Stories

Elara lived in a tiny village where the only constant was the air moving through the tall Baobab trees. She was a quiet girl who spent more time listening than talking, and what she listened to wasn't the birds or the gossip, it was Rai, the Wind.

The mirror in my hallway is twenty-seven years old. It’s older than the memory of his face, which I only know from a handful of fading photographs where he looks young, vibrant, and eerily like me.I stood in front of that mirror today, adjusting my collar, feeling that familiar, gnawing ache in my chest.

The bed was big, but the space between Amara and her husband, Sammy, felt like an ocean. Every morning, she woke up to the same routine: the gentle glow of his phone, the soft taps of his thumbs. She knew he was sending good morning wishes—just not to her. She lay right beside him, the mother of his child, and felt as invisible as the air.

Fantasy

Life