Taslim Ullah
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Stories (31)
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The Man Sitting in the Shadows
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows over the patch of grass where he sat, barefoot and contemplative. The sky had just begun to shift from bright blue to the faintest hue of lavender, brushing the horizon with the softness of approaching dusk. A light breeze stirred the leaves of the bushes behind him, whispering secrets only silence could understand.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Fiction
The Voice That Melted Stone
There was a time when I was not a man of compassion. My heart, though beating, was colder than the iron gates that guarded the house I called home. I was feared more than I was respected. In the city of Qazim, they whispered my name—Arman—with unease. Not because I ruled with wisdom, but because I never hesitated to raise my voice or hand to get my way.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Humans
From Failure to Forever
I was never the kind of student who stood out for anything good. In fact, if there was ever a competition for the most underperforming student in class, I would win it without even trying. Grades? Low. Confidence? Lower. Dreams? Faint and fading. I was the guy who teachers either ignored or pitied. The one who sat quietly at the back of the classroom, watching the clock tick away, waiting for the day to end.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Fiction
In the Quiet of Her Store
The chime above the door rarely rang these days. Evelyn sat behind the counter of her small corner store, "Maple & Dust," named not for any product it sold, but for the way light danced through the maple tree outside and settled like soft memory across the shelves. The store had once been a modest hub of the neighborhood—filled with jars of candy, handwritten notes pinned to a corkboard, and local stories traded over the purchase of sewing needles or loose-leaf tea.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Fiction
The Power of Writing
In the corner of a small, sunlit room, an old desk sat by the window. The wood had softened with time, its corners dulled by years of hands resting on them, and the drawers creaked like they carried secrets. Upon it lay scattered papers, a chipped ceramic mug of pens, and a single worn-out journal. It wasn’t just a desk—it was a birthplace of worlds.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Motivation
Lessons in Love
The bell rang with its usual sharpness, signaling the start of yet another class. The classroom buzzed with chatter, notebooks flipping open, chairs scraping back into place. On the third bench near the window, Aarav adjusted his glasses and silently took out his economics textbook. He was always early—always prepared. He liked the order of things. But today, as the sun angled through the dusty panes and cast golden patches on the desks, something in the air felt different.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Fiction
Paper Hearts
Mira had always known the price of words. She learned it not from books, but from bills stacked on the kitchen counter, from her mother’s tired sighs late at night, and from the weight of being too young to carry so much. Her father had left when she was just a child, and her mother—once a poet with a gentle soul—had traded verse for overtime. Poetry didn’t pay for heating or medicine.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Confessions
Where Ink Meets Tea
There’s a certain kind of magic that happens when silence wraps around a person and all that fills the space is the soft rustle of turning pages and the comforting aroma of a cup of tea. That magic, subtle yet profound, had always been Clara’s favorite part of her day.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Confessions
Chapters Outside the Shelves
There are stories we carry inside us long before we know how to tell them. They live in quiet evenings, in laughter that echoes through kitchen walls, in the glimmer of hope on tired faces, and in the pauses between heartbeats. These stories do not begin with a title page nor end with a final chapter. They are lived — not just read.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Confessions
Learning to Be Human
The first time Leena understood the weight of love, she was sitting beside her grandmother in a sunlit room filled with the scent of jasmine. Her grandmother’s hands, soft and wrinkled, were braiding her hair while telling stories about a time when letters were more powerful than phone calls, when love meant waiting, not swiping.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Confessions
Burning Thoughts
In a quiet town tucked between the edges of a forest and the rhythm of a river, lived a young man named Rayan. He was a reserved soul, not for lack of words, but for the overwhelming tide of thoughts that crashed inside his mind. He wasn't the kind to speak first, or speak often—but when he did, there was a weight, a warmth, a strange illumination to his words. People noticed, but few ever really understood.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Fiction
Human Perspectives. AI-Generated.
In the dim quiet of the lab, under the hum of soft white lights and the steady rhythm of machines, Dr. Amina Kale sat before a screen filled with patterns—neural maps, emotional response charts, and data clusters that represented more than numbers. They represented people. Lives. Thoughts. Feelings. The very essence of what it meant to be human.
By Taslim Ullah8 months ago in Futurism
