The rain tapped gently on the windowpane as lightning flashed across the sky, momentarily lighting up thirteen-year-old Ayaan’s room. He tossed and turned in bed, clutching his blanket like a shield. He had always hated storms. Not because of the thunder or the wind—but because they seemed to call forth the nightmares.
That night, he finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.
It started with whispers.
He found himself standing alone in a dark hallway that seemed to stretch forever. The walls were cracked, oozing shadows. The floor beneath his bare feet was cold, and the lights above flickered like dying fireflies.
“Ayaaaan...” the whisper came again, soft but bone-chilling.
He spun around. Nothing.
Suddenly, a door appeared ahead of him, red and glowing as if lit from within. Drawn to it by some invisible force, he stepped forward. As soon as he touched the knob, the hallway behind him vanished into a black void. Heart pounding, he opened the door.
Inside, he saw his school—but it was eerily empty. Lockers hung open with jagged edges, chairs were overturned, and every window was cracked. He walked cautiously down the hallway.
From the corner of his eye, he saw movement.
“Hello?” he called out.
No answer.
He entered his classroom and gasped.
There, on the chalkboard, was written in jagged white chalk: “YOU CHEATED.”
Ayaan staggered back. “No, I didn’t!” he shouted at the empty room.
But the words on the board started glowing. The lights in the classroom blinked, and shadows began to crawl along the floor like spilled ink.
Then, his teacher, Mr. Raheel, stepped into the room—but his eyes were glowing white, and his voice echoed strangely. “You thought no one would know... but truth always finds a way.”
Ayaan shook his head violently. “It was just one test! I didn’t mean to... I just—”
Suddenly, desks floated into the air and crashed around him as Mr. Raheel's voice grew deeper, angrier. “A lie, even a small one, leaves a crack in your soul.”
Panicked, Ayaan ran out of the room. As he sprinted through the distorted hallways, doors began slamming shut one after another, chasing him with thunderous booms. He finally burst into the school library, hoping to hide.
There, he found something even worse.
In the center of the room stood a mirror—tall, old, and covered in dust.
And in the mirror stood... Ayaan.
But it wasn't really him. The reflection grinned with sharp, jagged teeth, eyes glowing red, and skin cracked like broken glass.
“You lied to yourself,” the reflection hissed. “You told yourself it didn’t matter. That no one got hurt. That it was just once.”
“No!” Ayaan screamed. “I was scared of failing. Everyone expected me to do well. I didn't want to disappoint—”
The reflection stepped out of the mirror, growing taller and darker, its shadow engulfing the room. “Excuses. That’s how monsters grow. Inside lies and behind masks.”
Ayaan tried to run, but the room melted around him. The shelves curled into claws, books turned to ash, and the mirror shattered, its pieces floating mid-air.
Then came the final voice—gentle and sorrowful.
It was his own.
“Why didn’t you just try harder instead of cheating?”
Ayaan collapsed to his knees, tears falling down his cheeks.
“I was afraid,” he whispered. “Afraid of being a failure.”
The shadows paused.
Then, a light appeared in the distance—warm, golden, like morning sunlight. The shadows hissed and retreated.
Ayaan stood up. His heart still pounded, but something inside him shifted. He walked toward the light, and as he did, the nightmare began to dissolve. The school faded. The cracked walls healed. The whispers stopped.
And just before everything went white, he heard one final whisper: “Courage is doing right even when fear screams louder.”
Ayaan sat up in bed, drenched in sweat. The storm outside had stopped. The rain had turned to a soft drizzle, and dawn light peeked through the curtains.
He stared at the ceiling for a long time.
That dream—no, that warning—had felt too real.
He got up, went to his study table, and opened his schoolbag. Inside was the science test from yesterday—one he had aced with a perfect score. But he knew the truth.
He had copied answers from his friend’s paper when the teacher wasn’t looking.
Slowly, he took out a pen and wrote a letter.
Dear Mr. Raheel,
I need to tell you something.
I cheated on the science test. I’m really sorry. I was scared of failing and didn’t know what to do. But I understand now that lying doesn’t help. I want to earn my marks honestly, even if it means getting a lower grade.
Please forgive me. I’m ready to take the test again.
