Love
The girl I was supposed to marry
Back ground: This story is about a boy who does not obey his father and goes hunting in the forest with his bad friends. The boy name is Mr. John and he has a very bad friend who's name is watson. Mr. Nawab is one of the richest man of his city. He has a house in the main city and one big house in the village as well.
By Muhammad Humayun3 months ago in Fiction
A Room Full of Memories
A Room Full of Memories The attic smelled of cedar and dust — the kind of scent that wraps around old memories and refuses to let them go. Daniel hadn’t been up here since he was a teenager. Now, standing in the doorway with a box of cleaning supplies and a heart heavy with absence, he realized he didn’t know where to begin.
By Abdul Muhammad 3 months ago in Fiction
A Fractal of Confessions. Runner-Up in Parallel Lives Challenge.
I met up with the friend I believed myself to be in love with. What else can I proclaim when I have too many letters begging him to let me into his life, begging him to be curious about mine, begging me to face reality? They pulse steadily at the bottom of my heart, in the same place as my frustrations and the lies I tell myself.
By Ariana GonBon3 months ago in Fiction
The Coffee Cup. AI-Generated.
Every morning at exactly 7:10, Elias Mwangi opened the doors to his tiny café on River Street in Nairobi. The brass bell above the door jingled softly, echoing through the narrow shop that smelled of roasted beans, cinnamon, and rain-soaked wood.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Sound of Rain. AI-Generated.
It had been raining for three days straight in Lusaka, and the sound had become a kind of background music to Naomi’s thoughts. She sat by the window of her late father’s house, watching water run down the glass, tracing the same paths over and over again — like memories replaying themselves.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
The Last Train to Miray. AI-Generated.
The train station of Miray hadn’t seen a real crowd in years. The walls were cracked, the benches splintered, and the ticket window covered in dust. Once, this place had been the heart of a small but thriving mining town. Now, it was only the heart of one old man who refused to let it die.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
His Freckle Too, Stayed Until Morning
I did not notice it before. That small freckle just beneath his left eye, the one the light always seems to find before I do. How many times have I seen his face and never really seen it? The mark itself is nothing special, really, a speck, a shadow of pigment the sun decided to keep for itself, yet tonight it feels like a secret I have finally been allowed to see.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast3 months ago in Fiction
To The Dead We Owe the Truth. Content Warning.
“We should be considerate to the living; to the dead we owe only the truth. " - Voltaire. I loved my Gran. I loved visiting her and wouldn't stop. But since her dementia had taken its vice-like grip. Since that evil disease had squeezed out everything that made her spectacular, it was harder.
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Fiction
The Lighthouse Keeper’s Letter. AI-Generated.
The wind howled along the cliffs of Cape Town, tearing at the edges of the lighthouse like it wanted to knock it into the ocean. Inside, an old man sat hunched over a wooden desk, pen in hand, paper worn and yellowed.
By shakir hamid3 months ago in Fiction
Time Refugee
The world dissolved in a scream of tortured physics. One moment, Leo was in 1943, in a London buckling under the Blitz, the air thick with dust and the smell of cordite. The next, he was lying on a floor of cool, seamless light, the air silent and sterile. The experimental lab, the frantic last-ditch effort to save their best minds from the falling bombs, had worked. He had been their lead physicist. He was their first, and only, successful test.
By Habibullah3 months ago in Fiction
