More stories at our new blog

 

Enjoy reading small stories from our new blog

https://smallstoryworld.blogspot.com/

Moving On

Gone is gone—what’s lost is past,
No use in holding shadows fast;
I need a heart both firm and strong,
To leave behind what once went wrong.

No more thoughts that circle back,
No more time on that old track;
No more hopes in oceans thrown,
Where silent dreams are overgrown.

I turn my steps to days ahead,
Where quiet strength will gently spread;
And when the final dusk appears,
I’ll meet my love beyond these years
My mom, whose arms still wait for me.

My Beginning

Mom, my life say,
My life began with you that day.
I wish the path that I must go
Would end where only you would know.

Come back, Mom, take me in your care,
Wherever you are, I wish I were there;
To walk beside you, calm and true,
Just as I always did with you.

I miss you more than I can show,
With you I felt the safest glow;
Even your thought brings peace so deep,
A warmth my silent heart will keep.

And if someday I reach your side,
My happiness would double in tide;
For from the first breath that I drew
Mom… my whole world has been you.

A Fool’s Question

I was the fool who once believed
That somewhere one soul waited for me;
A quiet heart meant just for mine
A gentle thread of destiny.

How strange that I could spend my days
Chasing a thought so thin, so wide;
A dream that lived inside my head
While truth stood silent at my side.

I say it’s lie, I try to drown
This wandering hope I cannot free;
Yet even sinking, I rise again
To ask could such a heart still be?

My eyes keep searching through the crowd,
Refusing what my mind has read;
In books they call such longing strange,
A restless storm inside the head.

So I sit still and softly laugh
Perhaps the world is right to see;
And maybe that’s why I understand
Dear Zindagi… and quietly… it understands me.

Believe in Miracles

Miracles happen every day,
In quiet forms along the way;
A sudden hope, a healing smile,
A gentle light that stays awhile.

In rising sun and falling rain,
In hearts that learn to love again;
The world still whispers soft and true
Believe… a miracle waits for you. 

Between Two Worlds

 My brain swings wide from edge to air,
From shadowed fear to castles fair;
One breath it sounds a loud alarm,
Next builds a dream of perfect calm.

In threat mode, every step’s a fall,
It sees a crack in every wall;
It sharpens doubt, prepares to flee,
Turns harmless waves to raging sea.

In fantasy, it paints the sky,
With colors reason can’t deny;
It crowns the heart with golden schemes,
And rocks the soul in silver dreams.

Between these worlds I rise and slide
A pendulum I cannot hide;
Till stillness whispers soft and slow:
“Just stand in now… let both modes go.”

Sleepless Under Karma

Karma knocks hard at my door,
And sleep won’t visit me anymore;
I wake at night like a silent owl,
In darkness deep, my thoughts that howl.

The deeds I did were not all right,
I bow my head in honest sight;
I taste the fruit of seeds once sown,
And bear the weight of what I’ve grown.

Unsure which road my steps should take,
Each breath feels heavy when I wake;
Perhaps surrender is the way,
To fall at His feet and simply pray.

To close my eyes and seek His face,
To wash my heart in quiet grace;
No more wrong from these hands of mine
Let His light through my darkness shine.

Her Voice

“Fear not, my child… I’m here with you,”
A whisper soft, yet firm and true;
Through every fall and every climb,
I feel that voice beyond all time.

When storms arise and nights grow long,
It hums within me like a song;
In silent tears, in silent prayer,
I know somehow that she is there.

No matter what this world may prove,
I walk wrapped in her unseen love;
A shield, a blessing from above
My one, my forever… Mom.

When Karma Speaks

 Truth is known to eyes that see,
It waits in quiet dignity;
Though hidden now by lies and blame,
It burns untouched by fear or shame.

Justice walks a patient way,
It does not rush, yet does not stray;
False words and hearts with dark intent
Build their own walls of punishment.

A day will rise, as days all do,
When mirrors show what once they threw;
And when their echoes turn them weak,
That is the hour when Karma speaks.

