shakir hamid
Bio
A passionate writer sharing well-researched true stories, real-life events, and thought-provoking content. My work focuses on clarity, depth, and storytelling that keeps readers informed and engaged.
Stories (180)
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The Train I Almost Missed. AI-Generated.
The 7:45 train was late again — just like it always was on Mondays. The platform was crowded with tired faces and the smell of burnt coffee. Everyone looked impatient, as if being late was the greatest tragedy of their day.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Coffee Cup. AI-Generated.
Every morning at exactly 7:10, Elias Mwangi opened the doors to his tiny café on River Street in Nairobi. The brass bell above the door jingled softly, echoing through the narrow shop that smelled of roasted beans, cinnamon, and rain-soaked wood.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Sound of Rain. AI-Generated.
It had been raining for three days straight in Lusaka, and the sound had become a kind of background music to Naomi’s thoughts. She sat by the window of her late father’s house, watching water run down the glass, tracing the same paths over and over again — like memories replaying themselves.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Last Train to Miray. AI-Generated.
The train station of Miray hadn’t seen a real crowd in years. The walls were cracked, the benches splintered, and the ticket window covered in dust. Once, this place had been the heart of a small but thriving mining town. Now, it was only the heart of one old man who refused to let it die.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse Keeper’s Letter. AI-Generated.
The wind howled along the cliffs of Cape Town, tearing at the edges of the lighthouse like it wanted to knock it into the ocean. Inside, an old man sat hunched over a wooden desk, pen in hand, paper worn and yellowed.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Echo in Her Voice. AI-Generated.
The first thing Samantha Reyes noticed when she woke up was silence. No hum of machines, no soft beeping of a heart monitor—just a heavy, muffled quiet that seemed to sit on her chest. Her throat burned. Her tongue felt like sandpaper. She tried to speak, to call out for someone—anyone—but what came out was only a broken rasp, a sound that didn’t belong to her.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Motivation
The King of Broken Streets. AI-Generated.
Nairobi, 2006. The rain had stopped, but the smell of smoke still clung to Nairobi like guilt. Puddles reflected the fractured glow of streetlights, matatus honked through the fog, and somewhere in the maze of slums and skyscrapers, Malik Mwangi ruled the night.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Criminal
The Last Rain in Bulawayo. AI-Generated.
Bulawayo, 1998 — a city of sunburned streets and restless winds, where the scent of dust and diesel hung heavy in the air. In the township of Mzilikazi, two brothers grew up chasing the same dream but running from different ghosts.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
