Ajan Lori Abei
Bio
Writer exploring identity, human behavior, and life between cultures. Sharing reflective essays and observations from an African living in Japan.
Achievements (1)
Stories (106)
Filter by community
When Work Stops Defining Us
For most of my life, work felt like an anchor — not just something I did to earn money, but something that explained me. It gave shape to my days, language to my introductions, and reassurance that I was moving in the “right” direction. When someone asked, “What do you do?” I knew how to answer. And in answering, I felt seen.
By Ajan Lori Abei2 months ago in Futurism
The Ones We Lift Are the Ones Who Break Us
Recently, I read a short story that stuck with me strangely. Well, I must have been reading this for like the hundredth time since childhood, I can't remember how many, really. It’s the kind you think about while doing chores or lying in bed, and it makes you ask yourself, “Do I really get this yet?”
By Ajan Lori Abei2 months ago in Humans
What We Do on Sundays
Every Sunday at exactly 6:40 p.m., we set the table for three. This is the ritual. The time never changes, even when the light does. In summer, the sun still presses against the windows, lingering, curious. In winter, the room is already blue with evening, the corners soft and retreating. But the clock is firm. 6:40. Not earlier. Never later.
By Ajan Lori Abei2 months ago in Fiction
The Marking
Every night before sleep, Mara draws a line on Jonah’s back. The ritual began without discussion, which is how most enduring things begin. The first night they spent together in the apartment, Jonah complained about an itch he couldn’t reach, somewhere between his shoulder blades. Mara traced her finger along his spine, slow and deliberate, and said, “Here?”
By Ajan Lori Abei2 months ago in Fiction
The Ninth Arrangement
1. On the morning the shelves were reordered, Elias arrived at the archive ten minutes early. This only mattered because the building unlocked at exactly eight, so arriving early meant Elias had a few extra minutes to wait. He stood on the third step, holding his briefcase, and looked at the brass plaque listing donors who no longer came.
By Ajan Lori Abei2 months ago in Fiction
