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 Dictionary of Forgotten Sounds
The tape recorder arrived on a Tuesday, wrapped in yellowed newspaper and smelling of attic dust. I’d ordered it off eBay—a 1973 Sony TC-55, olive-green with chrome accents—because the listing said "Includes mysterious cassette." Grief makes fools of us all.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
How to Hold an Umbrella
Rain in Seattle doesn’t fall—it looms. A gray, patient presence that slicks the streets and turns the Space Needle into a ghostly spindle. I’d just buried my father when I found the umbrella tucked behind his toolbox, forgotten as a fossil. Faded cherry-red cotton, wooden handle worn smooth as river stone. One spoke dangled loose, like a broken wing.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Last Letter
*The Last Letter* The attic smelled of dust and forgotten memories. Emma wiped her hands on her jeans as she pulled open the old cedar chest, its hinges groaning in protest. Inside lay a patchwork of her grandmother’s life—yellowed photographs, a lace wedding veil, a stack of letters tied with a frayed blue ribbon.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Fiction
The Unraveling
*The Unraveling* How a tangled skein of yarn taught me to knit my life back together. The blue-green skein of merino wool sat in my lap like a sleeping dragon—beautiful, complex, and utterly chaotic. I’d bought it on impulse three months ago, back when "new hobbies" felt like lifelines. Learn to knit, the internet promised, it’s therapeutic. What the tutorials didn’t mention was how a single dropped stitch could unravel your entire sense of sanity.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Humans
The Garage Grind: How Cold Concrete Beats Shiny Gyms
Look, I tried the whole "real gym" thing. You know the drill: shiny machines reflecting overly-ambitious New Year's resolutions, the faint smell of industrial cleaner mixed with… is that cologne? Or protein farts? Hard to tell. And the soundtrack? Grunts, clanging metal, and the constant, low hum of a hundred conversations you really don't want to overhear. Plus, waiting for the bench press felt like queuing for the last lifeboat on the Titanic. Not exactly motivating.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Men
The Dark Side Of Social Media
The Moment It Hit Me: I'm Addicted It was supposed to be a chill Saturday afternoon. I grabbed a cup of coffee, sat on the couch, and picked up my phone—just to check Instagram really quick. One friend had posted pictures from his vacation in Bali. I tapped, liked, and then scrolled down. Before I knew it, I’d watched a dozen Reels, read through three strangers' comment wars, looked up guitar covers on YouTube, and somehow ended up on a Reddit thread about productivity hacks… two hours gone. Just like that.
By Ziafat Ullah6 months ago in Psyche
