History

Two Shoes in the Sand
The beach was quiet that morning. The kind of quiet that only came after the storm had passed. The air was still heavy with salt and damp, and the sky, though clearing, held streaks of bruised gray clouds retreating toward the horizon.
By ibrahimkhan9 months ago in Chapters
The house surrounded by colors
The house was at the end of the village. People used to say, "It seems to live on its own." Day after day, night after night, someone painted on the walls of that abandoned house—living pictures, just like the deepest dreams of the human heart!
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters
"The room where the clocks forgot the time"
Letter without a stamp That day, Mira was quietly packing her clothes, drenched in the scent of lavender. Her life had been on hold for a long time. Thistledown was like that—where no one new came, no one brought news, and even the air was old.
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters
Red window house
The sky seems to be painted with the colors of unspoken words. A pale golden hue, woven with the stitches of silence.
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters
John Law: The Man Who Printed Wealth—and Broke an Empire.
Before Bitcoin or stimulus packages, there was John Law — a man who walked into France with no army, no noble blood, and no throne... just an idea. And that idea? That money doesn’t need to be gold. It can be belief.
By Kamran Khan9 months ago in Chapters
Becoming by Michelle Obama: In-depth review
Have you ever wondered what it truly takes to maintain your authentic self while navigating the world's most scrutinized stage? Or questioned how someone can emerge from eight years under the relentless spotlight of the White House with their dignity, humor, and humanity not just intact, but somehow enhanced? This memoir provides those answers in ways that are both profoundly personal and universally resonant.
By Soibifaa9 months ago in Chapters
Journal of Napoleon Bonaparte
Saint Helena, 1815–1821 October 17, 1815 – Longwood House, Saint Helena So this is it. An island lost in the Atlantic mist — a barren rock guarded by winds, warships, and indifference. Saint Helena. Once, I crossed empires in weeks. Now it takes hours to walk from one end of my world to the other.
By Alain SUPPINI9 months ago in Chapters
Heart of the Machine
Heart of the Machine Chapter 1: Born in a Box In a small electronics workshop in Bangalore, India, a computer was assembled piece by piece. The technician, Ramesh, handled every component with care. First came the motherboard, the main circuit board where everything would connect. Then he gently placed the CPU—a powerful Intel Core i7—into its socket and secured a cooling fan on top. This was the brain of the machine.
By M.Shahedul Hoque9 months ago in Chapters
The girl who wrote in the rain
The First Drop Rini sits by the window every evening when it rains. With hot ginger tea in hand, her mind seems to be lost in the old smells—wet earth, old letters. But that evening, a line floated on the glass:
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters
The house that was waiting for him
The letter without a stamp Lena received that letter one Tuesday afternoon. She hadn't been in the attic for many years. Maybe not since her father's death. But that day, there was an invisible pull—toward a forgotten plank, where dust silently gathered, and emptiness breathed.
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters
The last words of the letter
Simanti slowly got off the bus. It took her several years to return to this village, leaving the hustle and bustle of the city behind. Her childhood home was now almost deserted. After her grandmother's death, the house had become frozen like an old picture hanging in the chest of time.
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters
The house where the rain never stops
When Elliot first saw the house, he wasn’t looking for anything. Or so he tried to tell himself. That autumn morning, his shoes were heavy with mud as he walked along the forest path. His scarf was covered in wet mist, and each step felt like he had been walking for centuries. The camera bag slung over his shoulder—a memory of a time when taking pictures meant understanding life, keeping it alive.
By Canvas Whispers9 months ago in Chapters