Ubaid Khan
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Stories (15)
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The Garden That Ate the Sun
There was a time when the village of Veradale basked in golden sunlight. It stretched across the hills like honey, warming the fields, blooming the tulips, and drying the linens hung from every humble porch. But that was before the garden came.
By Ubaid Khan6 months ago in Fiction
Room 404: Do Not Enter
Part 1: The Check-In The Fairhaven Hotel was old but elegant—an aging five-story building nestled quietly in a forgotten corner of the city. Its marble floors, vintage wallpaper, and brass chandeliers whispered of a long-lost golden age. Ethan, a travel blogger known for reviewing haunted and abandoned places, had heard about Fairhaven from an obscure Reddit thread.
By Ubaid Khan6 months ago in Horror
Beneath the Surface of Dreams
The world felt different when Elena woke up that morning. She couldn’t explain it, but something was wrong. Not in a way that was immediately terrifying—just… off. Like the edges of the world had softened overnight, as if the lines between reality and something else had blurred. But the strangest part? She couldn't remember the dream she'd had the night before. And that was rare. Elena had always been someone who could recall every vivid detail of her dreams, whether it was the people in them, the places, or even the emotions she’d felt.
By Ubaid Khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Smiling Shadows
It started with a dream. Maya had always been a dreamer. The kind who could remember every detail upon waking—faces, voices, even the faintest smells. But there was something wrong with this one. The dream began in a dark, empty house, one that felt familiar yet distant, like an old memory she could never quite place. She walked through the rooms, her footsteps echoing on the cold, wooden floors. The walls were bare, but there was something about the silence that weighed heavily on her chest. And then, she saw them.
By Ubaid Khan6 months ago in Horror
“Where the Silence Lives”
There is a house I return to in dreams. I don’t remember building it, yet each floorboard creaks with my weight like it’s waited a long time for me to come back. The house sits still in a field of nothing — no trees, no sky, just a soft gray wash in every direction. It has no doors, only entry. No windows, only walls that breathe.
By Ubaid Khan6 months ago in Poets
The President’s Last Protester
The sky over District 9 was always gray now. Not from clouds, but from the haze of burnt air, ash of deleted history, and the slow decay of freedom. The “Era of Unity,” they called it—a slogan stamped onto every building, drone, and screen like a warning.
By Ubaid Khan7 months ago in Fiction
The Voice in Apartment 4B
The Voice in Apartment 4B By [Ubaid khan] The first time I heard the music, it was subtle — a faint piano melody slipping through the thin walls of my studio apartment. I paused mid-bite of my cereal, listening. The tune was soft, melancholic, like something from a forgotten vinyl spinning in a dusty attic.
By Ubaid Khan7 months ago in Fiction
Why I Almost Quit Writing—and Why I Didn’t”
**Why I Almost Quit Writing—and Why I Didn’t** For as long as I can remember, writing has been a part of my life—not just a hobby, but a heartbeat. I wrote my first story when I was eight. It was a tale about a dragon who ran a bakery, and though it was filled with spelling errors and questionable logic, my parents taped it to the fridge like it was the next great novel. That sense of validation carried me through many years, until the world’s voice grew louder than my own.
By Ubaid Khan7 months ago in Writers
The Lady of the Airwaves
London, 1942 The air in the bunker always smelled like warm dust and electricity. Eleanor Hughes sat hunched over the console, headphones clamped tight over her curls, twisting the dial one meticulous notch at a time. The low hum of static was a comfort now, more familiar than any lullaby from her childhood.
By Ubaid Khan7 months ago in History
