waseem khan
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Stories (201)
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The Last Shot
The Last Shot The court still smelled like sweat and cheap rubber soles. It had been ten years since Jordan Rayburn had walked through the gym doors of Elridge High. Ten years since he’d been the town’s golden boy, the one destined for the NBA, the one with a full-ride to Duke and a smile that lit up recruiters’ eyes.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Motivation
A Woman Standing Alone in Front of a House with Autumn Leaves
A Woman Standing Alone in Front of a House with Autumn Leaves The woman stood alone at the edge of the gravel path, her boots dusted with golden and rust-colored leaves. A brisk breeze stirred the canopy above, sending a fresh flurry spiraling down around her, as if the forest itself whispered a welcome—or a warning.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
The House That Waited
The House That Waited It had been thirty years since Evelyn had last stepped foot on the porch of the house on Windmere Lane. The gravel crunched beneath her boots the same way it had when she was nine years old, clutching her father’s hand as they left in the dead of night. She’d always believed the memory was distorted by fear and sleep, but now, as her fingers brushed the flaking paint of the porch railing, she realized—some memories didn’t fade. They only waited.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
The Day My Voice Came Back
The Day My Voice Came Back I lost my voice when I was twelve. Not from illness, not even from trauma in the way people expect—but from slow erosion. Like waves against a stone. One remark here. A harsh laugh there. A teacher who said I spoke too softly. A friend who interrupted every sentence. A parent who never really listened
By waseem khan6 months ago in Poets
The Boy Who Drew Doors
The Boy Who Drew Doors Jamie Ellis didn’t talk much at school. Words, he’d learned, didn’t help when you were smaller than everyone else and always looked like you were about to cry. The other kids teased him about his oversized coat, about the bruises he didn’t explain, and especially about his habit of drawing on the pavement with chalk during recess.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
The House That Waited
The House That Waited It had been thirty years since Evelyn had last stepped foot on the porch of the house on Windmere Lane. The gravel crunched beneath her boots the same way it had when she was nine years old, clutching her father’s hand as they left in the dead of night. She’d always believed the memory was distorted by fear and sleep, but now, as her fingers brushed the flaking paint of the porch railing, she realized—some memories didn’t fade. They only waited.
By waseem khan6 months ago in Fiction
