Psychological

The Girl Who Wasn’t in the Yearbook
I was seventeen when I noticed the girl in the back row. It was during 6th period study hall. I had been flipping through last year’s yearbook, half-bored and half-curious. Everyone always looked weird in yearbooks—like they were trying too hard to look like themselves.
By Salman8 months ago in Fiction
What Are The Odds?
Flat to Let – South London, Zone 2 Bright and spacious two-bedroom flat in Peckham Rye. Top-floor unit in quiet residential street. Double-glazed windows, good natural light throughout. Large living area with separate kitchen. Modern bathroom. Ideal for young professionals or postgrads. Excellent transport links - 10 mins to Overground, buses nearby. Unfurnished. Available immediately. £1,950/month. Contact Gillian. Enquiries via email.
By L.C. Schäfer8 months ago in Fiction
The Me I Left Behind
She didn’t have a name, but I knew exactly who she was. She was not a ghost. She was not a dream. She was just a version of me that used to take up all the space in my head. The voice that questioned everything. The feeling that kept me walking on eggshells in rooms where no one was even looking. I thought I’d left her behind a long time ago—buried somewhere under progress, therapy, and hard-won self-respect.
By Annie Edwards 8 months ago in Fiction
A Promise in Ash
Before dawn, beneath a sky heavy with unshed stars, the Night Market held its breath. Lanterns swayed like flickering souls caught in a restless wind. Shadows leaned close, whispering secrets that time had forgotten. And in the heart of this ancient, bleeding place, the Mender moved—a figure woven from sorrow and quiet resolve, his cloak trailing faint echoes of prayers long spent.
By Paper Lantern8 months ago in Fiction
They Vanished Without a Trace—And So Did I
In every town, there are stories hidden beneath the surface, like rumors or mysteries that no one can explain. People disappear—sometimes for real, sometimes emotionally, and often, it’s a mix of both. This is a story about those disappearances and how others faded away, just as I did too.
By mini Khan8 months ago in Fiction
The House at the End of Memory
I was eleven the first time I saw the house. It perched at the end of a road swallowed by trees, a path my grandmother told me never to follow. “Where the branches hush the world,” she’d whisper, “some silences carry echoes louder than screams.”
By Muhammad Abdullah8 months ago in Fiction
Dark Deadly Secrets
“We are all going to die,” Ty Williamson whispered, his voice cool and even-toned. “Some of us just have a better go at things than others.”
By K.H. Obergfoll8 months ago in Fiction
The Boy Who Could Hear Paintings
Eli was eight when he first heard it—a gentle hum rising from a Monet. It was a sound like sun through lace curtains, warm and fluttering. He had stood motionless in front of the canvas, his parents chatting behind him, oblivious. From that day on, art was never silent for Eli.
By Salman8 months ago in Fiction
The Text That Arrived a Year After He Died
It had been exactly one year since we buried my brother, Ayaan. I still remember the chill in the air that day. It wasn’t just the weather — it was the kind of cold that wraps itself around your bones when something irreversible happens. He was 23. Full of life. Loved by everyone. Gone in an instant. A rainy night, a slippery road, and a speeding truck.
By Umar Faraz Gul8 months ago in Fiction
The Girl at the Window
The first time I saw her, she was framed by a dusty second-story window above the old bakery on Maple Street. I didn’t think much of it then—just a silhouette against soft yellow curtains, a girl maybe fifteen or sixteen, unmoving, watching the world roll by beneath her. Her window was half-cracked, like her presence was meant to be noticed but never questioned.
By M Ali8 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror in Apartment 3B
BY SHAFI ULHAQ When I moved into Apartment 3B, the mirror above the fireplace was already there. Heavy and old, with vines etched into the bronze frame, it didn’t match anything else in the unit. I tried to take it down once, but it wouldn’t budge. Not with a screwdriver, not with a crowbar. The thing might as well have been soldered to the wall.
By Shafi ulhaq8 months ago in Fiction
Alaina
Grief. Is that what this is? That feeling in your gut that something is missing, something that should’ve been there but just isn’t.
By Belle8 months ago in Fiction