Luna Vani

Joined November 2025

61 stories

Bio

I gather broken pieces and turn them into light

Stories (61)

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From Coast to Coast
Some trips rearrange you. Not in the loud, life-changing way movies promise, but in the quiet spaces between gas stations, in the miles where the radio scans for a signal and all you have is the hum of the engine and whatever version of yourself you’re trying to outrun.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Wander
A Veteran’s Valentine
They say the internet brings strangers together, but no one ever warns you it can revive a past you once folded away like a flag—carefully, respectfully, quietly. For Marcus and Elena, love had lived in that folded place for thirty long years.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Humans
A Memory Echo
They always told me the house had a pulse. Not a heartbeat that any doctor could measure, not something that could be recorded and played back as evidence—just a quiet, lingering warmth that rose from the walls whenever dusk settled over the old family home. My older relatives dismissed it as “the house settling,” while the younger ones joked about ancient wiring and bad insulation. But even as a child, before I understood the science of anything, I sensed something more. Something alive.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Families
Tea-Leaf Cartographer
They say the world has two kinds of maps: the ones you fold, and the ones that unfold you. I met the Tea-Leaf Cartographer on a morning when the roads were still damp with last night’s secrets. The river beside me moved slowly, as if reluctant to leave the quiet safety of the dawn. Mist softened everything—the trees, the houses across the bank, even my thoughts, which had been sharp and restless for days. I had been traveling without direction, collecting miles instead of meaning, and though I didn’t admit it to myself then, I was looking for something that would tell me which way my life was leaning.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Writers
Mirror-Mason
In the oldest quarter of the city—where the buildings leaned like tired elders trading memories—lived an aging mason named Yaros. His hands were chipped from decades of stonework, but his touch remained impossibly gentle, as if he were forever smoothing the cheek of a sleeping child.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Poets
Cane-Carved Memories
The neighborhood knew him only as Old Harun, the retired carpenter with the steady hands and the slow shuffle. His cane wasn’t a medical necessity, or at least not entirely; it was a companion carved from an old walnut branch he’d rescued decades ago from a fallen tree near the canal. A branch that, in his words, “still had a little memory left in it.”
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Fiction
Tea-Leaf Librarian
Every Tuesday at the community center, long before anyone arrived for dominoes or chair-yoga or the soft-spoken gossip that made the hours pass sweeter, Mrs. Sabiha unlocked the small kitchenette with hands that trembled only when she wasn’t touching a teacup. She laid out her porcelain bowls the way a librarian might arrange first editions—carefully, reverently, as if each one carried a secret that needed gentleness to rise.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Poets
Custodian’s Time-Capsule
I’ve always believed that a custodian sees the soul of a building long before anyone else does. We watch the mornings rise through smudged windows, hear the echo of people who haven’t even arrived yet, and sweep away the footprints of yesterday. We notice things others don’t—mostly because no one expects magic to happen while someone is mopping the floors.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Humans
Barista’s Secret Menu
There’s a little café tucked between a laundromat and a florist, the kind of place you notice only when you’re in the mood to slow down. I’d been stopping there for months, always at the same time—early enough that the sky was still deciding whether to be blue or gray.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Humans
The Commuter’s Sketchbook
I used to think my mornings belonged to no one, not even to me. They were just a series of motions: wake, walk, train, office, screens. A blur I moved through without leaving a mark. It wasn’t a sad life, just a quiet one, the kind that hums softly without ever asking if you’re listening.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Fiction
The Mirror-Market
I used to think regret was something you outgrew. Like shoes you wore too long or a habit you finally got tired of carrying. But regret doesn’t soften with time. It just learns to speak quieter. And some evenings, when the world feels too still, it speaks loud enough that you can’t pretend you don’t hear it.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Horror
What I Found in the People I Overlooked
I used to walk through the world with a kind of selective vision. I saw only the people I thought mattered to my life: friends, coworkers, family, the familiar faces that made up the small circle of my days. Everyone else blurred into background noise. I didn’t mean to overlook them. It was the kind of unintentional ignorance you practice without knowing it, the way a person ignores the hum of their refrigerator or the birds outside their window.
By Luna Vani2 months ago in Humans