Zaka Ullah
Stories (4)
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The Forgotten Bicycle. AI-Generated.
The garage smelled of dust, oil, and old wood. A beam of sunlight broke through a crack in the door, lighting up the quiet space. Sam, now 32, stood there in silence, holding the key to the house he hadn’t visited in years. It was his childhood home.
By Zaka Ullah7 months ago in Lifehack
The Sound of the Key
The old farmhouse smelled like dust, damp wood, and long-lost memories. Nora hadn’t been there in almost fifteen years. Her father’s death had been quiet, like he always was. A letter from a lawyer brought her back — to the house that was once her home, though it never really felt like one.
By Zaka Ullah7 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter in Her Drawer
Miriam had always been the quiet one. In every family gathering, she sat in her corner chair, hands wrapped around a teacup, eyes scanning the room with gentle amusement. She was never one to make a fuss. She remembered every birthday, told soft bedtime stories, and made her famous rosehip jam every spring without fail. To the family, she was the anchor, the kind of woman who made things feel like home.
By Zaka Ullah7 months ago in Families
