Hasbanullah
Bio
I write to awaken hearts, honor untold stories, and give voice to silence. From truth to fiction, every word I share is a step toward deeper connection. Welcome to my world of meaningful storytelling.
Stories (108)
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Where Lullabies Are Lost
Where Lullabies Are Lost A Glimpse into the Silent Nights and Shattered Dreams of Gaza’s Innocent Opening (≈120 words "In Gaza, the night no longer hums with soft refrains. It’s a cavern of silence, pierced only by distant echoes of fear. Here, lullabies have been stolen—lost beneath rubble, subdued by heartbreak, replaced by whispered prayers of mothers who cradle lifeless infants, their tears untainted by hope."
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Poets
Don’t Look Away: The Children of Gaza
Don’t Look Away: The Children of Gaza – Why the World Must Hear Their Cries The war in Gaza is not only a geopolitical tragedy—it’s a moral one. At its center are the youngest victims: the children. Their voices—stifreined by rubble, starvation, and trauma—are begging the world not to look away. We must listen.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Humans
Morning Glow: A Wellness Routine to Energize Your Body and Mind"
There’s something sacred about the early morning. Before the world rushes in, before notifications flood your screen, there’s a golden silence—a space of possibility. This is where your wellness journey begins. “Morning Glow” isn’t just a catchy phrase—it’s a mindset, a lifestyle, a promise you make to yourself every morning. It's the art of awakening your body, mind, and spirit with purpose.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Blush
"Whispers in the Dark: The Salem Witch Trials"
They say the wind in Salem still whispers the names of the accused. It was the winter of 1692. Snow blanketed the small Puritan village of Salem, Massachusetts, but a deeper, colder fear settled over the hearts of its people. A fear not of the harsh New England chill, but of something far more sinister—witchcraft.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in History
The Final Curtain: The Night Lincoln Fell"
Narrator’s Voice (Calm, Deep, Reflective): The night was April 14, 1865. Spring had finally returned to Washington, D.C., and with it, a fragile hope was blossoming across a weary nation. Just five days earlier, General Robert E. Lee had surrendered at Appomattox Court House, signaling the end of the Civil War. America—bruised, bloodied, but breathing—was finally emerging from its darkest hours.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in History
The Vanishing Bride: One Clue, One Truth, One Deadly Secret"
Part Two: The Note Beneath the Thorns The church was empty now. What had been a sea of white roses, silk runners, and polished pews just 24 hours ago was now nothing but echoes and caution tape. Detective Mara Ellison crouched at the front of the aisle where Emily Caldwell had last been seen—where the petals fell from her trembling hands, and the bouquet tumbled to the floor like a severed promise.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Fiction
"The Diary on My Doorstep: Pages from a Life I Never Lived"
It was a rainy Tuesday morning when I found it. A plain black notebook, leather-bound and weathered, sat neatly on my doorstep like an offering. No envelope, no return address—just my name, Avery Morgan, etched in gold cursive across the cover. At first, I thought it was a prank. Maybe one of my students was pulling something elaborate. I teach philosophy at Greystone College; existential riddles aren’t exactly rare in my world.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Horror
If I Died Tomorrow: The Regrets I’d Carry to the Grave"
If I died tomorrow, they’d find my phone full of unsent messages. Apologies half-typed. “I miss you” left hanging. A confession I was too scared to send. They’d scroll and scroll and never reach the end of what I meant to say, but didn’t.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Fiction
The Vanishing Bride: One Clue, One Truth, One Deadly Secret"
Part One: The Disappearance It was supposed to be the happiest day of her life. The air in the historic Redwood Chapel buzzed with excitement as guests filled the pews, their whispers echoing off the vaulted ceilings. Light filtered through stained glass windows, casting red and gold patterns across the polished marble floor. In the front row, the groom, Nathaniel Grayson, stood tall in his tailored suit, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.
By Hasbanullah7 months ago in Fiction
