writing
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By Mohamed Miah In an era where human ingenuity seems boundless, where quantum computers promise to unlock the mysteries of the universe, we are confronted with a profound truth: no matter how far technology advances, it will never match the beauty, complexity, and infinite wisdom of God. The more we discover, the more we are
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By Mohamed Miah In the ancient world, rivers like the Euphrates coursed through the heart of civilisations, nurturing life, creating boundaries, and holding spiritual significance. Today, those same lands remain battlefields of control—places where wars are fought, civilisations are erased, and the seeds of future conflicts are sown. But what if these wars, genocides, and
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By Mohamed Miah There’s something deeply unsettling about the way time governs our lives. From the moment we wake up to the chime of an alarm, to the endless cycles of work and productivity, we are tethered to a system that feels inescapable. But what if I told you that time, as we know it,
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By Mohamed Miah In 1969, the world watched in awe as Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin became the first humans to walk on the moon. The event was hailed as a triumph of human ingenuity, scientific progress, and the limitless possibilities of space exploration. It marked the culmination of years of effort to push the
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By Mohamed Miah They lived on the edge. Artists, scientists, writers, thinkers—some of the most brilliant minds in history, they burned so intensely that it consumed them. For many of these geniuses, creativity wasn’t just a product of intellect; it was a force born out of madness, rage, and an overwhelming drive to create. Behind
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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 