Muhammad Sabeel
Bio
I write not for silence, but for the echo—where mystery lingers, hearts awaken, and every story dares to leave a mark
Stories (306)
Filter by community
The Secret Love Letters: A Hidden Romance in a Conservative Town
In the small town of Willow Creek, where every street seemed to lead to a story and every neighbor knew one another’s business, there was a secret that no one knew—except for two souls bound by love and fear.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Pride
The Night She Returned: A Haunting Message from the Beyond
It was the first letter that got to me. The envelope, pale and unmarked, appeared in our mailbox one ordinary Tuesday. No stamp, no return address—just my name, handwritten in an unfamiliar script. My hands trembled as I tore it open, my mind already running wild. Was it a wrong address? A prank? Or, as I feared deep in my gut, something more unsettling?
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Horror
The Last Poem He Wrote Before the Bomb Fell
The poem was scribbled on the back of a ration box—folded three times, edges singed. When I found it in the tin footlocker buried beneath rubble, I didn't know it would change my life. All I knew was that the name in the corner, written in a bold, unshaken hand, was my grandfather's.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Poets
My Poetry Went Viral—Here’s What I Didn’t Expect
I still remember the night my world changed. It was quiet—one of those still, sleepless hours when you either write or unravel. For me, it was both. I had written a poem, short and raw, titled “The Quiet Between Heartbeats.” Just 12 lines. I didn’t think much of it. It was about loneliness, about that space between loving someone and letting them go.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Poets
I Wrote a Love Story and Fell for the Villain
It was supposed to be a simple love story. A struggling artist meets a charming bookstore owner. Sparks fly. Hearts open. Love triumphs. That was the plan—wholesome, predictable, marketable. The kind of story people read with a warm cup of tea and a cozy blanket.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Writers
Confessions of a Serial Story Starter
It started innocently enough, like all bad habits. A blank page, an idea swirling in my head, and the thrill of possibility. I’d stare at the cursor blinking, my mind racing with all the potential. I was a creator, a storyteller. And yet, despite all my enthusiasm, I had a dark secret that no one knew.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Writers
One Job, a Thousand Lives
When most people think of an air traffic controller, they picture a man in a tower, eyes glued to radar screens, calmly directing planes like a conductor in a silent symphony. But for Thomas "Tom" Keane, the job was far more than dots on a screen or headsets echoing with pilot voices. It was a calling—a weight he carried across four decades, over a thousand storms, countless emergencies, and more stories than he ever thought he’d live to tell.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Interview
The Day Fiction Came Alive
The morning fiction came alive started like any other. I was half-asleep, gripping my third cup of instant coffee, staring at the blinking cursor of Chapter 17. My protagonist, Rowan Vale, a former assassin turned reluctant hero, had just lost his best friend. I’d written the scene four different ways, deleted it each time. Nothing felt right.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Fiction
When Empathy Becomes Exhausting: The Hidden Cost of Caring Too Much
I’ve always been the one who listens. When friends fall apart, I’m the one who picks up the pieces. When someone cries in the office bathroom, I kneel beside them and hand them tissues. I remember birthdays, read between the lines of vague texts, and notice when someone’s smile doesn’t quite reach their eyes. It’s a gift, they say. A blessing. The world needs more people who care.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Psyche
Skincare Secrets My Grandmother Swore By—And Why They Still Work Today
I still remember the way my grandmother's skin glowed, even in her seventies. She had no drawers overflowing with expensive creams or beauty serums in glass bottles. Her secrets were stored in tin jars, old ceramic bowls, and memories passed down from her mother and grandmother before her.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Futurism
The Heirloom Clock That Stopped the Moment My Grandfather Died
It was 3:17 a.m. when my grandfather passed away. I remember because I was there, holding his hand as he drew his last breath. The house was still, silent in the way only old country homes can be—walls thick with memory, wooden floors creaking like they, too, were mourning.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Families
My Grandmother’s Last Request
The last time I saw my grandmother, her hands trembled as she handed me a small, ornate key. "It’s in the garden," she whispered, her voice barely audible. I hadn’t known what she meant then, but those words stayed with me, echoing through my mind long after she passed away.
By Muhammad Sabeel9 months ago in Families
