waseem khan
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Stories (201)
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The Day the Colors Fled
The Day the Colors Fled It started quietly, as if the city had taken a deep breath and let all color escape. I woke to gray skies and streets stripped of vibrancy. My walls, my clothes, the garden outside—everything was a shade of ash, steel, and stone. Even the sunlight seemed pallid, like paper left too long in the sun. I rubbed my eyes, convinced it was a trick of sleep. But the world outside my window confirmed my fear.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Fiction
Midnight Conversations with Shadows
Midnight Conversations with Shadows The apartment was quiet—or at least, I thought it was. It began the first night I moved in. Boxes were scattered, the smell of fresh paint still hung in the air, and the city hummed softly outside the window. I was unpacking books when I heard it: a faint whisper, just beyond the corner of the room.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Horror
The Café That Served Emotions
The Café That Served Emotions The café wasn’t on any map. Not in guidebooks, not on GPS, not even on the neon-lit streets of downtown. You stumbled upon it when you weren’t looking, through a narrow alley framed by ivy and flickering lanterns. The sign read simply: “Café Émotion”, its letters curling like smoke.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Fiction
Letters to the Future Me
Letters to the Future Me It started on a Tuesday. I was pouring cereal at my tiny kitchen table when I noticed the envelope lying beside my bowl. Brown paper, neatly folded, with my name written in cursive I didn’t recognize. I opened it with cautious curiosity.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Fiction
Ten Seconds Before the Train Arrives
Ten seconds. The station smells of rain-soaked concrete and old newspapers. Somewhere down the track, metal wheels hum like a distant storm. The display says Arrival: 0:00, but the train hasn’t yet broken through the tunnel’s mouth.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Poets
My Childhood Doll Started Breathing
I never planned to open the box. It had been sitting in my parents’ attic for over twenty years, wedged between old Christmas decorations and stacks of yellowing magazines. Inside was my childhood doll—Lily. I’d forgotten most of the details until recently: porcelain face, glass eyes, strawberry-blonde curls, and a little blue dress. She’d been my favorite, but also the source of nightmares I could never explain.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Horror
Kindness in the Middle of Nowhere
Story: The sun beat down mercilessly on the cracked asphalt as Mara’s old sedan wheezed and finally gave up the fight. She coasted to a stop on a narrow, deserted stretch of road surrounded by endless fields of dry grass and low shrubs. No gas stations, no towns, no passing cars for miles.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Fiction
My Mother’s Voice Is in My GPS
My Mother’s Voice Is in My GPS I’d had the new navigation system installed because the old one had started glitching. It was nothing serious—just delays, the occasional frozen screen—but after my mother passed away three months ago, I wanted everything in my life to be as smooth as possible. Grief makes you impatient with little frustrations.
By waseem khan5 months ago in Horror