Then slowly, through their fall and pain,
They’ll taste the truth they once made vain;
Too late perhaps, but clear and strong
They’ll know at last they were the wrong.

White lies

All are white lies dressed in light,
Smiling faces, hearts not right;
Those who say they stand with you,
Fade away when storms break through.

We call them close, we call them near,
Yet truth is something else we hear;
They act so kind, so pure, so wise,
While shadows move behind their eyes.

Back they whisper, twist, and blame,
Throwing dirt without a name;
Let them drown in words they sell
Their shallow thoughts can go to hell.

The Hollow Within

 There’s a hollow I cannot name,
A quiet ache without a face;
As if something slipped from my hands,
Or time stole more than I could trace.

It feels like loss without goodbye,
Like someone pulled my world away;
An unseen force, a sudden shift,
That left my heart unsure to stay.

Insecurity knocks loud at night,
Whispers fears I try to hide;
It says I’m small, I’ll lose it all
That nothing good is on my side.

But maybe what is torn apart
Is only making room inside;
Maybe every shaken ground
Prepares a stronger place to stride.

Break the Spell

 Laziness wraps around my day,
A silent thief that steals my way;
Though fire within me wants to rise,
It dims beneath those heavy sighs.

It pulls me down like gentle chains,
Soft excuses, sweet remains;
I fight a little—then give in,
Like a helpless child within.

Time slips past in quiet defeat,
Dreams fall down at my own feet;
Oh God, lift me from this haze,
Guide my steps through brighter days.

Give me strength to stand and start,
Discipline within my heart;
No more surrender, no delay
Lead me on the rightful way.

Tides - Wishes

Upon the shore the restless waves arise,
With silver arms that stretch beneath the skies;
They long to reach, to hold the waiting land,

To pull it close within their cooling hand.

Each day they rush with hope’s unbroken might,
They try, retreat, then gather strength to fight;
Though knowing well the shore will never yield,
Still back they charge across the open field.

The shore just smiles beneath the sunlit ray,
Unmoved, untouched, as waters fade away;
It knows no tide can drag it to the deep,
No roaring wish can claim what it will keep.

So are our wishes—waves that rise and fall,
And goals the shore that stands beyond them all;
The struggle roars, the patient smile remains
An endless dance of losses, hopes, and gains.

Rise

 It’s not their opinion that defines your name,
Not their comparisons, not their game;
Stand tall, don’t let their shadows win,
Your strength has always lived within.

Don’t bow your head for what is gone,
The past is dusk, the future dawn;
Stop counting losses, scars, and cost,
You are not broken, you are not lost.

Focus sharp on what you can do,
There’s power burning inside of you;
Be yourself: bold, awake, alive
This is your moment. Stand. Rise. Thrive.

After the Last Train - Part 8 - Final

 

The Ordinary Days

Days did not stop.

Office emails still arrived.
Meetings were still scheduled.
Files still required signatures.

Kabir returned to work.

At first, everything felt distant, like watching life through glass.

He avoided Platform 3.

He stopped noticing autos.

Coffee became just coffee again.

Weeks passed.

The sharp pain softened.

The memories blurred at the edges.

Her voice became harder to recall clearly.

Sometimes he tried to remember how she laughed 
but the sound would fade midway.

Gradually

He stopped checking old chats.

He stopped standing near the place where it happened.

He stopped waiting.

Routine is powerful.

It fills spaces.

It covers cracks.

It teaches you how to wake up, work, eat, sleep 
without reopening wounds.

Months later, he could go through an entire day without thinking of her.

Not because she meant little.

But because life kept moving.

And so did he.

Somewhere, deep inside,
a small corner still held a train platform,
an unfinished coffee,
and a soft voice saying

“Bye… thank you so much.”

But outside

He continued.

Just another man.

Just another day.

And many more days similar like this....

After the Last Train - Part 7

 

The Last Glance

Platform 3 waited quietly.

Kabir reached early.

He checked the clock.
7:38.

He checked his phone.
No message.

7:45.
A train arrived. People rushed. She didn’t step out.

7:52.
He called. It rang. No answer.

