Waqid Ali

Joined July 2025

41 stories

Bio

"My name is waqid ali, i write to touch hearts, awaken dreams, and give voice to silent emotions. Each story is a piece of my soul, shared to heal, inspire, and connect in this loud, lonely world."

Stories (41)

Filter by community

Sort by (Optional)

“The Dream That Binds Us”
Every night, at exactly 2:17 AM, the world slips into the same dream. A burning lighthouse towers over a storm-lashed shore. A child’s voice calls out, desperate, echoing through corridors that twist impossibly. A door refuses to open, though something vital waits just beyond it. No one knows why—or at least, no one thinks they do. Except me. And recently, I’ve begun to understand something terrifying: the choices I make during the day ripple through every mind on Earth, shaping the collective nightmare.
By Waqid Ali a day ago in Fiction
She Absorbs People’s Pain
In this world, pain could be transferred. Not the pain of broken bones or sickness—but emotional pain. The silent kind that lived behind the ribs and whispered at night. Grief. Shame. Regret. That could be handed to someone else.
By Waqid Ali 4 days ago in Fiction
“The Library of Unlived Lives”
There is a library most people never hear of, hidden between shifting streets and alleyways that seem to appear only when you need them. They say it contains every book ever written about lives that could have been—the ones you never lived, the choices you never made, the paths you turned away from. Few have seen it and returned unchanged. I found it by accident, or perhaps by design.
By Waqid Ali 7 days ago in Fiction
Everyone Dreams the Same Dream
The first night it happened, people thought it was coincidence. A strange dream, yes—but dreams were strange by nature. Millions of people woke up with the same uneasy feeling, the same echo in their minds: a vast, dark sky and a single number floating in the air.
By Waqid Ali 15 days ago in Fiction
Everyone Else Stopped Aging: A Story of Time and Regret
She woke up on the morning of her thirtieth birthday with the familiar, dull ache behind her eyes—the kind that came from sleeping too lightly and dreaming too much. The alarm blinked 6:30 AM, unchanged, patient. Outside her window, the city looked the same as it had yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that.
By Waqid Ali 18 days ago in Fiction
The World Before You Save It
The list appeared the same way it always did. Folded. Crisp. Waiting on the nightstand like a quiet accusation. Names written in ink that never smudged, never faded. People in danger. People the world expected him to save.
By Waqid Ali 19 days ago in Psyche
The Seat Beside Me
BY WAQID ALI . pk The Seat Beside Me The train arrived at 7:42 a.m. every weekday without fail. Same screech of metal, same rush of tired bodies, same cold air trapped inside steel walls. For Elena, routine was comfort. Predictable. Safe.
By Waqid Ali about a month ago in Fiction
The Last Seat Was Never Empty. He Just Couldn’t See Who Sat There.
Every night at 11:40 p.m., Bus 27 followed the same tired route through the sleeping city. The streets were quieter at that hour, lit by flickering streetlamps and the glow of closed shop signs. For Samuel Reed, a bus driver for twenty-seven years, the silence was familiar. Comforting, even.
By Waqid Ali about a month ago in Fiction
The Last Light
Every night at exactly 9:17 p.m., a soft yellow light appears in the third-floor window of a narrow apartment overlooking a silent street. The timing never changes. The bulb never flickers. The light never fails.
By Waqid Ali about a month ago in Fiction
The Room That Appears When You’re Almost Ready to Leave
The notice about the demolition had been taped to the lobby wall for weeks, curling at the corners like it was already tired of being ignored. Everyone else in the building had moved out. Everyone except me.
By Waqid Ali about a month ago in Fiction
The Job That Only Exists at Night
The job posting appeared at exactly 12:07 a.m. No company logo. No address. Just a plain block of text glowing on my phone screen like it had been waiting for me.
By Waqid Ali about a month ago in Fiction
I’m Stronger Now, But I Still Have Bad Days
BY WAQID ALI I used to think strength looked a certain way. I thought being strong meant waking up motivated every day. It meant having answers. It meant never needing help, never doubting myself, never falling apart over things I had already survived.
By Waqid Ali 2 months ago in Motivation

Waqid Ali

Bio

Stories .css-1svwz57-Text{display:inline-block;color:var(--text-default-mute);}(41)

Filter by community

“The Dream That Binds Us”

She Absorbs People’s Pain

“The Library of Unlived Lives”

Everyone Dreams the Same Dream

Everyone Else Stopped Aging: A Story of Time and Regret

The World Before You Save It

The Seat Beside Me

The Last Seat Was Never Empty. He Just Couldn’t See Who Sat There.

The Last Light

The Room That Appears When You’re Almost Ready to Leave

The Job That Only Exists at Night

I’m Stronger Now, But I Still Have Bad Days

Stories (41)