If you were going to open up a shop, what would you sell?
Not all shops sell things.Some sell hope.Some sell change.Some sell the belief that kindness can be bought — and given away — in the same moment.If I opened a shop, it wouldn’t be just shelves and counters.It would be a beating heart wrapped in four walls,a place where each item whispered a storyand every sale became a seed of change.
I would call it “The Giving Corner.”A space where books breathe hope,where handcrafted treasures carry the touch of their makers,and where even the smallest purchaseripples out to feed a hungry soul,lift a struggling dreamer,or plant dignity where the soil was once barren.In one corner, my words would rest —poems, stories, and thoughts stitched with care,waiting for hands to hold themand hearts to carry them forward.Because to me, a shop is not a business.It’s a bridge.
A way to connect your kindness to someone else’s tomorrow.A place where buying becomes giving,and every transactionis just another way of saying,“You matter.”And if you walked out of my shop,you wouldn’t just carry a bag.You’d carry a piece of someone’s hope.
💬 Your turn: If you opened a shop, what would your walls hold — and what would it stand for?#SocialImpact #Entrepreneurship #KindnessInAction #PenByZee
Novel : Tides of Destiny , Written by : Zoeb Ali (Zee)
Pre-Cap: Where We Left Off
In Chapter 17, Aileen stood on the stormy cliffside, gripping the mysterious artifact as the waves crashed violently below. Betrayal had come from within, and the truth about the journal and its cryptic symbols was finally unraveling. Just when she thought she was alone, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness—someone she once trusted. Was this the moment of reckoning, or was there still a way out?
Chapter 18: Shadows of the Past
The wind howled through the night, carrying whispers of the past that refused to be buried. Aileen’s fingers trembled around the artifact, its eerie glow illuminating the face of the figure before her. It was him. The one she never expected.
“You,” she whispered, voice barely audible over the storm.
The figure stepped closer, his expression unreadable. “You should have left it alone, Aileen.”
She took a step back, her boots skidding against the wet rock. The weight of the journal in her satchel pressed against her side—a reminder of the secrets it held, secrets she wasn’t supposed to uncover.
“Why?” Her voice was stronger now, laced with the sting of betrayal. “After everything, why deceive me?”
The answer came not in words but in motion. A sudden rush—a flash of steel. Aileen barely had time to react, ducking as the blade sliced through the space where she had stood. She stumbled backward, her heartbeat a frantic drum against her ribs.
“Hand it over, and this ends now,” he demanded, his voice dangerously calm.
But Aileen wasn’t ready to surrender. Not now. Not after coming this far.
Summoning every ounce of courage, she spun on her heel and bolted toward the only path left—the ruins. The crumbling remains of the ancient chapel loomed ahead, a ghostly silhouette against the storm-lit sky.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp stone and forgotten history. She pressed herself against a broken pillar, clutching the artifact tightly. Her pursuer’s footsteps echoed in the vast emptiness.
“You can’t hide forever,” he taunted. “You think you’re the first to try?”
Aileen’s breath came fast and shallow. Think, think. She glanced at the altar—the place where Eleanor’s journal had hinted something was buried. Could this be it? The final piece of the puzzle?
She reached out, her fingers tracing the worn carvings. A shift in the air, a soft click beneath her fingertips. And then—a sudden tremor. The ground beneath her quaked, dust cascading from the ceiling. A secret passage? A trap?
She had no time to hesitate. She leapt forward just as the floor gave way behind her, swallowing the past and the present in one terrifying collapse.
Post-Cap: What’s Next?
As Aileen plunges into the darkness below, what awaits her? Has she stumbled upon the final key to Eleanor’s secrets, or has she fallen into an even deadlier trap? And what will happen to the one who betrayed her?
Now, I’d love to hear from you! How do you think Aileen should proceed? Should she trust an unlikely ally in the depths below, or is she truly on her own? Drop your thoughts in the comments! If I choose your suggestion, I’ll @mention you in the next chapter with a message of your choice!
In the delicate petals of a rose lies the story of life itself. Each phase, from seed to bloom and eventual decay, mirrors the journey of humanity—its dreams, struggles, love, and wisdom.
This collection of poems draws inspiration from the rose, a timeless symbol of beauty, resilience, and impermanence, to explore the stages of existence. Through its transformation, we uncover reflections of our own lives: moments of innocence, fiery passions, and the quiet grace of aging. Step into the garden of words, where every rose tells a story—yours, mine, and ours.
First Poem: The Origin – Seed to Bloom
The Seed’s Whisper Beneath the soil, where shadows sleep, A quiet promise begins to keep. A seed, so small, yet dreams so wide, Holds the world’s beauty deep inside.
With gentle rains and sunlit beams, It stirs awake, weaving silent dreams. A tender sprout, so green, so shy, Reaches upward to kiss the sky.
Oh, fragile life, so full of grace, In the hidden corners, it finds its place. The spark of hope, the dawn of light, Breaking the soil, embracing the fight.
The seed’s journey, so pure, so true, A reflection of me, a reflection of you. In every beginning, a tale is spun, Where life’s great story has just begun.
Hi, I’m Zoeb Ali (Zee), a passionate writer who dreams of using words to inspire, educate, and give back. I’ve created three blogs, each representing a vital part of my heart and purpose:
Pen by Zee: My space for sharing mindful writing, poetry, novels, and stories that inspire and connect.
Charity with Zee: A platform for highlighting fundraising campaigns I lead for causes like Auckland City Mission, Kiwi Harvest, and New Zealand Mental Health.
