KAMRAN AHMAD
Bio
Creative digital designer, lifelong learning & storyteller. Sharing inspiring stories on mindset, business, & personal growth. Let's build a future that matters_ one idea at a time.
Stories (195)
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The Love That Stays Off-Camera
I didn’t notice the fire until it was almost too late. It was a Tuesday in late October. Dry wind, brittle leaves, the kind of air that crackles with danger. I was inside, scrolling through bad news on my phone, when the smell hit—acrid, sharp, wrong. I ran outside just as smoke curled over the ridge behind our street.
By KAMRAN AHMAD26 days ago in Families
The Shadow of a Giant
I never met him. But I knew his voice. It came through our black-and-white TV in 1983, calm and steady, speaking of “morning in America” while my father fixed dinner and my mother worried about bills. To me, he was just a man in a suit—distant, polished, untouchable.
By KAMRAN AHMAD26 days ago in History
The Day Everything Changed
I missed the last bus on purpose. Not because I wanted to be stranded, but because I couldn’t face going home. That day had been one long unraveling—work mistakes, a call from my sister about our mother’s health, the kind of exhaustion that lives in your bones. The bus stop bench was cold, the sky bruised with storm clouds, and I just… stayed. Let the schedule pass. Let the world move on without me.
By KAMRAN AHMAD26 days ago in Geeks
The Man Who Fixed the Clock
I didn’t notice the clock was broken until it stopped. It sat on the corner shelf of my grandparents’ living room for as long as I could remember—brass, ornate, with Roman numerals and a soft, steady tick that marked the rhythm of every visit. My grandfather wound it every Sunday without fail, even in his nineties, even when his hands shook.
By KAMRAN AHMAD26 days ago in Journal
The Boy Who Carried the Ball Home
I didn’t go to the game for the score. I went because my nephew asked me to. He’s twelve, wears his hair in a messy bun, and talks about basketball like it’s a secret language only he and the ball understand. “It’s not about winning,” he’d said, eyes bright. “It’s about who shows up when it matters.”
By KAMRAN AHMAD26 days ago in Journal
The Night the Future Felt Like Hope
I didn’t go to the store for inspiration. I went because I was out of coffee. It was a Tuesday in early March—gray, damp, the kind of morning that clings to your shoulders like a wet coat. I hadn’t slept. My mind was a tangle of unread messages, overdue bills, and the low hum of dread that had become my baseline. The grocery store was just a pit stop on the way to another day I wasn’t sure I could face.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Gamers
The Night I Stopped Waiting for Wings
I was fifteen the first time I saw the wings. It was 2009. My best friend and I huddled in her basement, sharing a bag of chips, eyes glued to the TV as women in glitter and lace walked like they owned the air itself. They were radiant, powerful, untouchable. One wore wings so wide they brushed the stage lights; another smiled like she held the secret to happiness itself.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Geeks
The Night the Arena Felt Like a Time Machine. AI-Generated.
I didn’t go to the library for answers. I went because it was the only place where silence wasn’t judged. It was the winter after my divorce. My apartment felt too loud with absence—echoes in the hallway, empty chairs at the table, the hum of a refrigerator that used to be background noise but now sounded like loneliness amplified. So every Tuesday at 2 p.m., I walked the three blocks to the public library, took the same seat by the window, and opened a book I never read.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Gamers
The Night I Understood Football
I didn’t go to the game expecting hope. It was a cold November Thursday. My brother had just lost his job. My nephew hadn’t spoken in days after a school incident. The world felt heavy, and the last thing I wanted was to watch a mismatch—our hometown team facing a dynasty that hadn’t lost in months.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Psyche
The Porch Light That Stayed On
I didn’t notice the porch light at first. It was just another fixture on a quiet street lined with oak trees and tired mailboxes. But every night at 9 p.m., without fail, it clicked on—even in rain, even in summer heat, even when no one was home.
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Gamers
The Boy in the Stands
I didn’t go for the game. I went for my nephew. He’s thirteen, wears a faded jersey two sizes too big, and talks about football like it’s scripture. “It’s not about winning, Uncle,” he’d said, eyes bright. “It’s about who shows up when it matters.”
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Unbalanced
The Night Basketball Felt Like Home
I didn’t go for the basketball. I went because my son asked me to. He’s eleven, wears his hair in messy curls, and talks about the game like it’s poetry written in motion. “You have to see how they move together, Dad,” he’d said, eyes wide. “It’s like they’re speaking a language only they understand.”
By KAMRAN AHMADabout a month ago in Unbalanced
