Ali Rehman
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Stories (141)
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“Maps of the Heart: Places We Leave Behind”
Maps of the Heart: Places We Leave Behind By [Ali Rehman] There are maps drawn on paper, inked in neat lines and careful strokes. And then there are maps we carry inside us — invisible, unrolled only when memory calls them. They are stitched with emotions instead of roads, landmarks built of moments instead of cities. These are the maps of the heart: the places we loved, the corners where we broke, and the quiet roads where we grew, sometimes without even knowing.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Writers
“The Streetlamp That Waited for Me”
The Streetlamp That Waited for Me By [Ali Rehman] There is a street in my hometown that most people have forgotten. The asphalt is cracked, the houses lean like tired elders, and the old sycamore trees whisper secrets only the wind ever hears. And yet, at the very end of that lonely stretch of road, there stands a single streetlamp.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Humans
“The Mirror That Remembers Every Face But Yours” “The Mirror That Remembers Every Face But Yours”
The Mirror That Remembers Every Face But Yours By [Ali Rehman] The mirror had been in the house longer than anyone could remember. It hung in the narrow hallway between the living room and the staircase, framed in twisted black wood carved with shapes no one recognized. Some said it was an heirloom; others whispered it was cursed.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Horror
“The Room Where Time Refused to Move”
The Room Where Time Refused to Move By [Ali Rehman] I never believed in ghosts or forgotten corners of the past that could trap you like a spider traps a fly. But the old house I inherited from my grandmother held secrets darker and more stubborn than any I’d imagined.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Horror
“The Moon That Forgot to Glow”
🌙 The Moon That Forgot to Glow By [Ali Rehman] On the night the world went dim, not a single soul was awake to witness it—except me. I was walking the old desert road, my footsteps brushing dust into the warm night air, when I looked up and felt my breath slip out of my chest.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Poets
“The Streetlamp That Waited for Me”
The Streetlamp That Waited for Me By [Ali Rehman] I used to walk home alone after dusk, down a long, narrow street where the houses leaned close together like old friends whispering secrets. The city was loud everywhere else — cars groaning, people arguing, windows glowing with television chatter — but that street felt like a pause in the world.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Humans
“Healing in the Quiet Moments”
Healing in the Quiet Moments By [Ali Rehman] Finding strength in stillness and the journey within. Mira had always been a person who lived loudly—not with her voice, but with her pace. She filled every hour with something: tasks, conversations, work, noise. Silence was a place she avoided, a room she never entered. She feared that if she stopped moving, the world would catch up to her. Or worse—her thoughts would.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Poets
“A Letter to the Unseen”
A Letter to the Unseen By [Ali Rehman] Messages we send to those who left without saying goodbye. The night rain whispered against the window, soft and tired, the way memories sound when they return after years of silence. Daniel sat at his old wooden desk, fingers hovering above a blank sheet of paper. He had written hundreds of letters in his life—business emails, birthday notes, apologies, invitations—but never one like this.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Humans
“The Pen That Wrote Its Own Ending”
“The Pen That Wrote Its Own Ending” By [Ali Rehman] Elias Rowan had written thousands of endings in his life — tragic ones, hopeful ones, endings that left readers breathless and endings that stitched broken hearts back together. But he had never struggled as much as he did now, sitting at his wooden desk on the edge of midnight, staring at a blank page.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in Writers
“Footprints on Unseen Paths”
Footprints on Unseen Paths By [Ali Rehman] No one in the village of Halden ever left the road. It wound like a soft ribbon between fields of gold and green, connecting every house, every shop, every familiar face. It was safe, predictable, and endlessly walked upon — the kind of path where even the stones seemed to recognize you.
By Ali Rehman3 months ago in 01