Sincerely,
Ayaan
At school, his hands trembled as he handed the letter to his teacher.
Mr. Raheel read it silently, then looked up at Ayaan. “Thank you for your honesty,” he said with a small, proud smile. “This took courage.”
Ayaan felt a weight lift off his chest. That night’s bad dream had been terrifying—but it had taught him something precious.
It’s okay to be afraid. It’s okay to fail. But hiding behind lies only creates monsters.
And sometimes, the worst dreams wake us up in the best way.
Moral of the Story:
"True courage lies in honesty—even when it's difficult. Owning up to your mistakes is the first step toward real growth."
About the Creator
MAROOF KHAN
Passionate vocalist captivating audiences with soulful melodies. I love crafting engaging stories as a writer, blending music and creativity. Connect for vocal inspiration!
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What Nobody Warns You About Growing Up
Nobody warns you that growing up doesn’t happen all at once. There’s no clear moment when childhood ends and adulthood begins. It sneaks up on you quietly, disguised as routine, responsibility, and small decisions that suddenly feel heavy. When we’re young, we imagine growing up as freedom. We think it means staying up late, earning money, making our own choices, and living life on our terms. Adults look powerful from the outside—confident, certain, and in control. What nobody tells you is that most adults are still figuring things out, just like you were, only with higher stakes. One of the first shocks of growing up is realizing that no one is coming to save you. As a child, there is always someone to fix things—parents, teachers, elders. A bad grade can be explained. A mistake can be forgiven easily. But as you grow older, the safety net thins. Mistakes start costing time, money, relationships, and sometimes self-respect. You learn that accountability isn’t just a word; it’s a weight you carry every day. Nobody warns you about how lonely growing up can feel. Even when surrounded by people, there’s a quiet distance that forms. Friends you once spoke to every day slowly drift away. Not because of anger or betrayal, but because life pulls everyone in different directions. Jobs, families, priorities—all rearrange your circle without asking for permission. You stop expecting people to stay forever and start appreciating those who do. Another thing no one talks about is how often you’ll doubt yourself. As a child, you dream without limits. You want to be everything at once—successful, admired, fearless. Growing up introduces comparison. You see others moving faster, earning more, achieving milestones you haven’t reached yet. Social media makes it worse, turning life into a scoreboard you never agreed to play on. You learn that confidence isn’t permanent; it’s something you rebuild again and again. Growing up also teaches you that hard work doesn’t always pay off immediately. You can do everything right and still feel stuck. Effort doesn’t guarantee results, and patience becomes one of the hardest lessons. Nobody warns you how exhausting it is to keep going when motivation fades and only discipline remains. Yet this is where growth actually happens—in the moments when quitting feels easier than continuing. Then there’s the emotional part no one prepares you for. You start seeing your parents as human beings, not just authority figures. You notice their fears, regrets, and limitations. Sometimes you understand them more; sometimes it hurts to realize they didn’t have all the answers either. Growing up often means forgiving people—not because they apologized, but because holding on to resentment is too heavy. You’re also not warned about how your definition of success changes. It stops being about applause and starts becoming about peace. A quiet mind. A stable income. A few people who genuinely care about you. You learn that happiness isn’t loud or dramatic; it’s often found in ordinary moments—coming home tired but safe, laughing at something small, sleeping without anxiety. One of the hardest truths of growing up is learning to let go. Let go of versions of yourself that no longer fit. Let go of people who can’t grow with you. Let go of timelines you once believed were fixed. This letting go feels like loss, even when it’s necessary. Nobody warns you that growth and grief often walk together. Yet, despite all this, growing up gives you something valuable—clarity. You begin to understand your boundaries. You learn when to say no without explaining yourself. You start choosing what matters instead of chasing everything. Strength stops looking like loud confidence and starts looking like quiet resilience. What nobody warns you about growing up is that it will break you in small ways—and rebuild you stronger in others. You’ll lose some innocence but gain wisdom. You’ll trade certainty for understanding. And even on days when you miss the simplicity of who you once were, you’ll realize you’re proud of who you’re becoming. Growing up isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about learning how to keep going, even when you don’t. And maybe that’s the lesson no one warns you about—adulthood isn’t a destination. It’s a continuous act of becoming.
By Hanif Ullah 6 days ago in Fiction
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