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Toxic Dump

Sana: The Fall

Ahmed was sixteen when the truth slipped through the cracks of his perfect world. It happened in the cadet college hostel, late after lights-out. His roommate and closest friend, Bilal—son of a brigadier, sharp-eyed, always scrolling private Telegram channels—leaned over from the top bunk. “Bro, your mom’s

Sana: The Relapse

Years had passed since Sana Aftab’s last “meeting.” She was thirty-nine now, still turning heads on @SanaStylesPK, which had crossed 400,000 followers. The main feed was cleaner: sponsored shoots in Karachi studios, modest-yet-chic western wear, motherhood reels with Ahmed (now fifteen, tall and quiet). She had married again—

Sana: The Descent

Sana Aftab stared at her phone screen, the glow illuminating her face in the dim light of her bedroom in Westridge, Rawalpindi. It was past midnight, and the house was quiet—her parents asleep in the adjacent room, her 10-year-old son, Ahmed, snoring softly down the hall. At 35, Sana

Alice in Wonderland: The Homecoming Parade

The apartment in Bahrain’s Seef district was quiet at 9:17 p.m., the kind of quiet that comes after a long day of surgery—the scalpels laid down, the sutures tied—and the low, persistent hum of the air-conditioner struggling against the Gulf heat that seeped through the

Alice in Wonderland: The Farmhouse Feast

The farmhouse lay an hour south of Lahore, past the last toll plaza where the Ravi’s flood-plain flattened into endless fields of sugarcane whispering in the hot wind, the air thick with the sweet rot of harvest and distant woodsmoke. Alice had come because her cousin Sana had begged—

Alice in Wonderland: The First Fracture

The monsoon of 2015 had turned Karachi’s streets into black mirrors, reflecting the sodium lamps and the grief that clung to every wall of the old house in Clifton like a second skin. Alice was twenty-two, freshly graduated from Dow Medical College, her white coat still carrying the sharp

Aysha and Taimur: The Revelation

The monsoon arrived early that year, turning Islamabad’s streets into silver rivers that reflected the bruised velvet of the Margalla Hills, rain lashing the city like divine judgment. Inside the F-7/2 house, the air-conditioning hummed like a guilty secret, struggling against the humidity that seeped through cracks—the

Aysha and Taimur: The Exploration

The flight to Dubai was Taimur’s idea, sprung on Aysha three weeks after that rain-soaked night when the generator failed and they first shattered every boundary. “You need a change of air,” he said over breakfast, sliding the printed itinerary across the teak table like a secret treaty—Emirates,

Aysha and Taimur: The Unravelling

The house in F-7/2 had always been too large for three people, its marble corridors echoing with the ghosts of conversations that never quite filled the space. After Engr. Farooq Ahmed's funeral, it became cavernous, a mausoleum of polished brass and unspoken grief. Aysha, forty-nine and suddenly

Alex: Bunkhouse Heat

By the time Alex’s thumb snagged a ride off the interstate and onto the winding backroads of Vermont, the late-summer air had turned crisp, carrying the scent of cut hay, woodsmoke, and the faint musk of cattle drifting from distant pastures. The driver—an older farmer in a rusted

Alex: Small Town Secrets

After parting ways with Hank, Alex hitched a couple more rides that carried him deeper into the heartland. By late afternoon, he found himself in a dusty speck of a town in rural Kansas—population barely scraping a thousand, with faded billboards and a main street that time forgot. His

Alex: Roadside Rendezvous

Alex had just turned 18 a few weeks ago, fresh out of high school and itching for adventure. With a backpack slung over his shoulder and a thumb extended toward the endless ribbon of highway, he set out to hitchhike across the US—from the bustling streets of New York

Sabeen: In The Lounge

Zara was eighteen now, home from freshers’ week with a duffel full of laundry and a head full of new freedoms. The house in Wimbledon smelled the same: cardamom, cedar, and the faint jet-fuel ghost that clung to Dad’s uniforms. She’d let herself in quietly at 11:47

Sabeen: With Evidence

Zara was sixteen when the evidence began to pile up like contrails. She woke to the soft click of the front door at 12:03 a.m.—the same sound that ended every “client dinner.” She lay still, counting the familiar choreography: heels off in the hallway (two muted thuds)

Sabeen: At the Dorchester

The click of Sabeen’s Louboutins echoed through the glass corridors of Canary Wharf like a metronome keeping time for her double life. At forty-two, she still turned heads in the open-plan trading floor of Harrington & Black—tailored charcoal suits, silk blouses the colour of fresh blood, and those

Elena and Lucas: The Heavy Scar

Elena’s mind was a storm she couldn’t outrun. This is my son. The thought hit like a slap every time Lucas moved inside her (his cock stretching her ass, his breath hot on her neck). My baby boy, who used to cry when I left the room. But

Elena and Lucas: The Night Calm

Elena’s fingers still glistened with their mingled release when she pushed Lucas onto his back. His cock, half-hard and slick with cum, twitched against his stomach. She crawled between his thighs, the mattress creaking under her knees. “Mom—” he started, voice hoarse. “Shh.” She licked a stripe up his

Elena and Lucas: The Desert Heat

The radiator gave one last death-rattle hiss before the hood filled with steam. Elena killed the engine and slumped against the steering wheel, forty years old and suddenly ancient. Her sundress clung to her thighs like wet paper; sweat traced the hollow of her spine. In the passenger seat, Lucas—