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)
Filter by community
How Poetry Became My Portal to Abundance
There was a time I believed abundance was a matter of numbers—money in the bank, followers on a screen, invitations to rooms filled with important people. I chased it. I ran breathless toward it. And for years, I came up empty.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Poets
The Echo in the Pages
The Echo in the Pages The heat came early that year.It rolled over the hills like a heavy sigh, settling into the crevices of the small town of Bluehollow. Lawn chairs were dragged out earlier than usual, lemonade pitchers sweated more than the children, and the local bookstore pushed their "Summer Reading List" two weeks ahead of schedule.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
I Saw You in the Static
The old television hadn't worked properly in years. It sat like a relic in the corner of the living room, bulky and dust-covered, with dials that clicked and stuck. My father never got rid of it. Even after he upgraded to a flat screen, the old set stayed. He always said, "She liked this one."
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Fiction
Her Favorite Color Was Goodbye
She never stayed in one place for too long. My aunt Lila was a storm dressed in vintage denim and silver bangles that jingled like a secret language. She blew into town every couple of years, all laughter and silk scarves, and vanished just as quickly—leaving behind only the faint scent of patchouli and questions no one dared to ask.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Poets
Last Letter from the Lighthouse
The last time I saw Thomas, he stood at the edge of the cliffs beneath the lighthouse, his coat whipping in the sea wind. He smiled at me with that quiet sadness he always carried, as though part of him belonged more to the ocean than to the land.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in History
Learning to Leave Quietly
There is no thunderclap when a heart decides to leave. Sometimes, the loudest decision is made in silence, folded neatly like worn clothes into a small suitcase. That’s how I left—not with slamming doors or broken dishes, but with a soft zipper sliding shut and the quiet padding of footsteps at dawn.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Humans
When It Rained Inside
He left the window open. The storm never left It began the night he left. He didn’t take much—just a bag, his coat, and the silence he folded carefully between us. The window was still open, barely, just enough for the rain to whisper through. I remember how the wind pushed the curtains like breath, like a sigh trying to escape.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Poets
The House That Hummed
I found the house by accident. It was one of those old Victorian homes with too much character and not enough insulation. The kind that looks haunted, even on a sunny day. The rent was suspiciously low, but I was tired of roommates, tired of the noise, and tired of explaining why I wanted silence. This house promised solitude.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Horror
The House That Hummed
I found the house by accident. It was one of those old Victorian homes with too much character and not enough insulation. The kind that looks haunted, even on a sunny day. The rent was suspiciously low, but I was tired of roommates, tired of the noise, and tired of explaining why I wanted silence. This house promised solitude.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Horror
The Bench by the River
The Bench by the River Every Sunday morning, without fail, Henry came to the same bench by the river. He wasn’t a man of many habits—he lost most of them when his wife passed away five years ago—but this ritual remained. The bench sat under a weeping willow whose branches kissed the water when the wind was gentle. Birds chattered nearby, and occasionally a jogger would nod at him as they passed. But Henry didn’t come for the company.
By Shohel Rana8 months ago in Poets
