Shohel Rana
Bio
As a professional article writer for Vocal Media, I craft engaging, high-quality content tailored to diverse audiences. My expertise ensures well-researched, compelling articles that inform, inspire, and captivate readers effectively.
Stories (372)
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The Weaver’s Secret
The Weaver’s Secret The air in our village always carried the faint hum of looms, a rhythm as steady as the river that curved through the valley. I was Anika, seventeen, with ink-stained fingers and a habit of daydreaming. My mother, Amma, was the village’s best weaver, her hands dancing over her loom like they were casting spells. Her tapestries hung in every home, their colors so vivid they seemed to breathe—scenes of festivals, forests, and skies that held stories no one could fully unravel.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Gift
The Clockmaker’s Gift The village of Elderglow was tucked in a valley where time seemed to move slower, as if the mountains themselves held it gently in place. I was Ezra, sixteen, with a knack for fixing things—bicycles, radios, anything with gears. But my favorite place was Papa’s workshop, a cramped room filled with the tick-tock of clocks. Papa was the village clockmaker, his hands steady as they coaxed life into brass and wood. His clocks weren’t just timekeepers; they were art, each one humming with a rhythm that felt alive.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Song of the Fireflies
The Song of the Fireflies The meadow at the edge of our village was a secret kept by summer nights, where fireflies danced like tiny lanterns under a velvet sky. I was Tara, fifteen, with a heart full of questions and a notebook full of half-written poems. My grandfather, Nana, called the meadow his “thinking place.” He’d take me there when the world felt too heavy, his old harmonica in his pocket, ready to play a tune that made the stars seem closer.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror’s Debt
The town of Greystone was a place where history clung like damp rot, its streets lined with sagging storefronts and memories no one cared to recall. Tucked at the end of Mill Lane was Hollow’s Antiques, a shop so old it seemed to grow from the earth itself. Most folks avoided it, muttering about strange lights or whispers from within. But for Tessa Wren, the shop was her inheritance—and her curse.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Keeper of the Lantern
The town of Saltmere clung to the edge of a jagged coastline, where the sea was both lifeblood and executioner. Its lighthouse, perched on Blackthorn Cliff, was older than the town itself, its stone walls pitted by centuries of salt and wind. Most folks avoided it, whispering of strange lights and voices carried on the gales. But for Marin Cole, the lighthouse was her sanctuary.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Whispering Gallery
Ellsbury was a town that time had overlooked, its streets lined with sagging Victorian houses and a mill that hadn’t turned in decades. The Ellsbury Museum of Antiquities was the town’s only claim to fame, a crumbling relic packed with artifacts no one visited. Most locals avoided it, muttering about strange noises or lights flickering after hours. But for Lila Everett, the museum was home.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Secret
The town of Haverford was the kind of place where secrets grew like moss—quietly, persistently, unnoticed until they covered everything. Tucked between rolling hills and a river that whispered more than it roared, it was a town that time seemed to have forgotten. And in the heart of Haverford, on a cobbled street lined with sagging storefronts, stood Elias Finch’s Clock Shop, its faded sign creaking in the wind.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Library of Unread Books
Wren Harbor was a town that clung to the edge of the world, its cliffs battered by salt and storm. The kind of place where the sea told stories and the townsfolk pretended not to listen. Tucked behind the main street, where fishermen swapped lies and tourists bought overpriced lobster rolls, stood the Wren Harbor Library. It wasn’t on any map, and most locals swore it didn’t exist. But Nora Caldwell, a bookseller with a nose for trouble, had heard the whispers.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
Words I Never Said Out Loud
The morning light slipped through the blinds of Amara’s Brooklyn apartment, casting thin stripes across her hardwood floor. She sat cross-legged on a faded rug, a notebook open in her lap, her pen heavy with ink and hesitation. At 27, Amara was a social worker by day, a poet by night—or she had been, before the weight of her unspoken truths silenced her words. Today, though, the dawn felt like a quiet invitation, a chance to write the letter she’d never dared, to the parts of herself she’d kept hidden for too long.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Poets
The Initiation: Saying Yes to the Unknown
The morning sun crept over the Blue Mountains, bathing the small Australian town of Katoomba in a soft, golden haze. Elise stood at the edge of a cliffside lookout, her hiking boots scuffed, her backpack heavy with water and a journal she hadn’t touched in months. At 29, she was a graphic designer in Sydney, her days a blur of client meetings and digital deadlines. But today, she was here, in the wild heart of the bush, facing a solo hike she’d both craved and dreaded. This was her initiation—not just into the wilderness, but into a life where she said yes to the unknown, letting fear fade to make way for something bigger.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
The Question That Changed My Life
The morning sun spilled through the café window, painting the wooden table in soft gold. Nora sat alone, her journal open, a black coffee cooling beside her. At 31, she was a freelance copywriter in Austin, cobbling together a living from blog posts and ad campaigns. Her life was a patchwork of deadlines and solitude, a far cry from the dreams she’d scribbled in that journal years ago. Today, though, something was about to shift—a single question, asked by a stranger, would crack her world open and change everything.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
When fantasy reflects our deepest truths
The morning sun hung low over Edinburgh, its light weaving through the spires of the Old Town, casting long shadows on the cobblestones. Rowan sat at a café table outside a bookshop, her notebook open, a fountain pen poised above a blank page. At 30, she was a fantasy novelist, or at least she was trying to be. Her first book, Songs of the Silver Flame, was due to her publisher in six weeks, but the words were stuck, tangled in doubts and distractions. The story—a tale of a wizard named Elyrin who wielded a silver flame to warn a fractured world—was meant to be her masterpiece. But as Rowan watched the city wake, she wondered if Elyrin’s warning was for her, too, a mirror to the truths she was afraid to face.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