“Maybe traffic,” he muttered.

8:05.

Something inside him shifted from hope to mild irritation.

“Fine,” he whispered to himself. “If she doesn’t want to come…”

He slipped his phone back into his pocket and began walking out of the station.

The evening felt strangely heavy.

As he crossed the road outside, a small crowd had gathered ahead.

Vehicles were halted.
People were whispering.

He would have walked past.

He almost did.

But something — maybe instinct — made him look.

An auto stood crushed sideways.

And on the road—

A familiar bag.

His steps slowed.

His heartbeat didn’t.

It stopped.

Through the small gap in the crowd, he saw her.

Mira.

Lying still.

Someone was holding her hand.

Her eyes were half-open, searching — unfocused.

Then—

She found him.

Across the chaos.

Across the noise.

Across everything they never said.

For a second, the world went silent.

Her lips trembled.

In pain. In effort.

But she smiled.

Faint. Soft.

And with whatever breath was left, she whispered—

“Bye… thank you so much.”

Not accusing.

Not regretting.

Just grateful.

Her eyes slowly lost her hold on him.

The noise returned.

People moved.

Someone shouted for an ambulance.

But Kabir stood frozen.

Platform 3 was only a few steps behind him.

Yet he had never felt farther from her.

After the Last train - Part 6

 

The Silence That Spoke

Time did not stop.

It simply stretched.

Weeks passed with polite messages.

“Reached?”
“Yes.”
“Work fine?”
“Hmm.”

Words became shorter.

Feelings did not.

Mira had started leaving home earlier than necessary.
She told herself it was to avoid rush hour.

But sometimes, she stood near Platform 3 — just for a minute.

Not waiting.

Just standing.

As if the air there still remembered them.

Kabir had begun taking autos more often, even when buses were easier.

He would sit quietly, watching the side mirror.

Every time the auto driver adjusted it, he remembered how Mira once complained,
“Why do they always drive like they’re in a race?”

He smiled to himself.

Then looked away.

One afternoon, rain came suddenly.

Heavy. Unplanned. Loud.

Mira got stuck outside her office without an umbrella.

She laughed helplessly — because he always carried one.

She almost dialed his number.

Almost.

Instead, she stood under a small shade, letting the rain splash her shoes.

At the same time, miles away, Kabir noticed it was raining.

Without thinking, he checked his phone.

No message.

He locked it again.

Something was changing.

Not love.

Not care.

Just—

The way they held it.

That evening, she finally sent a message:

“Are you free for coffee sometime?”

It was simple.

No hidden meaning.

No dramatic pause.

He stared at it longer than he should have.

Then replied:

“Platform 3?”

She smiled.

“Platform 3.”

It wasn’t about trains anymore.

It wasn’t about convenience.

It wasn’t even about distance.

It was about choosing the same place —

Even after walking separate roads.

After the Last Train - Part 5

 

In Between Everything

Days adjusted.

They no longer stood on the same platform every morning.
No more shared coffee at 7:42.
No more predictable glances from across the tracks.

Now they traveled in opposite directions.

But strangely 

They began meeting in smaller, quieter places.

Mira would sit in her new office cafeteria, staring at a cup of coffee she barely drank.

She didn’t even like coffee much.

But the steam rising from it reminded her of the way Kabir used to hold his cup carefully, blowing on it as if it were fragile glass.

She would smile unknowingly.

At the same time, Kabir would step out of his office building and hear an auto driver argue loudly with a passenger.

Instantly 

He would turn his head.

For a second, he would expect to see her waving her hands dramatically, negotiating over five rupees as if it were a national debate.

He would almost smile.

Then remember.

She wasn’t there.

Distance did not shout.

It quietly slipped into daily routines.

She would draft emails and suddenly think, He would correct this sentence.
He would organize his files and think, She would mess this table in five minutes.

They didn’t call daily.

Not because they didn’t want to.

But because something delicate had entered between them — a carefulness.

One evening, while waiting for her train, Mira typed a message:

“Do you ever miss Platform 3?”

She stared at it for a long time.

Deleted it.

