Psychological

The Power of Mirror Neurons:
Have You Ever Cried During a Movie? Here’s why Have you ever found yourself tearing up during a sad scene in a movie—even though you know it’s fiction? Or felt anxious because someone around you was nervous, even if they didn’t say a word?
By MR.THOMAS8 months ago in Fiction
The Room With a Locked Window
I never believed in hauntings—until the house at 88 Halberd Street tried to teach me otherwise. When I first stepped inside, it was the smell I noticed. Not must or mold, like you'd expect from a house empty for ten years. But lavender. Sharp, sweet, cloying. Like someone had sprayed it moments before I arrived.
By Izazkhan8 months ago in Fiction
What You Are Willing to Lose
The night my village burned, I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I walked. The air reeked of roasted flesh and old milk. My mother had braided a ribbon into my hair the day before, red and yellow like a harvest sunrise. I remember it because the ends were still tied when I stood at the edge of the ash heap that used to be our home.
By Paper Lantern8 months ago in Fiction
Three Colors Before Dying
In the last days of his life, Elias saw blue, amber, and crimson. No one knows exactly when it started—when humans lost their ability to see the full spectrum of colors. Scientists called it Selective Retinal Suppression. Philosophers claimed it was a curse. But the people of the city called Astraea believed it was fate. In this dystopian world, you were born with the ability to see only three colors—no more, no less—and those three shades determined the trajectory of your life.
By Mehtab Ahmad8 months ago in Fiction
The Empty Chair
I’ve set the table again, the same way I always do—four plates, four forks, four glasses. But there’s still an extra chair. One that no one touches. One that no one dares to pull out.
By Muhammad Abdullah8 months ago in Fiction
Timeless Love
The world froze at 2:04 PM. Cars halted mid-intersection. Birds hovered like ornaments in the sky. Conversations turned to statues, caught in half-spoken syllables. Ezra Kane, a quiet bookstore clerk, was the only one who moved through the stillness.
By Salah Uddin8 months ago in Fiction
The Devils Church
“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 Apartment that Rents You
The Apartment that Rents You Written by: Salah Uddin They told you not to get attached. That buildings didn’t love, that walls don’t whisper, and doors don’t remember. But Tower 97 wasn’t like other places. In the City of Drought and Dust, where every breath cost credits and apartments outlived politicians, housing didn’t just house—it chose.
By Salah Uddin8 months ago in Fiction
My Grandmother’s Mirror Only Reflects the Dead
The Mirror’s First Secret I almost sold the mirror the day after Grandma Lillian’s funeral. It was an ugly thing—a heavy oak frame carved with twisting vines, the glass smoky with age. But Mom insisted: "She wanted you to have it. Said it was special."
By MUHAMMAD Abbas8 months ago in Fiction
The Sound of His Boots
BY SHAFI ULHAQ At exactly 2:17 a.m., Mira woke to the sound of boots. Heavy. Slow. Familiar. Thump. Drag. Thump. She held her breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling of her childhood bedroom. Her phone screen glowed: no calls, no notifications. Just the time.
By Shafi ulhaq8 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Vanished Twice
The first time Leah vanished, she was six years old. It was a sticky summer afternoon in the quiet town of Arden Falls. Leah's mother, Marlene, had left her playing in the backyard while she ran inside to grab lemonade. When she returned, the swing was empty, swaying in the breeze. The gate was latched. There were no signs of a struggle—no footprints but Leah’s.
By Azmat Roman ✨8 months ago in Fiction
The Man Beneath the River
Ben woke up gasping. The faucet was still running. That awful sound of dripping water, echoing like laughter through the pipes. His father used to say it was the river trying to whisper back. Whispering all the sins Ben had swallowed and never spat out.
By Muhammad Abdullah8 months ago in Fiction