Flash Stories

Stuck in the Drift

hamed Jan. 15, 2025, 6:17 p.m.

The horizon was a dull line where the Suez Canal met the sky. It was the kind of day that seemed to stretch on forever—no end, no movement. Ahmed stood at the helm of the Ever Given, staring out into the endless expanse of water, his knuckles white on the railing. The ship had been stuck for days now, wedged sideways across the canal, its massive hull blocking one of the busiest trade routes in the world.

It wasn’t the kind of thing you imagined happening when you signed up to work at sea.

"How much longer, do you think?" Farhan, the youngest of the crew, asked from behind him. The boy had a nervous edge to his voice, one that had been growing sharper with each passing hour. His eyes darted across the horizon, as though he could will the ship to move with nothing but sheer will.

Ahmed …

The Last Lotus

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:21 p.m.

Niloofar stood in the doorway of her family’s antique shop, gazing at the delicate relics that had been passed down through generations. Each item had a story, each crack and tarnish a memory from a time long gone. The intricate Persian carpets, the gilded tea sets, the porcelain figurines—they were the essence of her family, the heart of her life. And yet, it was all now for sale.

Her fingers brushed the edge of a jade necklace that had belonged to her grandmother, the last piece of her inheritance. The weight of it, the history, felt too heavy for her to hold any longer. But the truth was, she had no choice.

Tariq, the man she loved, lay in a hospital bed, his body frail and ravaged by a rare illness. The doctors had been clear—without the treatment, he wouldn’t make it. And the money, the vast fortune she had …

Salt Flowers

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 6:23 p.m.

Jin-ah stood alone on the beach as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of pink and orange. Her hands, weathered by years of toil, moved with practiced grace, sweeping grains of salt into delicate patterns on the sand. Each swirl, each petal, was a prayer. A promise.

It had been seven years since Minho, her lover, disappeared. The sea had claimed him—or so the villagers whispered, though no body had ever been found. Every year, on the anniversary of his disappearance, Jin-ah returned to this beach, to the place where they had first met, to the place where their love had blossomed like the delicate flowers in the fields of salt. She believed that the salt patterns, the ones she had crafted with hands full of memories, would guide his spirit back to her.

Salt flowers. The elders spoke of them in hushed tones—of how …

The Memory Thief

hamed Jan. 26, 2024, 7:09 p.m.

She had always been plagued by strange memories. Memories of places she had never been, people she had never met, things she had never done. She thought she was crazy, or maybe she had a past life.

She tried to ignore them, but they kept coming back, more vivid and more frequent. They interfered with her daily life, her studies, her relationships. She felt like she was living someone else's life.

She decided to seek help. She went to a therapist, a hypnotist, a psychic. None of them could explain her condition or cure her. They only gave her vague theories and false hopes.

She was desperate. She wanted to know the truth. She wanted to be free.

She stumbled upon an article online. It was about a new scientific discovery. It claimed that our body is made of materials that once belonged to other living beings, and that these …

Lila

khayam Dec. 29, 2023, 3:54 p.m.

The moving finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy piety nor wit

Shall lure it back to cancel half a line,
Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it

Story:

Once upon a time, there was a young girl named Lila. She was a curious child who loved to explore the world around her. One day, while wandering through the forest, she stumbled upon a magical pen. When she picked it up, the pen began to write on its own. Lila was amazed as she watched the pen scribble across the page, creating beautiful stories and poems.

As she continued to write, Lila realized that the pen had a mind of its own. It wrote about things she had never even thought of before, and it seemed to have a life of its own. She tried to stop it, but the pen kept writing, and Lila couldn’t …

When the Last Pari Died

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 6:46 p.m.

She had lived for a thousand years, dancing through Persian gardens and weaving moonlight into dreams. They called her Mahtab – the last of the pari, keeper of ancient magic, daughter of light and air. She had survived the fall of empires, the burning of libraries, the forgetting of old ways.
But she could not survive love.

Prince Darius found her by the palace fountains one dawn, her feet barely touching the water's surface, her hair a cascade of starlight. He spoke of poetry and promised her eternity, not knowing she had already lived several of his lifetimes.

"Tell me of forever," he would whisper in their secret meetings, and Mahtab would smile, for what did mortals know of forever?

She broke the most sacred law of the pari – she showed him her true form, wings of gossamer and eyes that held the wisdom of centuries. Instead of wonder, she …

The Shop of Bottled Dreams

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:58 p.m.

Raha had wandered through the labyrinthine lanes of the Tehran Grand Bazaar countless times, her feet brushing against the worn stones, her eyes absorbing the colors, sounds, and smells of a world older than her own. But today, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows between the stalls, she noticed something strange—a small, unmarked door tucked in the farthest corner of the bazaar, hidden behind a tapestry of velvet fabrics and embroidered scarves. She hadn’t seen it before, though she’d passed this way hundreds of times.

Curiosity tugged at her, and she stepped closer, drawn to the soft golden light spilling out from beneath the door. With a hesitant breath, she pushed it open.

Inside was a small, quiet room, filled with the scent of jasmine and honey. On shelves, delicate glass bottles shimmered, each one holding a swirling mist of colors that seemed to shift and dance in …

The Curse of Love and Immortality - Chapter 8: Shirin and the Desert Rose

dehongi Jan. 16, 2025, 12:14 p.m.

The king’s voice was softer tonight, almost as if the desert winds themselves had carried it into the chamber. The princess, eager for the next tale, sat with her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on her father.
"This is the story of Shirin," he began, "a Pari whose name means 'sweet.' But her life, though touched by sweetness, was also marked by the harshness of the desert sands she chose to call home."
The princess tilted her head. "A desert? Did she not live in the forests or near rivers, like the others?"
"No," the king replied. "Shirin was different. She loved the vastness of the desert, the endless dunes that seemed to ripple like waves under the golden sun. It was in those unforgiving sands that she first encountered Prince Bahram, the leader of a nomadic tribe who roamed the desert in search of water and life."
"How did they meet?" the princess …

The Night of Yalda

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 7:02 p.m.

The air was thick with the warmth of spices, the crackling of the fireplace, and the soft glow of candles as the family gathered around the old Persian carpet in the dimly lit room. The night was long—Yalda, the longest night of the year—and the tradition was always the same: a night of stories. Her grandmother, a woman whose silver hair shimmered like moonlight, settled into her favorite armchair and pulled her granddaughter, Leila, close.

"Tonight, my dear," she began, her voice deep and soothing, "I will tell you the story of the Simorgh."

Leila loved these nights, loved how her grandmother’s stories felt like threads tying her to a world older than the stars, a world of magic and mystery. She nestled into the warmth of the rug, the smell of pomegranates and rosewater swirling in the air, and waited for the tale to unfold.

But as her grandmother …

He Was Gone

hamed Sept. 12, 2024, 4:53 p.m.

One day, I sat at a bus station, feeling the weight of depression. An old man beside me seemed to sense it.

"What’s troubling you?" he asked gently.

"I see no meaning in life," I replied. "Not here, nor in any other life, if such a thing exists."

He chuckled softly. "Let me share a story," he said. "Perhaps you'll find meaning in this life—and maybe even in the next."

I nodded, and he began.

"I once lived on a twin-planet system. Both worlds were packed with billions of us. Every few days, they sent millions off on missions to escape the overcrowding. But only a few, after countless attempts, ever made it to the capsule in orbit. Most perished. I was one of the rare ones. After many failed attempts, I finally reached the capsule and embarked on a solitary nine-month journey through space. Alone, confined, unsure of what …