Ziafat Ullah
Bio
HELLO EVERY ONE THIS IS ME ZIAFAT ULLAH A STUDENT OF POLITICAL SCIENCE UNIVERSITY OF PESHAWAR, KHYBER PAKHTUNKHWA PAKISTAN. I am a writer of stories based on motivition, education, and guidence.
Stories (18)
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The Five-Minute Miracle: How Chai Changed My Neighborhood
On a blustery Tuesday afternoon, the shrill ring of the doorbell startled me from my reverie. I had been staring at my laptop screen so long that the outside world had faded away. When I opened the door, there was Mr. Ahmed—our silver-haired neighbor from 2A—standing shyly with a battered tray of steaming chai mugs. His cheeks dimpled as he offered me a cup, the spicy-sweet fragrance of cardamom and ginger drifting into my hallway like an invitation.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Light Beyond the Window
Rain tapped in soft rhythms against the kitchen window of apartment 3B. Nora, cocooned in the amber glow of a single lamp, traced patterns in the steam rising from her tea. She had lived alone since her husband passed two years ago, her world shrinking quietly—one favorite movie archived, one friend lost to distance, one family call unanswered at a time.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Last Lunch at Cafe Evergreen
The bell above the door chimed, brittle as old glass. Zoe paused, letting the smell of coffee and rain-damp wood wash over her. The chairs in Cafe Evergreen still creaked the same way. Old photos lined the lemon-yellow walls—a team of bakers, wedding parties, even a blurry child grinning beside a chocolate cake. She remembered being that child once.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Last Letter in the Mango Orchard
As dusk settled, the air in the mango orchard thickened, the scent almost syrupy with sweetness. Aleena took her usual shortcut through the orchard after her shift at the post office, clutching the day’s unsent letters. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows and golden light, cicadas droning above. This shortcut was a habit from her childhood, and tonight, with her mind weighed by unspoken words and yellowed paper, she walked slower, as if the orchard might answer questions she wasn’t ready to ask.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Song Only I Could Hear
The notification blinked: "Unlock your voice’s hidden archive." I almost deleted VoxScan—another AI vocal tool promising "revolutionary audio restoration." But as a failed musician drowning in hospital bills for my daughter’s leukemia treatment, desperation had a way of making miracles seem plausible. I plugged in my headphones and pressed *Scan*.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Horror
The Day I Stopped Being Useful
The coffee spilled. Not a graceful trickle, but a tsunami of scalding liquid across my keyboard, my unpaid bills, and the to-do list titled “GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER.” I stared at the brown lake spreading over my desk, the steam rising like the ghost of my sanity. My hands shook—not from the heat, but from the sheer, crushing weight of everything.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Lie I Told at My Mother's Funeral
The scent of lilies was suffocating. It clung to the heavy air of the chapel, mingling with the damp wool of black coats and the faint, metallic tang of grief. I stood at the podium, the polished wood cool beneath my sweating palms, staring out at a sea of faces blurred by my unshed tears. My father sat in the front row, his shoulders slumped, a picture of devastated widowhood. My sister, Sarah, clung to his arm, her face a mask of raw pain. And then there was him. Robert. Standing discreetly near the back, his expression carefully neutral, but his presence screamed betrayal louder than any words.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Confessions
The Year the Sky Never Stopped Crying
The rain hadn’t stopped for 17 days when the river swallowed our street. I’d memorized the cracks in our living room ceiling—each one a lightning bolt frozen in plaster—while rain drummed its fists against the roof. Outside, the Willamette River crept past "historic highs" into something feral. Neighbors stacked sandbags like frantic castle walls. My daughter Lily drew smiling suns on the fogged-up window. "When’s the water going home, Mama?"
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Families
The Day I Lost Him (And Found Everything Else)
The world didn’t end with a bang. It ended with the absence of a small, sticky hand. One moment, Benji’s fingers were wrapped around mine, his grip warm and slightly damp from the grape juice he’d spilled on himself earlier. The next—nothing. Just the hum of supermarket fluorescents and the too-loud rustle of plastic bags in someone else’s cart.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Families
The Library of Last Chances
The pink slip arrived at 9:07 a.m. By noon, I’d packed my desk, my 20-year tech career reduced to a cardboard box smelling of stale coffee and regret. That’s when I saw the "For Lease" sign plastered across Page Turner’s Books—a dusty relic wedged between a vape shop and a pawnbroker. Its window display featured a yellowed copy of Great Expectations beside a handwritten note: "Closed. Expectations unmet."
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Botany of Regret
The orchid arrived minutes after the divorce papers. Phalaenopsis aphrodite, the tag read: “Symbol of new beginnings.” Ironic, given its petals hung like crumpled tissues, roots spilling over the ceramic pot like frayed nerves. I named it Regret.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Symphony of Silence"*
The first time I heard Mr. Aris play, rain lashed against the boarded-up windows of St. Agnes Community Hall. I’d come to volunteer—a mandatory college requirement—dreading hours of stacking canned goods. Then, notes bloomed in the damp air: a Chopin nocturne, tender as a bruise.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
