Through every word, seeks to build bridges — one story, one voice, one moment of peace at a time.
The riverside town of Mehrabad was small and quiet, nestled between rolling hills and a winding river. Life there was simple: children played on dusty streets, fishermen repaired their nets by the water, and neighbors greeted each other with warm smiles. But after sunset, darkness enveloped the town. Electricity was unreliable, and the narrow streets were often shrouded in shadow.
By M.Farooq3 months ago in Humans
In the heart of a bustling city, sandwiched between narrow streets and towering apartment blocks, stood the Al-Huda Community Center. Its exterior was faded and cracked, a relic from decades past, and its windows, once gleaming, were smudged with dust and neglect.
The village of Kamalpur sat on a narrow strip of land where the sea kissed the cliffs. Fishing boats, colorful and worn, bobbed gently in the harbor, and gulls cried overhead as waves lapped rhythmically against the shore. It was a quiet, timeless place — a world apart from the noise and chaos of the city.
In a small village tucked between rolling hills, Zara inherited her grandfather’s olive grove. The trees were old, gnarled, and full of history — each branch a witness to decades of family life, laughter, and arguments long forgotten.
At the edge of a small coastal town, where waves collided with jagged rocks and gulls cried into the wind, Imran lived alone in a lighthouse.
It was a cold Sunday morning when Rehan missed his train — again. He had been running late for his job interview, his bag slung over one shoulder, his heart pounding as the train doors closed in front of him.
The phone rang at 4:17 a.m. In the dim glow of her apartment, Mariam stirred awake. Her first instinct was fear — calls at that hour rarely brought good news.
Every morning before sunrise, Sami, a quiet old man, walked to the small wooden bridge that crossed the narrow river running through his village.
It had been raining for three days straight. The kind of slow, patient rain that softened everything — the air, the roads, the people.
The old apartment building stood quietly at the end of the street, half-forgotten by time. Its walls were faded, balconies chipped, and the elevator, as usual, refused to work. The residents had long stopped expecting it to.
The community center was quiet that afternoon — unusually quiet. Only the faint hum of ceiling fans and the smell of old wood filled the air.
Every evening, as the sun dipped behind the jagged city skyline, Sabeen climbed the narrow stairs to the rooftop of her apartment building. Dust coated the concrete steps, and the railings were chipped from years of neglect, but she didn’t mind. This rooftop had become her sanctuary.
