Pir Ashfaq Ahmad
Bio
The Falcon Rider
Stories (6)
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🌿"The Path that Disappeared"
🐒 Story: The jungle began to change after the second day. When Arjun and his friend Sameer set out from the small hill station at dawn, it felt almost playful. They carried a local map, a compass, and a promise to be back by nightfall. The plan: hike through a forgotten trail, sketch some rare birds, and return before their families even missed them.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Horror
🌾 “Letters under the Neem Tree”
The sun rose slowly over the fields of Kot Meeran, painting them gold. Birds chattered in the neem trees. A soft breeze moved through the sugarcane like whispers, carrying with it the smell of earth still wet from last night’s rain.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Humans
🩸 "The Thirteenth Room"
It started with a floor plan. Evelyn moved into the old Ashcroft building in late October, chasing a job and cheaper rent. The building was strange—tall and narrow, with creaky wood floors and a permanent draft—but it had character. And at night, the halls smelled faintly of lilac, like someone, somewhere, had spilled perfume years ago that never faded.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Horror
🕵️♂️ "The Room Across the Hall"
The apartment was small, but it had clean floors, cheap rent, and enough space for Ava and her books. After everything that happened in the city—the panic attacks, the stalker, the job loss—it felt like a reset. The town of Westridge was nothing special, but it was quiet. Exactly what she needed.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Families
🌕 Mailbox to the Moon
It all started with a blue mailbox that wasn’t supposed to be there. It stood crookedly at the end of the cul-de-sac, right where the neighborhood path curved into the woods. No street number, no postal mark, no name—just a faded moon sticker peeling from the side like a forgotten dream.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
The Cloud Collector
It was the kind of evening where the sky turned a dull purple before the sun even set. A gust of wind played with the trees, sending whispers through the branches. In the quiet of the neighborhood, eleven-year-old Noah stood by the edge of his yard, a small, homemade net made of string and an old coat hanger in his hand. It looked like something from a forgotten science project, but it was his most prized possession.
By Pir Ashfaq Ahmad7 months ago in Fiction
