Through every word, seeks to build bridges — one story, one voice, one moment of peace at a time.
The city never slept. Its streets were alive with blaring horns, shouting vendors, and the constant hum of a world in motion. People hurried through life, their eyes fixed on screens or deadlines, their ears filled with news and noise. In the middle of all this, Maya found herself exhausted.
By M.Farooq3 months ago in Humans
Every morning, Rania walked past the same café on Elm Street. The bell above the door jingled softly whenever someone entered, and warm light spilled onto the wet sidewalk, inviting yet quiet. The café had always been there, like an old oak tree — steady, familiar, and unchanging. Yet for months, she had avoided it.
There was an old brick wall at the end of Khalid’s street, covered in cracks and faded paint. Behind it, most people said, was nothing — just weeds, dry soil, and forgotten land.
It had been three years since Amina last spoke to her younger brother, Hassan. Three years of silence — heavy, stubborn, unspoken.
Every morning, long before the city woke, Yusuf unlocked the door to his small bakery. The smell of flour and yeast, the warmth of the oven, and the quiet hum of early morning — this was his sanctuary. The golden light of dawn spilled through the windows, catching the dust in the air like tiny stars. Here, nothing demanded anything from him. Here, he could breathe.
In a small coastal town, where the nights were darker than the sea, lived an old man named Saeed. Everyone called him the Lantern Maker.
Every morning, before the sun rose, Rahim walked down to the small bench overlooking the sea. It was old — wooden, cracked, and half-covered in salt stains. But it was their bench.
Every evening, Mr. Kareem sat by his window with a cup of tea. He watched the street below — the narrow alleyway filled with vendors, children, and voices echoing between old brick walls.
The rain had been falling since dawn. Fatima watched it from the bus window — long silver lines running down the glass, blurring the world outside. Her hands were wrapped around a paper cup of tea that had already gone cold.
The alarm buzzed, sharp and relentless. Arjun groaned, reaching for his phone. Another day, another rush. The same crowded train, the same endless meetings, the same noise that filled his head before he even stepped out the door.
There was a man who lived in a city that never slept. Every morning, he woke to the sound of car horns and construction drills, the buzz of phones, and the hum of news he didn’t want to hear.
When the phone rang that morning, Aisha almost didn’t answer. It was early, and she was halfway through packing boxes — another move, another beginning. She’d been living like that for years — one city to the next, chasing work, escaping silence.
