Psychological

The Letter I Was Never Meant to Read
By Nadeem Shah I found the letter by accident. Tucked inside the back of my mother’s worn-out recipe book, behind a page smudged with gravy stains and faint ink scribbles about nutmeg, was an envelope that didn’t belong. It was brittle, yellowed with age, and sealed with a faded wax stamp I didn’t recognize.
By Nadeem Shah 6 months ago in Fiction
The Night at the School Library
I usually do not get called to substitute for this school library too often for they have a list that they rotate substitutes. Usually, I worked two or three nights a month at this location. The duties are about the same as for the public and college libraries for I still reshelve some books back on the shelves, but for the most part I am basically just running the vacuum over the carpet and dusting the furniture and shelves. As I was in the far back corner, I heard that all familiar phrase just like my other nights.
By Mark Graham6 months ago in Fiction
Oblivion: three
Having rearranged various appointments and assured my features editor I would later file the articles that she was expecting from me, I headed to the bank. Fortunately there was nothing I needed to submit to the news editor. Why I was taking such trouble over all this, I really did not know. Perhaps it was just the investigative journalist in me.
By Raymond G. Taylor6 months ago in Fiction
The Bookstore That Only Opens at Midnight
he Bookstore That Only Opens at Midnight I stumbled upon it by accident or maybe, as I now believe, it found me. It was just past midnight on a rainy Thursday when I saw a faint light flicker in the corner of an old alley I had walked past a hundred times before. Between two abandoned buildings stood a narrow, ivy-covered doorway with a crooked wooden sign swinging in the wind. It simply read: “Open”.
By Farooq Hashmi6 months ago in Fiction
“She Rented a New Life for £1 — But Someone Else Wanted It Back” Part 2
The woman stepped inside like she owned the place. Same face. Same posture. Same chipped tooth on the left. Cleo backed up. “What is this? Some prank?”
By Buzzle6 months ago in Fiction
The Winterlight Watcher
The town of Winterlight wasn’t marked on any proper map. Tucked between whispering fir forests and glassy hillsides, it was the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a snow globe—frozen in time, perfect from a distance. But no one ever shook the globe. It was always winter, and it was always quiet.
By Muhammad Rahim 6 months ago in Fiction
Terms & Conditions for Falling in Love
Article: Article I — Introduction to the Agreement This contract ("the Relationship") is entered into voluntarily by two parties ("You" and "Me"). By proceeding to the next section, You acknowledge that butterflies, daydreaming, and the inability to form coherent sentences around Me are possible and legally non-refundable side effects.
By Zulfiqar Khan6 months ago in Fiction
“The Letters in the Wall”
M Mehran When I bought the old farmhouse on Millers Ridge, I wasn’t looking for magic. I wanted peace. Something simple. I was thirty-three, freshly divorced, and ready to forget that the city had ever swallowed me whole.
By M Mehran 6 months ago in Fiction
“The Mirror Room”
M Mehran In the dusty attic of my grandmother’s house, tucked behind a tattered curtain, stood a door I’d never noticed before. The house was quiet that summer—too quiet, with Grandma gone and the air thick with the scent of old books and lemon polish. I had come to sort her things, but I ended up discovering something else entirely.
By M Mehran 6 months ago in Fiction
When He Disappeared
Whit was the kind of boy you’d pass by without really noticing. He wasn’t shy in the usual sense—he just sort of melted into the scenery. Like one of those fading snow patches near the end of winter. Quiet, a little distant. Always watching. Always somewhere just on the edge of everything.
By Umar Amin6 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror Room🕯️. AI-Generated.
After her grandmother's death, Clara inherited an old Victorian house. It stood silent and dust-laden, the air thick with forgotten memories. But one room was unlike the rest—small, square, and lined wall-to-wall with mirrors. Her grandmother called it the Reflection Room.
By ElaheMindStories6 months ago in Fiction
not flashy — but walking, jogging, cycling? They work.
not flashy — but walking, jogging, cycling? They work. I use these on active recovery days or early mornings when I need to clear my head and torch a few hundred calories.
By youssef mohammed6 months ago in Fiction