The Mirror That Remembers The bell above the thrift store door jingled softly as Lena stepped inside. Dust motes swirled in the golden light from the afternoon sun, and the air smelled faintly of old paper, cedar wood, and forgotten time. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just a distraction from the silence of her empty apartment.
By Numan writes4 months ago in Fiction
