Salman Writes
Bio
Writer of thoughts that make you think, feel, and smile. I share honest stories, social truths, and simple words with deep meaning. Welcome to the world of Salman Writes — where ideas come to life.
Stories (105)
Filter by community
The Day I Stopped Refreshing the Page
The Day I Stopped Refreshing the Page For a long time, my mornings started the same way. Not with breakfast. Not with stretching or deep breaths or gratitude, like people on the internet suggest. My mornings started with refreshing a page.
By Salman Writes28 days ago in Confessions
The Kind of Tired Sleep Can’t Fix
I’m not tired in the way sleep can fix. I’ve tried that. Early nights. Late mornings. Power naps that turn into guilt. None of it touches this kind of exhaustion. It lives deeper, somewhere behind the eyes and under the ribs, where rest doesn’t reach. It’s not the kind of tired that fades with eight hours under a blanket—it’s the kind that lingers even after the alarm clock says I’ve had enough.
By Salman Writes28 days ago in Confessions
I Became Strong the Day No One Checked on Me
There’s a strange kind of silence that doesn’t come from being alone. It comes from realizing that people know you’re struggling and still choose not to ask. It’s not the absence of voices—it’s the absence of care. That silence is heavier than solitude, because it reminds you that you are visible, yet unseen.
By Salman Writes28 days ago in Confessions
I Learned Too Late That Love Needs Translation
Not the kind you can fix with dictionaries or subtitles. Ours was deeper than that. It lived in tone, timing, and the spaces between words. I didn’t realize it at first. Love, in the beginning, feels universal. You assume feeling is enough.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
I Kept Everyone Together Until No One Noticed Me Falling Apart
I was the one people called when things went wrong. When families argued, I became the bridge. When friends stopped talking, I translated silence into forgiveness. When someone needed a reminder that everything would be okay, I offered it without checking if I believed it myself.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Writers
Farah’s Silent Battle: A 17-Year-Old’s Journey Through Loss and Survival in Gaza
On January 19, 2026, in Gaza City, a young girl named Farah Mahmoud al-Kahlud stood before the world, showing the eye she had lost in a brutal attack on her home in Jabalia. At just 17 years old, Farah’s life has been irreversibly altered. In that single moment of violence, she lost not only her leg and her eye but also her parents—the pillars of her childhood and the guardians of her future. What remains is a teenager caught between unbearable grief, physical pain, and the uncertainty of survival in one of the harshest humanitarian crises of our time.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Writers
The Surgeon Who Restored Dignity
The sixteenth century was a time of profound transition in Europe’s medical history. Anatomy, surgery, and the scientific study of the human body were gaining momentum, yet the restoration of the human face remained an almost impossible dream. In this fragile balance between tradition and innovation, an Italian physician and surgeon named Gaspare Tagliacozzi (1546–1599) emerged as a pioneer. His groundbreaking method of reconstructing the nose was not only centuries ahead of its time but also laid the foundation for what we now call modern plastic surgery.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in History
The Room That Still Knows My Name
I hadn’t been back in years, yet the house recognized me before I recognized myself. The gate creaked the same way it always had, a tired sound that felt older than metal. I paused for a moment, hand resting on the latch, as if the house needed time to decide whether I was still welcome.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
A Seat at the Table
Mina never thought much about family dinners. She had her own apartment, her own life, and her own rules. She told herself she didn’t need anyone to share meals with, that she preferred solitude, and that cooking for one was simpler, cleaner. But tonight, the smell of roasted chicken drifting from her mother’s old kitchen down the hall made her pause. It wasn’t just the aroma—it was memory wrapped in warmth, and it clung to her like a familiar voice calling her home.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
The Sound of Rain
The first thing I noticed was the sound. Not the gentle, polite drizzle that whispers against windows, but a persistent, almost stubborn rainfall that seemed determined to be heard. It filled the room with its insistent rhythm, a sound both familiar and strange, as if it were trying to tell me something I had long forgotten. I sat on the edge of my bed, laptop abandoned on my knees, and let it wash over me.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Humans
