Muhammad Rehan
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Stories (19)
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Stop Wasting Time Writing on Vocal Media—Do This Instead for Real Traffic
When I first stumbled across Vocal Media, I wasn’t looking for a platform to change my life. Honestly, I was just trying to kill time between classes. My dream of being a writer was buried deep under piles of unfinished journals and half-written Word documents. Like so many others, I thought real writers were people who lived in big cities, with agents, book deals, and thousands of followers.
By Muhammad Rehan10 months ago in Trader
The Town That Forgot How to Sleep
No one knew when it started. One night, the people of Elmbrook simply didn’t fall asleep. It wasn’t insomnia—no tossing or turning, no restlessness. It was as if the act of sleeping had been erased from their bodies, like a song they once knew but could no longer hum.
By Muhammad Rehan10 months ago in Fiction
She Answered a Stranger’s Call—And Vanished
It was just past 9:00 p.m. when Sarah’s phone buzzed. She was halfway through her nightly skincare routine, a clay mask half-dried on her face, and her favorite true crime podcast playing in the background. Her phone flashed a number she didn’t recognize—no name, no saved contact. Normally, she wouldn’t have answered, but something about the moment felt… off. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was fate.
By Muhammad Rehan10 months ago in Fiction
The Silence Between Us: A Story of Love, Regret, and Second Chances. AI-Generated.
The letter was never supposed to be read. Wrapped in the same pale blue paper she had always loved, it had been sitting in his drawer for over four years. Unopened, untouched—yet somehow, heavier than anything else he owned. And now, in the pale light of an April morning, Aarib stood on that familiar street in Peshawar, the letter clenched in his hand, his heartbeat louder than the city’s chaos around him.
By Muhammad Rehan10 months ago in Fiction
The Secret They Buried with Her: A Town’s Chilling Silence. AI-Generated.
Rain had softened the earth when they lowered Sarah Hale into the ground. The ceremony was short. Just close family, a priest who rushed through the rites, and a handful of townspeople who kept their heads bowed, not from grief, but discomfort.
By Muhammad Rehan10 months ago in Fiction
