Short Stories

 

Author Introduction – Kanza Imran Mughal

Kanza Imran Mughal is an emerging Pakistani author, researcher, blogger, and literary enthusiast whose work is distinguished by its emotional depth, psychological insight, and exploration of the silent dimensions of human experience. As an MPhil scholar in English Literature, her academic and creative pursuits are deeply interconnected, allowing her to blend literary artistry with critical inquiry. Her writing is inspired by renowned Pakistani authors, particularly Umera Ahmed, whose ability to weave spirituality, morality, and realism into compelling narratives has significantly influenced her literary vision.

Kanza's work centers on the complexities of human emotions, identity formation, trauma, resilience, love, loss, and personal transformation. She is especially interested in examining the psychological landscapes of individuals, with a particular focus on women's experiences, hidden struggles, and journeys toward self-discovery. Drawing upon psychoanalytic and feminist perspectives, her writing seeks to uncover the layers of meaning that often remain concealed beneath everyday interactions and unspoken emotions.

Her literary philosophy is rooted in the belief that the most profound stories are often found not in dramatic declarations but in moments of silence, reflection, and emotional vulnerability. Through her narratives, she endeavors to create meaningful connections between readers and characters, encouraging empathy, self-reflection, and a deeper understanding of the human condition.

Beyond creative writing, Kanza actively contributes to digital literary spaces through her blogging platform, where she shares reflections on literature, emotions, relationships, personal growth, and social issues. Her blog showcases her versatility as a writer and her commitment to engaging with contemporary concerns through thoughtful and accessible prose.

Kanza has also gained recognition through her contribution to the anthology What's Left Unsaid, published by House of Creation Publications. Her participation in the anthology earned her an official recommendation and appreciation letter from the publishing house, acknowledging her creativity, storytelling abilities, and unique literary voice. This achievement reflects her growing presence within Pakistan's contemporary literary community and highlights her potential as a promising author.

Academically, Kanza's research interests include psychoanalysis, feminist literary criticism, trauma studies, identity formation, and contemporary fiction. Her scholarly work enriches her creative writing, enabling her to produce narratives that are both intellectually engaging and emotionally resonant. Through both research and storytelling, she seeks to explore the intersections of psychology, culture, gender, and literature.

Author | Researcher | Blogger | Literary Critic
MPhil in English Literature
Contributor to the Anthology What's Left Unsaid
Exploring Silence, Psychology, Identity, and Human Resilience Through Literature

 

The Seventh Night at Haveli No. 17

 

In the heart of old Lahore stood Haveli No. 17, a mansion abandoned for more than seventy years. People said the house was cursed. Every family that tried to live there left within days, terrified by strange sounds and unexplained shadows.

When Sahar-un-Nisa, a young journalist from Karachi, heard the stories, she decided to uncover the truth. Armed with her notebook and camera, she moved into the haveli for one week.

The caretaker, Baba Kareem, watched her enter through the rusted gates.

“Leave before the seventh night,” he warned.

Sahar-un-Nisa smiled. “There are no ghosts, Baba.”

But the old man did not smile back.

The first few nights were quiet.

Then, at exactly three o’clock every morning, footsteps echoed through the empty corridors.

Slow.

Heavy.

Dragging.

When Sahar-un-Nisa followed the sound, she found nothing.

On the fourth night, she reviewed the photographs she had taken inside the haveli.

A chill ran through her body.

In every picture stood a woman dressed in white.

A woman who had not been there when the photographs were taken.

Baba Kareem looked at the images and whispered a name.

“Mehrbanu.”

Determined to learn more, Sahar-un-Nisa searched old records.

She discovered that the haveli once belonged to Gulrukh Begum, a powerful woman whose daughter, Mehrbanu, had disappeared during a mysterious fire.

Nobody had ever been found.

That same night, a storm swept across Lahore.

Thunder shook the walls.

As Sahar-un-Nisa sat alone, she heard someone crying.

The sound led her to a hidden room behind an old wooden door.

Inside stood a dusty mirror.

In its reflection appeared a pale woman with sorrowful eyes.

Mehrbanu.

The ghost slowly pointed toward the floor.

Beneath a faded carpet, Sahar-un-Nisa discovered a trapdoor leading underground.

There, hidden for decades, lay a skeleton wrapped in the remains of a bridal dress.

Beside it rested an old diary.

With trembling hands, she opened it.

The diary revealed a terrible truth.

Mehrbanu had fallen in love with a poor schoolteacher. Furious, her family locked her in the underground chamber. When a fire broke out in the haveli, everyone escaped except her.

She died alone in darkness.

As Sahar-un-Nisa finished reading, a cold wind filled the chamber.

The ghost of Mehrbanu appeared before her.

Not angry.

Not frightening.

Only heartbroken.

“I found your story,” Sahar-un-Nisa whispered.

The ghost's eyes filled with tears.

Then she smiled.

The next day, the skeleton was recovered, and the diary was published in newspapers.

For the first time in seventy years, the truth became known.

People came to the haveli carrying flowers and prayers for Mehrbanu's soul.

The strange sounds stopped.

The crying vanished.

The house finally grew silent.

 

On her final evening, Sahar-un-Nisa stood before the old mirror one last time.

For a brief moment, she saw Mehrbanu's reflection.

The sadness was gone.

Peace had replaced it.

The ghost raised a hand in farewell and slowly disappeared.

As dawn broke over Lahore, Sahar-un-Nisa left Haveli No. 17.

Behind her stood the old mansion, no longer haunted by fear.

Only by a story that had finally found its ending.

