Shoaib Afridi
Stories (43)
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I Took a DNA Test for Fun. What I Found Out Made Me Move Cities
I didn’t think twice when I ordered the DNA test. I wasn’t chasing some long-lost family mystery. I wasn’t adopted. I wasn’t even curious, really. It was just one of those impulsive decisions — like ordering sushi at midnight or downloading a sleep-tracking app I’d forget about in two days.
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Confessions
🐿️ The Squirrel’s Missing Acorn Heist
It all began on a crisp autumn morning when Chester the squirrel awoke to find his prized golden acorn missing. This was no ordinary acorn. It wasn’t gold in color — it was actually gold. A shiny, nut-sized trinket he’d found near a human picnic site last spring. Ever since, Chester had kept it safe in his tree hollow, hidden beneath piles of real acorns. To the forest, it was his treasure. To him, it was a symbol of pride. And now it was gone. His whiskers twitched. His tiny paws trembled. There were no signs of a break-in — no snapped twigs, no disturbed leaves. Just an empty hollow and a sinking feeling in his belly. “This is a heist,” Chester muttered. “And I’m going to crack it wide open.”
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Fiction
🦉 The Secret Library of the Wise Owl
In the quiet heart of Whispering Pine Forest, hidden beyond mossy stones and waterfalls that hum lullabies, there exists a secret known only to those who truly listen to the woods. Not many have found it. Fewer still have been allowed inside. But deep within an ancient, hollowed-out tree stands the forest's best-kept secret: the Library of the Wise Owl.
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Fiction
🐒 The Monkey and the Wise Elephant
Deep in the heart of the lush Emerald Forest, where sunlight filtered softly through thick green canopies and the air always smelled of moss and mangoes, lived a monkey named Miko. He was small, quick, and full of energy—and every creature in the forest knew his name. But not everyone said it with a smile. Miko was the kind of monkey who couldn’t help himself. He swung through the trees like lightning, told silly jokes to anyone who’d listen, and played endless pranks. Sometimes he tied vines to unsuspecting animals’ tails, hid fruits in the treetops just before someone reached them, or dropped nuts on the heads of sleepy boars napping in the afternoon sun. At first, the forest chuckled. Even the older animals thought he was harmless. “Just Miko being Miko,” they would say. But over time, the laughter began to fade. His tricks became tiring, and some animals stopped coming near him at all. One day, Miko stumbled upon something new—an old brass horn tucked between the roots of a banyan tree. It was dusty but intact. The moment he blew into it, the sound echoed so loudly across the forest that birds flew off in panic. Miko grinned. “This will be fun.” He tiptoed toward the riverbank, where Tara the elephant was drinking. She was the oldest and wisest creature in the forest—calm, strong, and deeply respected. Miko crouched behind the bushes, raised the horn, and blew with all his might. BWWWAAAANG The blast startled everyone. Tara reared up in alarm, trumpeting in fear. Her enormous feet thundered against the earth as birds scattered from the trees and squirrels dashed in every direction. In her panic, Tara accidentally stepped on a bush where a family of baby rabbits had been hiding. Thankfully, they escaped in time, but the fear in their little eyes was unforgettable. The forest went still. Every eye turned toward Miko, who peeked out from behind a tree, expecting giggles. There was none. “You could’ve hurt someone!” growled a tortoise who had toppled over in the confusion. “I—I didn’t mean to…” Miko stammered. Tara didn’t say a word. She turned silently and walked away, her heavy footsteps echoing with quiet disappointment. That silence struck Miko harder than any angry word. That night, Miko couldn’t sleep. The wind through the trees sounded sad. The horn, once so exciting, now felt cold in his hands. He realized that for all his fun, he had never once thought about how his actions made others feel. The next morning, he found Tara at the river again, gently helping a thirsty deer reach the water. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Tara turned to him slowly. “Miko,” she said with softness and strength, “when you play, remember: laughter is only real if everyone is laughing.” Miko nodded, eyes lowered. “You are clever,” she added. “That’s a gift. But cleverness without care can become cruelty.” Miko sat beside her, listening more closely than he ever had before. From that day on, something in Miko changed—not his energy, not his mischief, but his purpose. He still swung from vines and danced in the trees, but now he used his tricks to help. He'd toss ripe fruit to hungry animals, use his horn to guide lost cubs home, or mimic a predator’s call to warn others of danger. His jokes made even the oldest owls laugh again. And when a rainstorm washed away a family of burrowing animals, it was Miko who climbed high to call for help. The forest slowly warmed to him again. Kavi the deer even laughed when Miko placed a flower crown on his head. “You’re still a rascal,” said the tortoise one day, “but now you’re our rascal.” And Tara? She smiled at him every time they crossed paths. Miko never stopped playing. But now, he played with heart. 🌿 Moral of the Story:
