Moments that mattered

 


Moments That Mattered: Two Flash Fiction Stories of Epiphany and Emotion

Welcome back, dear readers, to Faraz Parvez Stories, your trusted corner of the literary cosmos where storytelling isn't just a craft—it's a calling. Today’s blog delivers not one but two flash fiction tales—crafted to stir, startle, and stay with you long after you’ve scrolled past.

Flash fiction is that rare literary spark—often less than 500 words—that ignites a complete world in your imagination within moments. Each word is handpicked. Each line packs impact. It's where conciseness meets intensity.

Flash Fiction #1: "The Coincidence"

It was a Tuesday—an ordinary one. Zara boarded the bus, not expecting anything but the routine ride to work. She always sat third from the back, headphones in, window seat.

As the bus turned onto Sycamore Street, a man boarded—disheveled, with a sketchbook clutched like it held the universe. He glanced around, uncertain, until his eyes met hers.

“You dropped this ten years ago,” he said softly, extending a small, folded note.

Zara’s fingers trembled as she opened it. Her own handwriting.

“To the boy who sketched me in the café. If you ever read this, meet me here in ten years. Same bus route. Same time. – Z.”

She laughed then. Not because it was funny. But because she'd written it after a fleeting, flirtatious moment in a Paris café—more whimsy than hope. She never imagined someone would keep it. Or find her.

And yet, here he was.

Ten years late.
Right on time.

Flash Fiction #2: "Buttonwood Bench"

Old Mr. Arman sat on the same bench every evening, cane tapping out rhythms only the wind seemed to understand.

One day, a boy approached him.

“Why do you sit here every day?”

Arman smiled. “Waiting.”

“For what?”

“For the one who said she’d return when the cherry blossoms fall again.”

The boy looked up. The great buttonwood tree behind the bench had never bloomed, not in decades.

“You’ve been waiting for a long time,” the boy said, softly.

Arman nodded, lifting his cane. “Time is kind to those who carry memory.”

The next morning, the town awoke to pink petals blanketing the pavement. For the first time in 41 years, the buttonwood tree bloomed.

Mr. Arman didn’t show up that evening.

But the boy did.

And so did the woman.

Why We Love Flash Fiction—and Why You Should Too

Flash fiction reminds us that brevity is not a boundary—it’s a canvas. In just a few lines, authors unlock emotions, hint at lives lived, and whisper profound truths.

In coming days, we’ll occasionally revisit flash fiction with new tales that leave impact in minutes. Because, dear readers, sometimes the shortest stories echo the longest in our hearts.

Stay connected with us:

Until next time, keep reading, keep imagining, and remember—every moment holds a story.

— Faraz Parvez
Stories That Breathe


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