The End. 🖤📖

"Some ghosts do not seek revenge. They only wait for someone brave enough to tell their story."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Beyond Loss

"Some people leave this world, but their prayers remain behind like light in a dark room."

In a small village near the banks of the Chenab River lived Ruhan Ahmed, a quiet young teacher known for his kindness.

His greatest happiness was Elara; the girl he had loved since childhood.

They dreamed of a simple life together—a small home, a garden full of jasmine, and evenings spent watching the sunset.

Whenever Elara worried about the future, Ruhan would smile and say,

"What is written for us will never miss us."

And she believed him.

Their wedding was only three months away.

Families had begun preparing.

Clothes were stitched.

Invitations were discussed.

Dreams were becoming reality.

Then one winter evening, Ruhan was returning home from the city when a terrible accident occurred.

The road was slippery from rain.

The bus overturned.

Many survived.

Ruhan did not.

The news reached the village before dawn.

Elara felt her world collapse.

One moment she was a bride-to-be.

The next, she was a girl standing beside a grave.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks into months.

But the pain refused to leave.

Every prayer reminded her of him.

Every sunset reminded her of him.

Every heartbeat reminded her of him.

One night, unable to sleep, Elara walked to the village mosque after Tahajjud.

The world was silent.

The stars seemed unusually bright.

She sat beneath an old neem tree and cried.

"Ya Allah," she whispered, "why did You take him when we had so many dreams?"

No answer came.

Only the wind.

Then she remembered something Ruhan once told her.

"Sometimes Allah answers our prayers by giving us what we want. Sometimes He answers by giving us what we need."

For the first time, she wondered if grief itself carried a hidden message.

Months later, Elara visited Ruhan's mother.

The elderly woman handed her a small notebook.

"I found this among his things," she said.

Inside were Ruhan's personal reflections.

On the final page, Elara found words written only days before his death.

"Life is shorter than our plans."

"If I leave before those I love, I pray they never stop living because of me."

"Love should bring people closer to Allah, not farther away."

Tears blurred the ink.

For the first time since his death, Elara felt peace instead of pain.

Ruhan was gone.

But his faith remained.

His kindness remained.

His prayers remained.

Gradually, Elara returned to life.

She began teaching orphaned children in the village.

She helped widows learn to read.

She planted jasmine flowers around Ruhan's grave because he had always loved their fragrance.

People noticed a change.

The sadness was still there.

But it no longer controlled her.

Instead, it became compassion.

Years later, Elara stood beside the Chenab River at sunset.

The sky glowed gold and crimson.

For a moment, she remembered the young man who had once promised her a lifetime.

She smiled through her tears.

Not because she had forgotten him.

But because she finally understood.

Some love stories do not end with marriage.

Some end with prayers.

And some souls leave this world only to teach us how precious every moment truly is.

She raised her hands toward the sky.

"Ya Allah, protect him wherever he is."

The evening breeze touched her face.

And deep within her heart, she felt an answer.

Not in words.

But in peace.

 

 

 

Wonders of Hope

Ahana and Ali lived in a small town by the river. It was summer, and the sun was hot. The mango tree in their courtyard was full of green leaves and small flowers. Ahana loved the tree because it reminded her of happy festivals. She planned to make paper lanterns for the festival of lights that night. Ali wanted to help, but he felt a little worried because the sky had dark clouds.

Ahana smiled and said, “We will hang the lanterns tonight. It will be warm and bright.” Ali felt safe when his sister was with him. They were excited for the night, but Ali still felt some worry in his heart.

In the afternoon, clouds came quickly. A strong wind began to blow. Ahana and Ali watched the sky turn dark. Lightning flashed above the river. Ali’s kite, which they had flown in the morning, got caught in the tree. It slipped into the bushes by the river. Ali had worked hard on that kite. Now the storm felt scary, and the kite was lost.

Ahana held Ali’s hand and comforted him. “We will find it,” she said, even though she felt a little frightened too. She knew the river could be dangerous when it rained. The wind howled, and the mango leaves shook.

When the storm passed, they went outside. The moon was hidden by clouds, and the air was cool. Ali’s kite was not on the ground. It had fallen near the river’s edge. Ali remembered the sound of rushing water. He felt cold and worried.

“We must find your kite,” Ahana said calmly. “It will make everything better.” They walked carefully to the riverbank. A broken branch had fallen and the ground was slippery. Ali nearly slipped, but Ahana held him close.

They found the kite under an old tree by the river. Its string was tangled in the roots. Ali hugged the kite and smiled. Ahana saw the first star appear in the sky. Together they felt a warm happiness and relief.

That evening, the clouds cleared. Stars and a bright moon shone in the sky. It was time for the festival of lights. Ahana and Ali climbed the mango tree to hang the lanterns they had made. Neighbors came with sweets and flowers. In the soft glow of lanterns, people greeted each other with warm smiles and festival wishes.

Ahana remembered how scared they had been. Now she felt joyful. Ali held a small lantern and ran around laughing. The kite swayed gently with the night breeze, and Ali thought of the day he almost lost it.

Their mother brought out steaming cups of chai and sweet halva. Everyone sat together under the mango tree. They talked and sang quietly. Ahana and Ali felt safe and happy.

As the night went on, Ahana pointed to the sky. The stars looked like silver lanterns high above. “See, Ali,” she said softly. “Even the dark night is bright with hope.”

Ali hugged his sister. He forgot his fear from the storm. He only felt warmth from the lights and love from his family.

Under the glowing lanterns, Ali and Laila understood something important. They had faced fear together and helped each other. They turned their worry into happiness.

And so, on that summer night by the river, the lanterns of hope shone brightly for everyone. Light had come again after the storm.;

By: Kanza Imran Mughal