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Families
A Love Letter to the Night
Some moments in life don’t speak in words—they shimmer. They blink gently in the dark like fireflies weaving secret messages into the air. I’ve spent many nights sitting beneath the weight of silence, listening—not with my ears, but with my heart—waiting for the night to speak back. It always does. Softly. Slowly. Like a whisper. There’s something sacred about darkness when it’s not filled with noise. In a world that never seems to pause, nighttime feels like the earth’s way of catching its breath. And in that breath, I’ve found something precious: peace. Stillness. And occasionally, a flicker of gold dancing through the shadows. Fireflies. Tiny lights pulsing in the air, asking nothing of me except presence. They don’t blaze like streetlights. They don’t demand attention like city neon. Instead, they glow in silence, modest and patient—inviting you to slow down, to see, to feel. I think that’s what I’ve needed all along. Not more sound. Not more answers. Just stillness. Just a reason to remember that beauty doesn’t always roar—it often whispers. We live in a loud world. Our heads are full of opinions, expectations, unfinished conversations, and alarms that go off before dreams can even begin. But fireflies? They don’t live like that. They remind me that light doesn’t have to be blinding to be powerful. That softness is strength too. That presence—just being here, fully—is its own kind of glow. There was a night not long ago. I couldn’t sleep. My mind was tangled in everything unsaid, everything undone. So I stepped outside barefoot, letting the cool earth remind me I was still alive. I didn’t go far—just to the edge of a small patch of trees near my home. And there they were. Flickering, rising, falling. Not in a hurry. Not in fear. Just… existing. Lighting up the dark, not to shine forever, but to make that single moment matter. I watched in silence. That’s when I realized: the night isn’t empty. It’s full of unspoken stories. The fireflies aren’t just insects. They’re reminders. Of every small joy I’ve forgotten to feel. Of every quiet miracle I’ve brushed past. Of every time I needed healing and didn’t know how to ask for it. They whispered: "You are still here. And you are still light." It felt like a lullaby written just for me. Not sung aloud, but hummed inside my bones. Since that night, I’ve come to love darkness—not as a threat, but as a canvas. A space where the soul gets to glow without competition. A place where you remember who you are, without needing to be seen. So this is my love letter to the night. Thank you—for not rushing me. For holding my silence without asking questions. For the stars you tuck above me like a blanket. For the fireflies that teach me how to glow quietly. For the breath I forget to take during the day. For showing me that some things don’t need fixing—they just need feeling. And thank you, especially, for reminding me that light still lives in me, even when I forget how to find it. Because sometimes, when the world becomes too heavy to hold, all it takes is a single flicker in the dark to remind us—we were never alone.
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Potent
The Addiction to Validation No One Talks About
The Silent Addiction That Controls Our Lives When we think of addiction, we usually picture alcohol, drugs, or nicotine. But there's a subtler, quieter addiction sweeping through society—one so normalized, we don’t even recognize it.
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Psyche
Anxiety in a Post-Pandemic World: Why We’re Still Not Okay
🧠 Introduction: The Unseen Pandemic The masks may be off, but for many of us, the anxiety never really left. We’ve moved forward physically—back to work, back to school, back to "normal." But mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, we are still somewhere in 2020, holding our breath in silence. What the pandemic stole from us wasn't just time or lives—it disrupted our sense of safety, our connection with others, and the way we process the world.
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Psyche
Stars Don’t Shine in the City Anymore
I used to count stars like secrets, Spilled across the sky by a universe too full to hold them. I used to lie on the rooftop of my grandfather’s house, The night air pressing gently on my skin— Cool, quiet, kind. Back then, The sky felt endless. And I still believed That wishing on stars meant something. But now— The city buzzes louder than my thoughts. Light pours from windows And flickers from phone screens While the sky above me Remains empty. No stars. Just smog and satellites, Fake moons and forgotten dreams. I stand on concrete Where grass used to grow, And whisper to a sky That doesn’t answer anymore. I don’t make wishes now— I scroll. I tap. I watch strangers dance In tiny boxes Hoping to feel Something. I miss the silence That used to speak louder than words. I miss the way darkness Could still hold light. I miss the stars— And the child I was When I believed They were only mine. Because stars don’t shine In the city anymore. And sometimes, I wonder if I still do.
By Shoaib Afridi6 months ago in Poets
