anees

Joined December 2025

23 stories

Stories (23)

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My Wife Asked Me to Promise One Thing Before She Died—I Broke It
Love doesn’t forgive broken promises. It remembers them. By Anees Ul Ameen The night my wife was dying, she made me promise her something simple.
By anees6 days ago in Fiction
On Our Wedding Night, My Bride Whispered a Curse She’d Been Saving for Love
Marriage sealed the vow. Midnight sealed the curse. By Anees Ul Ameen They say the happiest night of your life is your wedding night.
By anees6 days ago in Fiction
I Married the Love of My Life—Then Found Her Name on a Grave I’d Visit as a Child
Some loves begin in this life. Others wait longer. By Anees Ul Ameen I had been married to Areeba for six months when I found her name on a grave.
By anees7 days ago in Fiction
She Still Says “I Love You” Every Night—Even After She Died
Love doesn’t always leave when the heart stops beating. By Anees Ul Ameen The last thing my wife said to me before she died was,
By anees9 days ago in Fiction
The Last Voicemail From My Daughter Arrived After Her Burial
A grieving father receives messages from a future that should not exist. By Anees Ul Ameen I buried my daughter on a Thursday.
By anees9 days ago in Fiction
I Watched Them Love Each Other Until I Had to Choose One
I Watched Them Love Each Other Until I Had to Choose One By Anees Ul Ameen I was built to hold people. Walls, floors, ceilings—bones meant to shelter warmth, laughter, life. I remember my first family clearly. The way their footsteps softened over time, how grief seeped slowly into my foundation after joy left.
By anees10 days ago in Fiction
We Loved Each Other Until the House Took Sides
By Anees Ul Ameen Husband The house was never quiet after she died. People say empty homes echo, but this one whispered. Floorboards creaked where no one walked. Doors sighed open at night. Sometimes I could swear the walls were listening.
By anees15 days ago in Fiction
My Mother Started Calling Me by My Dead Sister’s Name
By Anees Ul Ameen My mother forgot my birthday last year. That alone wasn’t strange. Grief rearranges memory. It eats dates, names, even faces. But what she said instead froze me where I stood.
By anees18 days ago in Fiction
The Weight of Loving What Would Not Stay
Prose Poetry By Anees Ul Ameen I began carrying ghosts long before I knew how to name them. They arrived quietly, dressed as memories, pretending to be harmless. I let them in because loneliness has a way of mistaking familiarity for safety. Each one took a corner of my chest and rearranged it without asking.
By anees19 days ago in Fiction
I Never Stopped Loving Him—Even After I Died
From the other side, love doesn’t fade. It waits. By Anees Ul Ameen I remember the moment I died. Not the impact. Not the pain.
By anees19 days ago in Fiction
My Baby Laughs at the Corner of the Room Every Night at 3 A.M.
The pediatrician says it’s normal—my mother says it’s not By Anees Ul Ameen My son learned how to laugh before he learned how to crawl.
By anees21 days ago in Fiction
I Still Receive Messages From My Wife—Three Years After Her Funeral
Every message knows something only the dead should remember By Anees Ul Ameen The first message arrived on a quiet Sunday night, exactly three years after my wife’s funeral.
By anees22 days ago in Fiction