Shahjhan

Joined July 2025

27 stories

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I respectfully bow to you

Stories (27)

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The Smoker Man
Athour....shahjhan When you grow up in a small town like Marlow Creek, you learn to live with the silence. Not just the lack of noise—but the quiet that creeps into your bones. People don’t talk about the past here, not unless they’re drunk or dying. But some stories... well, they never stay buried.
By Shahjhan5 months ago in Unbalanced
The View from the Penthouse
Athour.....shahjhan The penthouse of the Orion Tower stood sixty stories above Manhattan. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the apartment like a glass crown, offering an uninterrupted view of the city. From up here, the chaos below was just texture — yellow cabs like ants, people as flickering dots. For Julian Vale, this was home.
By Shahjhan5 months ago in Trader
Zarapa and the Lion: The Zebra Who Outsmarted the King of the Savanna
Athour.......shahjhan Zarapa and the Lion: The Zebra Who Outsmarted the King of the Savanna In the heart of the golden African savanna, where the grass whispered secrets to the wind and the acacia trees stood like ancient guards, lived a clever zebra named Zarapa. Her bold black-and-white stripes shimmered in the sunlight, but it was not her beauty that made her famous — it was her mind.
By Shahjhan5 months ago in Proof
The Horde Work in the Life
Athour.......shahjhan The siren screamed at dawn. It always did. It was not a shrill alarm or a musical chime, but a low, grinding howl—like a machine in pain. The sound stretched across the valley, bouncing off metal walls, rolling down stone alleys, and settling in the bones of the workers.
By Shahjhan5 months ago in Education
"The Lantern in the Forest"
Athour.......shahjhan was standing at the edge of the forest holding a lantern that glowed blue instead of gold. Strange, she thought. No one from the village ever ventured near the trees at dusk, not since the warlocks’ curse had darkened the eastern woods decades ago.
By Shahjhan5 months ago in Marriage
The Sound of Her Mug
Athour......shahjhan Not on purpose. I wasn’t holding a candle for her, or lighting incense and whispering her name into the steam. I wasn’t that kind of heartbroken.
By Shahjhan5 months ago in Poets
I Forgot How to Cry
I Forgot How to Cry By [shahjhan] There was a time when I cried all the time. As a child, my tears came as naturally as breath. I cried when I lost toys, when I scraped my knees, when someone said something unkind on the playground. My feelings moved like rivers—unapologetically, sometimes violently—but always with motion.
By Shahjhan6 months ago in Poets
The Day My Mother Forgot My Name
Athour......shahjhan There was a moment in time when I could no longer deny it: something was wrong. It wasn’t sudden, not an event that struck like lightning, but a slow, creeping awareness, like a shadow that grew a little longer each day. The signs had been there for months, even years. But this was different. This was the day my mother forgot my name.
By Shahjhan6 months ago in Families
Instructions Left in My Daughter’s Crib
Athour .....shahjahan The first time I saw the note, it was 3:14 a.m., a time I knew too well. Sleep had become a ghost — always nearby but never quite arriving. My daughter, Ava, had just fallen asleep again, her tiny chest rising with the rhythm of innocence.
By Shahjhan6 months ago in Motivation
Dear 15-Year-Old Me: A Letter to My Queer Younger Self
Author.....shahjhan Right now, you're probably staring into the bathroom mirror again, wondering why your reflection doesn’t feel quite right. Not just how you look — though, yes, you’re still trying to figure out your style (trust me, the skinny jeans and hoodie phase won’t last forever) — but wondering why there’s this buzzing ache in your chest every time someone talks about crushes, proms, or who they're “into.”
By Shahjhan6 months ago in Families
Love Letters to My Future Daughter
By [shahjhan You don’t exist yet—not in this world, not in any photograph, not even in the blur of an ultrasound. You are a maybe. A someday. A soft daydream wrapped in the thinnest kind of hope.
By Shahjhan6 months ago in Families
The Weight of My Grandmother’s Hands
Author......shahjhan The first time I noticed my grandmother’s hands, I was six years old and sitting on the kitchen floor, playing with marbles while she stirred something on the stove. The scent of onions and cumin filled the air, and the rhythm of her wooden spoon striking the pot became the soundtrack of my childhood. But it was her hands I remember most—creased, dark, callused in places I didn’t yet understand.
By Shahjhan6 months ago in Families