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 (109)
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The Last Voice Message
I wasn’t asleep. I never am anymore. Night has become a quiet battlefield for me. Thoughts line up like soldiers, memories attack without warning, and silence feels heavier than noise. So when the screen lit up, I stared at it for a long moment, unsure whether to breathe or panic.
By Salman Writes15 days ago in Fiction
When the City Forgot the Stars
The city never truly slept. It only pretended to rest between waves of noise and light. Neon signs pulsed like artificial heartbeats, flooding every street with color. Giant billboards promised happiness in bold fonts and perfect smiles. Cars rushed past like they were late for something important. And above it all, the sky stood silent, empty, stripped of its stars.
By Salman Writes28 days ago in Fiction
The Message I Deleted Too Many Times
I typed her name into my phone more times than I care to admit. Not to call. Not to text. Just to stare at it. Her contact sat there like a quiet reminder of everything I never said. Every night, I opened our chat, watched the blinking cursor, and closed it again. Words formed in my head but died on the screen.
By Salman Writes28 days ago in Critique
The Spanish Donkey: A Dark Instrument of Punishment in European History
History is often told through kings, wars, and revolutions. But hidden between those grand narratives are quieter, darker stories. Stories of ordinary people, unnamed in records, who experienced history not as progress, but as pain. One such story is tied to an object known as the Spanish Donkey, also called the Wooden Horse, an instrument of punishment used in parts of Europe during the late medieval and early modern periods.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in History
The Chair by the Window That No One Sits On Anymore
The chair is still there, facing the window, exactly where it has always been. Dust gathers on it now, quietly, patiently, like it knows no one is coming back to claim it. Some absences do not leave empty rooms. They leave furniture behind.
By Salman Writesabout a month ago in Fiction
