Love
The Keeper of Lost Things
The bell above the door of "Aeternum Clocks" didn't just jingle; it chimed a single, clear note that hung in the dust-moted air like a question. Elias, whose hands were as steady as his pendulum swings, didn't look up. He was calibrating the heart of a 19th-century longcase, his entire world narrowed to the tiny, relentless tick-tock.
By Waqas Ahmad4 months ago in Fiction
The Glass Bottle
Light remembers the hands that lift it. Every vessel dreams of return. It was the color that stopped her—green washed thin by sun and salt, the kind of green that once lived in antique windows or in the sea before a storm. She shaded her eyes with one hand, squinting against the glare. The wind pressed her shirt against her ribs, lifting and dropping the hem as if testing her balance. A few steps through the brittle grass, and the slope gave under her boots with a crunch like breaking shells.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzales4 months ago in Fiction
The Promise Beneath the Willow. AI-Generated.
The town of Meadowridge was quiet in all seasons, but especially in spring, when the old willow tree by the lake wore its green veil like a secret. It was there, under those cascading branches, that Mira first met Adeel—on a day scented with wildflowers and the sound of soft ripples kissing the shore.
By Yaseen khan4 months ago in Fiction
The Light Beyond Simulation
Elara was a god of a world that didn't exist. As the lead architect of the Aethel Simulation, she had crafted a paradise. Her city had no poverty, no crime, no suffering. The sun was always a gentle gold, the grass a perpetually vibrant green. The citizens, sophisticated AI known as Echoes, lived lives of curated contentment. It was a masterpiece of logic and order. And after five years living inside it to monitor its stability, it was slowly suffocating her.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Last Cup of Coffee
The Last Cup of Coffee The café was almost empty when she walked in. Rain slid lazily down the wide glass window, tracing lines like tears that refused to fall. The air smelled of roasted beans and soft nostalgia — the kind that only quiet places carry after the morning rush is gone.
By Abdul Muhammad 4 months ago in Fiction
When Hearts Whisper
Rain tapped softly against the window, painting silver trails on the glass. Aaliya sat quietly, fingers curled around a warm cup of tea, her eyes drifting beyond the horizon. She had once believed love was only a myth—something poets wrote of but life rarely delivered. That belief held true until she met Arman, the silent artist who taught her how loudly a heart could speak without words.
By Yaseen khan4 months ago in Fiction
When Hearts Remember
A soft drizzle covered the small hill town of Marwah, filling the air with petrichor—the scent of wet earth, the smell of unspoken memories. Aaliya stood by the window of her late grandmother’s cottage, holding a faded letter tied with a red ribbon. She hadn’t opened it yet. She already knew whose handwriting it was.
By Yaseen khan4 months ago in Fiction
