fiction
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I James, Jim, and John were three peas in a pod. Everyone knew them as the inseparable trio, always together, yet always different in their own ways. James was the fun one, the one everyone wanted to be around. He would light up any room, bringing smiles and energy wherever he went. Jim was quieter,
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I Jiya tugged at the handle of her wardrobe, staring blankly at the array of perfectly arranged clothes. Each item had its place, each fold meticulous—just like her mother taught her. She closed the door and sighed, feeling the familiar weight of anxiety settle in her chest. Every morning began like this—a routine that felt
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James walked briskly up the steps to the entrance of the small hotel, barely noticing the chipped paint on the once-grand door. It had been a long day at work, and all he could think about was collapsing into the comfort of his room. The doorman, an old man with a perpetually furrowed brow and
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Rahul’s house sat nestled in a quiet, tree-lined avenue in East London, a classic terraced house with a charm that spoke of history. The red-bricked façade was neatly kept, with tall, slender trees casting dappled shadows over the front steps. Inside, the house was clean and tidy, a reflection of his mother’s meticulous nature, but
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The Old House The old house sat on a hill, surrounded by overgrown woods and shrouded in mystery. It had once been part of a thriving village, but now it stood alone, its windows dark and its paint peeling. The war had swept through the area, leaving behind a ghost town. A group of soldiers,
The Narratives - Mohamed Miah 