At the same time, Kabir stood near an auto stand, watching drivers argue.

He opened their chat window.

Typed:

“Coffee tastes bad alone.”

Deleted.

Neither wanted to sound needy.

Neither wanted to disturb the balance.

Yet

Whenever she saw coffee, she thought of him.

Whenever he saw an auto, he thought of her.

The city was full of reminders.

Not loud enough to hurt.

Not soft enough to ignore.

And somewhere between missed trains and unfinished messages

Their almost-love was learning to breathe quietly.

After the Last Train - Part 4

 

A Seat Without Reservation

The 8:10 train was different.

More crowded. More impatient. Less familiar.

Kabir stood near the door, slightly off-balance — not because of the train’s movement, but because he wasn’t used to not knowing the rhythm.

Mira held the overhead handle and looked at him sideways.

“Uncomfortable, Mr. Timetable?”

“I prefer structured chaos,” he replied.

She laughed. “This is unstructured chaos. Promotion comes with adventure.”

He noticed the small differences.

She stood more confidently now.
Her bag was heavier.
Her smile — the same.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked after a while.

“Because,” she said, “if I had told you before, you would have said ‘think practically.’ You would have calculated distance, time, fuel, comfort.”

“And that’s wrong?”

“No,” she smiled. “But sometimes I want to choose something before you measure it.”

The train jerked suddenly.

She lost balance slightly.

Without thinking, he held her wrist.

For a second, neither moved.

Then she slowly pulled her hand back.

“Relax,” she said lightly. “I won’t miss this train.”

He looked out the door.

“Platform 3 feels strange without you,” he admitted.

“Platform 1 felt strange without you too,” she replied softly.

A vendor squeezed between passengers shouting, “Chips! Biscuits!”

Mira bought a packet and handed it to Kabir.

“For emotional support,” she said.

He shook his head but took it.

“Tell me something,” she continued. “If one day I shift to a city where there is no train… what will you do?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

The announcement echoed: Next station…

He looked at her.

“I might finally be late.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“For what?”

“For once,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to reach before you.”

The train slowed.

Doors opened.

Crowd moved.

But this time 

Neither of them rushed.

After the Last Train - Part 3

 

The Girl Who Took Another Route

Kabir didn’t board the train.

Not because he believed the rumor.

But because something felt incomplete.

He turned to the tea stall uncle. “Which crossing?”

“Arrey, nothing serious maybe,” the uncle said quickly. “She didn’t die. Some small accident. People were saying she was arguing with an auto driver and stepped onto the road without looking.”

Kabir almost smiled.

Of course.
Arguing with auto drivers was her cardio.

That evening, he dialed her number again.

This time, it rang.

Once.
Twice.

Then—

“Hello?”

Her voice.

Alive. Normal. Slightly annoyed.

He didn’t realize he had been holding his breath.

“Mira?”

“Who else will pick up my phone?” she replied. “Why are you calling like you’re checking hospital records?”

He exhaled slowly. “Where have you been?”

“Different route.”

“What?”

“New job. Opposite direction. 8:10 train from Platform 1 now. Promotion, Mister Timetable.”

He processed that.

“You could have told me.”

“You could have asked earlier,” she shot back gently.

Silence stretched between them — not angry, just unfamiliar.

He walked toward Platform 1.

“Are you there now?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

He climbed the stairs two at a time.

There she was.

Standing near the pillar. Same messy hair. Same oversized bag. A small bandage near her eyebrow.

“You okay?” he asked, pointing at it.

She shrugged. “Fought with gravity. Gravity won.”

He stared at her for a second longer than usual.

“You didn’t miss the train forever,” he said quietly.

She smiled.

“I told you. I only miss trains. Not people.”

The announcement echoed.

8:10 local approaching Platform 1.

Kabir looked at his usual Platform 3 in the distance.

Then back at her.

“You know,” she said teasingly, “people can change trains.”

He adjusted his bag strap.

“Trains don’t wait,” he replied.

She stepped toward the arriving train.

“But people can move.”

The doors opened.

For the first time—

Kabir boarded her train.