Love
The Crimson Hour
🌿 A short story born from this art… The rain fell like accusations against the windshield, each drop carrying the weight of unspoken truths. Maya had been driving for sixteen hours straight, her knuckles bone-white against the steering wheel, following a ghost across state lines that blurred together like watercolors in the storm.
By Prompted Beauty5 months ago in Fiction
The Wedding Photographer
The Routine Assignment Rohail was passionate about photography. Covering weddings was his everyday job. Bright lights, decorated halls, and smiling faces were always a part of his camera reel. For him, every wedding felt the same bride, groom, happiness, and the noise of celebration.
By Farooq Hashmi5 months ago in Fiction
The Missed Call That Changed Everything
The Unexpected Ring Sometimes, the most beautiful stories in life begin with the smallest mistakes. That’s exactly what happened with Anaya, when one evening, she received a missed call from an unknown number. At first, she ignored it, but when the number kept flashing again and again, curiosity pushed her to pick it up.
By Farooq Hashmi5 months ago in Fiction
"The Bench by Willow Lake"
I still remember the exact spot where she used to sit. Every morning at seven, she’d arrive at the bench by Willow Lake—always with her coffee in a chipped white mug, the one with a tiny bluebird painted on the side. I never asked her name. We were just two strangers bound by routine and silence, yet in those quiet mornings, we became something more—two souls stitched loosely by time and presence.
By Israr khan5 months ago in Fiction
The Last letter
The Last Letter The old postbox at the corner of Willow Street hadn’t seen much use in years. Emails had stolen its purpose, and only dust and rust kept it company. Yet, every evening, a woman named Meera would walk to it, carefully slip in an envelope, and leave without looking back.
By Ishan gupta5 months ago in Fiction
Lost Memories. AI-Generated.
Ravi awoke with a start, the sunlight streaming through the half-open blinds 🌤️. The world around him felt unfamiliar, like stepping into someone else’s life. He blinked, trying to gather his thoughts, but the memory of last night—or maybe yesterday—was a blur. His apartment, usually so familiar, now felt like a strange museum of shadows.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Fiction
The Last Letter. AI-Generated.
The village had begun to drowse in the stillness of early morning. Narrow lanes, once alive with chatter and footsteps, now seemed to echo with memory more than sound. On this day, Ibrahim, the old postman, was to hang up his satchel for good. For more than forty years, he had been the quiet courier of joy and sorrow, his leather bag swollen with births, deaths, promises, and apologies.
By arsalan ahmad5 months ago in Fiction
