Umar Ali

Joined May 2025

42 stories

Bio

i'm a passionate storyteller who loves writing about everday life, human emotions,and creative ideas. i believe stories can inspire, and connect us all.

Stories (42)

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The Letter Beneath the Floorboards
It was a rainy afternoon when Maya returned to her grandmother's house for the first time in nearly ten years. The old wooden cottage sat on the edge of a forgotten village, surrounded by weeping trees and a silence that pressed against the windows like a memory trying to be heard.
By Umar Ali7 months ago in Fiction
“The Last Photograph She Never Took”
Zoya always had an eye for the forgotten. She wasn’t just a photographer — she was a seeker of abandoned places, lost things, and untold stories. Her work was raw and emotional, filled with silence, mystery, and shadows. That’s why the anonymous email felt… interesting.
By Umar Ali7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Photograph
I found the photograph while cleaning out my late grandmother’s attic. It was buried in a dusty, unmarked envelope inside an old cedar chest, hidden beneath stacks of yellowed letters and brittle lace. The attic smelled of mothballs and forgotten time. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular—just helping Mom sort through the remnants of a life that had spanned nearly nine decades.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Photograph in the Fireplace
It was the third night in a row that Ava heard footsteps in the attic. She lived alone in the old cottage her grandmother left behind, surrounded by the misty woods of Hollow Creek. The villagers had always whispered about the house—the stories of voices in the night, of shadows in the windows long after everyone had left. But Ava had never believed in ghosts. Not really.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Last Missed Call
It was 2:17 AM when Amina’s phone lit up beside her pillow. The room was silent, except for the soft ticking of the old wall clock. She blinked, disoriented, then reached for her phone. Her heart nearly stopped.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Stranger Who Knew My Name
It was a little past midnight when I found myself walking down the old highway that leads out of town. My phone had died hours ago, and the last bus had left without me. The sky was heavy with clouds, and the air carried a strange stillness — as if something unseen was waiting to happen.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Phone That Rang in the Forest
The forest behind my grandfather’s house had always been silent. No signal. No people. No reason to go there—unless you wanted to get lost or find peace. But that night, peace was the last thing I found.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Came at 3 A.M.
For weeks, I had been waking up at exactly 3:00 A.M., every single night. I didn’t set an alarm. I wasn’t drinking caffeine. But something inside me stirred at that precise hour—an unsettling chill, a sense of being watched.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Man Who Sold Time
The city was unusually quiet that night, wrapped in a cold fog that seemed to muffle every sound. Streetlights flickered like they were unsure of their purpose, casting long, trembling shadows across the empty sidewalks. At exactly 11:47 p.m., the final bus of the evening screeched to a halt at the corner of Maple and 5th.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Last Bus and the Secret That Changed Everything
Clara didn’t know the last bus of the night would take her somewhere she’d lost long ago—herself. She only knew she had to get away.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction
"The Poor Man’s Wealth"
In a quiet village nestled between two green hills lived a man named Sajan. He was known by everyone as “the poor man.” His hut was the smallest in the village, built from bamboo sticks and patched straw. He owned just two pairs of clothes, worked odd jobs, and his meals were as simple as boiled rice and salt. Yet, there was something different about Sajan—he always wore a smile.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Humans
“Whispers on the Last Bus”
The city was unusually quiet that night, blanketed in fog and shadow. Streetlights flickered like they were unsure of their purpose, and distant footsteps echoed like fading memories. At exactly 11:47 p.m., the final bus of the evening screeched to a halt at the corner of Maple and 5th. Its interior lights hummed softly, illuminating rows of mostly empty seats. A sign above the windshield blinked faintly: “Route 99 – Last Ride”.
By Umar Ali8 months ago in Fiction

Umar Ali

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The Letter Beneath the Floorboards

“The Last Photograph She Never Took”

The Last Photograph

The Photograph in the Fireplace

The Last Missed Call

The Stranger Who Knew My Name

The Phone That Rang in the Forest

The Man Who Came at 3 A.M.

The Man Who Sold Time

The Last Bus and the Secret That Changed Everything

"The Poor Man’s Wealth"

“Whispers on the Last Bus”

Stories (42)