Faraz Parvez

  🚖 The Rickshaw That Drives Itself Genre: Urban Legend Horror Setting: Karachi's Saddar & Lyari districts Theme: Haunted transportation, revenge from the dead, folklore in a modern city By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) In the heart of Karachi, where Saddar’s chaos melts into Lyari’s shadows, a strange tale circulates among late-night rickshaw drivers. They whisper about a black-and-yellow auto-rickshaw , Plate #KYB 771 — with no driver inside . It appears around 2:30 AM. Empty. Engine humming. Lights on. Moving slowly down narrow streets. It stops. Waits. If you're desperate enough, you'll hop in. The seat is warm. The mirror tilts by itself. The ride feels normal… until you try to speak to the driver. And realize: there isn’t one. Saad, a medical student, hailed it one humid July night after a late shift at Civil Hospital. T...

  🏢 The Woman on the 13th Floor Genre: Psychological + Paranormal Horror Setting: High-rise apartment in Lahore Theme: Isolation, superstition, and an invisible neighbor By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) When Danish shifted into the newly built Burj Rosewood Heights , he didn’t think much of the fact that his apartment was on the 13th floor . Most buildings in Lahore skip the number out of superstition, labeling it 14A instead. But this developer hadn’t bothered. “Just a number,” Danish laughed. Until the night he heard the crying . It was faint. Muffled. A woman sobbing — sometimes humming — right next door. Only problem? The flat next to his was vacant . He asked the security guard. The reply chilled him. “Sir, that unit has been sealed since a woman… jumped from the balcony during construction. She was never identified. Some say she was...

  📱 Last Seen at 3:17 AM Genre: Digital Horror | Setting: Mumbai | Theme: Hauntings via messaging apps, surveillance, and digital possession By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) “You there?” That was the last message Zoya ever sent to her best friend Neha. It was 3:17 AM. Neha had gone offline — or so it seemed. Until the next day, when Zoya saw her WhatsApp status updated with a cryptic message: “Do not disturb the drowned. We are all swimming in borrowed time.” And a picture of Neha — wet hair, pale skin, staring into a dark mirror. The problem? Neha had drowned in a hotel pool two weeks ago. The funeral had taken place. Zoya had seen the body. So who was using her phone? Zoya panicked. But her phone kept receiving messages from Neha’s number. Each one came at exactly 3:17 AM. “I see you scrolling through my old pictures.” “You look tired...

  🏙️ Flat Number 703: The Lease That Never Ends Genre: Urban Horror | Setting: Karachi | Theme: Time loops, Real estate paranoia, Ghostly bureaucracy By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) They said the building was new. The paint still smelled fresh, the tiles gleamed, and the elevators hummed like purring cats. But something about Flat 703 always felt... too quiet. Shahmeer, a 32-year-old banker recently posted in Karachi, had been thrilled to find a luxury flat at half the market rent. “Urgent transfer. Fully furnished. Immediate lease. Flat 703, Tower V, Block 4 Clifton.” The ad almost sounded too eager. But who questions luck in a city like Karachi? He moved in on a Thursday. The weather was stormy. Rain lashed against the tinted windows. When he signed the lease, he noticed something odd: his signature — already scrawled at the bottom of the docume...

  💔 Monsoon Mein Likha Gaya Woh Khat (The Letter Written in the Rain – A Romantic Tragedy from Sindh) By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) Khairpur , Sindh. Monsoon, 1998. Every July, the old postman of Mehrabpur would walk the muddy lanes of the town carrying a faded blue envelope —sealed but never delivered. It was addressed to Shehnaz Bhutto , daughter of a school principal, who had once been engaged to Azeem Chandio , a budding poet of Shikarpur. They were the perfect storm: she wrote diaries in Urdu and Sindhi, he wrote verses that smelled of raat-ki-raani and revolution. But their love was interrupted by tribal ego and class pride. The letter was written on the eve of Azeem’s forced departure to Saudi Arabia , a decision made by his feudal uncle. He wrote of his longing, of the poems he would never recite, and of one promise: “If this letter ...

  🎭 Wazīr kī Betī Nehru Gallery Chali Gayi (The Minister’s Daughter Who Eloped with an Artist – A Satirical Social Drama) By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) Islamabad , 2017. Mahjabeen Khan , the only daughter of the fiery Interior Minister , was known for her perfectly curated public appearances: award ceremonies, press conferences, and even religious charity events. Clad in chiffon and silence, she was the poster child of obedient privilege . But inside her air-conditioned world of bodyguards and salon appointments, Mahjabeen kept a secret: she was in love—with Tabrez Alam , a struggling painter from Rawalpindi’s Raja Bazaar , whose only exhibition was once shut down by the very ministry her father ran. He painted her not as a beauty, but as a question mark —unfinished, defiant, restless. She became his muse, and he, her mirror. Then came the nigh...

  🩸 Nau Mandi Ki Saazish (The Conspiracy of the Ninth Market – A Psychological Horror) By Faraz Parvez Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal Retired Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA (Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal) Multan , 1993. In the shadowed alleyways behind Ghanta Ghar Bazaar , whispered rumors spoke of a “ninth mandi” —an invisible market that appeared only once a month, during the twilight hour between Asr and Maghrib. It was said to be where the damned traded memories for relief, and grief for illusions. Zeeshan , a young investigative journalist, laughed off these tales as Sufi folklore until he stumbled upon an old, unpublished column by his late grandfather— “Mandi No. 9 exists,” it read, “but only for those who’ve lost more than they can carry.” One Friday evening, Zeeshan followed the trail. He passed eight known mandis in the old city, each more crowded and chaotic than the last. But just as the azaan echoed faintly in the ba...