Flash Stories

The Rosewater Vials

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:56 p.m.

Lila had always been enchanted by the delicate art of perfume making, learning from her master in the small, fragrant shop tucked away in the heart of the old bazaar. The air was always filled with the sweet, heady mix of jasmine, saffron, and rose. But it was a certain vial—a small, intricately carved bottle of rosewater—that had always caught her eye. It sat on a dusty shelf in the corner of the workshop, forgotten, its glass dull and its cap sealed with age-old wax.

Her master, Karim, had never spoken of it, and when she asked, his eyes would darken. “Some memories are best left in the past, Lila,” he would say, his voice softer than usual. But as the days passed, Lila couldn’t shake the pull of the vial. There was something about it—something she couldn’t resist.

One evening, as she was cleaning the shelves, her hand brushed …

The Moonlit Script

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 7 p.m.

Arash had spent years perfecting his craft. As a calligraphy artist in Tehran, he was well-known for his mastery of the ancient scripts, but something had always eluded him. No matter how carefully he followed the patterns of Persian poetry or history, his work felt incomplete. The ink, the brush, and the paper were all tools, but they lacked the soul he yearned for.

One evening, as the full moon rose high over the city, Arash sat by the window of his small studio, gazing out at the moonlit skyline. He had recently acquired a small vial of rosewater from his grandmother, a precious gift passed down through generations, and decided to use it in his latest project. There was a calmness to the scent of rosewater, a tranquility that seemed to calm his restless mind.

He mixed the rosewater with his traditional ink, filling the room with a soft …

The Bowl of Fate

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 7:03 p.m.

Eli had always been an unremarkable baker. His small shop in the heart of the city was known for its simple, warm loaves of bread, baked daily with care and consistency. He had never expected to be anything more than a humble man, content with his craft. But that was before the old woman came.

It happened one crisp autumn morning, just as the sun began to peek through the fog. The bell above the bakery door jingled, and in walked a woman so old she seemed to blur the line between the past and present. Her eyes were sharp, though, piercing as though she had seen every corner of time.

"I have something for you," she said, her voice rasping like dried leaves. From under her cloak, she revealed a copper bowl, its surface tarnished with age but still glinting faintly in the light.

Eli raised an eyebrow, unsure …

The Garden’s Song

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:33 p.m.

Lena sat on the balcony, staring out over the sprawling city. The skyline glimmered with the buzz of a thousand lights, each one a heartbeat in the relentless pulse of urban life. Her phone vibrated on the table, a reminder of another meeting, another deadline. The weight of it all pressed down on her chest. It had been a long week—no, a long month—and she felt it, every inch of the stress wrapping tighter around her.

She needed a break. But the city didn’t offer many escapes.

Her gaze wandered down to the small garden below, a patch of green in the concrete jungle. A few flower beds, some potted plants, and a wooden bench. It had become her refuge in the past few weeks, a place to breathe, a place where she could let go of the constant noise.

Tonight, however, something was different.

A soft fluttering sound caught …

The General Store Commune

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:07 p.m.

When the rent hikes hit, the heart of Maple Hollow began to falter. The antique shop closed first, followed by the bakery, and then the corner bookstore. Only Callie Moran’s general store remained, its weathered wooden sign swaying above the door like a stubborn reminder of simpler times.

Callie stood behind the counter one quiet evening, tallying the week’s meager earnings. The shelves, once overflowing with canned goods and supplies, were now half-empty. She glanced out the window at the darkened apartments across the street. “For Lease” signs plastered every window like a grim wallpaper.

By morning, she had made her decision.

It started small: a flyer on the bulletin board at the library. "Affordable Co-Living: Private Rooms in Historic General Store. Shared Kitchen and Workspace. Apply Within."

By the end of the week, five strangers stood in her shop, each clutching suitcases and hopeful smiles. There was Darren, a …

The Garden at Dusk

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:48 p.m.

Every evening, as the sun began to dip behind Tehran’s skyline, Layla sat by the window of her small florist shop, watching the world bustle outside. The city was noisy, filled with cars, honking horns, and people rushing from one place to the next. But inside, surrounded by the scent of roses, jasmine, and carnations, Layla found solace in her solitude. The flowers never judged her, never made her feel lonely.

One evening, as she watered a potted orchid, she noticed a street cat sitting on the sidewalk outside her shop. Its fur was patchy, and its eyes gleamed with a knowing, almost human quality. Layla had seen this cat around for weeks, but it always kept to itself. Tonight, however, it did something peculiar.

It stared directly at her through the window, and as the sun touched the horizon, the cat spoke.

"You’re not meant to be alone, you …

The Book Beneath the Pomegranate Tree

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:52 p.m.

Lila had always loved the smell of old books. It was a scent she grew up with, the ink, the leather, and the parchment, all blending into something magical. Her father, the town librarian, would tell her stories about the books in the back of the library—the ones that weren’t checked out, the ones too fragile to touch. He always warned her not to go near them, but curiosity was in Lila’s blood, and it wasn’t long before she discovered the hidden section of the library where the rarest books were kept.

One evening, as the sky turned a dusky orange and the air was thick with summer heat, Lila sat under the pomegranate tree in her backyard, flipping through a leather-bound book she had found that afternoon. The pages were old and yellow, and the ink was fading, but the tales within were like nothing she had ever read. …