NZ History with Zee: Dedicated to preserving and sharing New Zealand’s rich history to educate and engage readers.
Currently, I run these blogs on free platforms, but they limit my ability to deliver the high-quality, professional experience my readers and the causes I support deserve. I’m starting this fundraiser to raise funds for paid versions of these websites.
Your donation will directly support:
Professional website designs to enhance content delivery.
Expanding reach to engage more readers and supporters.
Amplifying my charity efforts for greater community impact.
With your help, I can unlock the full potential of these blogs to inspire, educate, and make a difference. Every contribution matters, and together, we can bring this vision to life.
Recap: In the heart of the underground chamber, Aileen and Lucas uncovered the secrets locked within Eleanor’s journal. They discovered the truth about the artifact—a mysterious object with the power to bend time and influence destiny. The journal hinted at a betrayal that could shatter their mission, leaving them unsure of whom to trust. As shadows danced on the stone walls, Eleanor’s apparition whispered warnings, vanishing abruptly with a chilling gust of air. A hidden door revealed a tunnel leading deeper into the unknown, compelling them forward despite their rising fear.
Aileen’s grip on the artifact tightened as she and Lucas descended into the shadowy corridor. The air grew colder, and the faint sound of whispers echoed around them, as though the walls themselves carried secrets. Every step felt like a test, the weight of Eleanor’s warnings pressing heavily on their shoulders.
“Do you think we’re walking into a trap?” Lucas asked, his voice hushed but edged with tension.
Aileen hesitated. “We don’t have a choice. Whatever lies ahead, it’s the only way to uncover the truth.”
The passage widened, revealing a cavernous room lit by an eerie blue glow. Strange symbols etched into the stone pulsated faintly, drawing their eyes toward an ornate pedestal at the center. Upon it rested a crystalline orb, its swirling core alive with shifting colors that seemed to whisper unintelligibly.
“This must be it,” Aileen murmured, stepping closer.
But before she could touch the orb, a voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
“Don’t move!”
They spun around to see Marcus, their trusted ally, emerging from the shadows. His face was a mask of determination, but there was something cold in his eyes. Behind him, several armed figures stepped into view, blocking their retreat.
“Marcus?” Aileen’s voice wavered. “What are you doing here?”
His lips curled into a smirk. “Did you really think I was helping you out of loyalty? You were so focused on your quest, you didn’t see the bigger picture.”
Lucas stepped protectively in front of Aileen. “What are you talking about? We trusted you!”
Marcus gestured to the orb. “That artifact is more than just a relic. It’s a key to unimaginable power—power that doesn’t belong in your hands. I’ve been following Eleanor’s trail for years, and now, thanks to you, I’m finally here.”
Aileen’s mind raced, piecing together the journal’s cryptic warnings. “You… you’re the betrayal Eleanor warned about.”
Marcus’s smirk widened. “Call it betrayal if you want. I call it destiny.”
Before anyone could react, Marcus raised his hand, and the orb began to glow brighter. The room shook violently as the symbols on the walls flared to life, casting chaotic shadows. Aileen and Lucas were thrown to the ground, struggling to keep their footing.
“What are you doing?!” Aileen shouted, her voice barely audible over the rising cacophony.
“I’m claiming what’s mine,” Marcus declared.
The orb’s light expanded, enveloping the room in blinding brilliance. Aileen shielded her eyes, feeling a strange pull, as though the artifact was drawing her toward it. The whispers grew louder, forming fragmented words—pleas, warnings, and cries for help.
In the chaos, Lucas lunged at Marcus, tackling him to the ground. The two grappled, their shouts mingling with the deafening hum of the orb’s energy. Seizing the moment, Aileen scrambled toward the pedestal, her instincts screaming that she needed to act.
The moment her hand touched the orb, a surge of energy coursed through her. Time seemed to freeze—Marcus and Lucas were suspended mid-struggle, the light frozen in its expansion. Aileen felt herself pulled into a vision: Eleanor, standing in a field bathed in golden light, holding the artifact.
“You have the power to change everything,” Eleanor said, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “But be warned—every choice comes with a price.”
The vision faded, and Aileen was back in the chamber. The orb’s energy subsided, and time resumed. She stumbled back, her hand trembling as she released the artifact.
Marcus broke free from Lucas’s grasp, his face contorted with rage. “What did you do?!”
Aileen stared at him, her resolve hardening. “I made a choice. And now, it’s my turn to finish what Eleanor started.”
Marcus lunged for the orb, but a shockwave erupted from the pedestal, sending him and his followers sprawling. The chamber began to collapse, the walls cracking and debris falling from the ceiling.
“Run!” Aileen shouted, grabbing Lucas’s hand and pulling him toward the exit.
As they fled through the crumbling tunnel, Aileen couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The artifact’s power had been awakened, and its impact would ripple far beyond what she could imagine.
But one thing was clear—trust had become a luxury, and the line between ally and enemy was more blurred than ever.
What lies ahead for Aileen and Lucas? Will they outmaneuver Marcus and uncover the full truth of the artifact’s power? And what price will they pay for the choices they’ve made?
The answers awaited them, shrouded in the shadows of destiny.
I have decided to reveal my gift that I intend to give to the winner of my contest. This is a cool pen that spins. so if you have ADHD or like to spin without a win, here’s your choice.
So far I have not received any entries in form of comments or shares for the contest so please get it in sooner.
Looking forward to hear from you all. Have a great day and be safe and enjoy your time with whatever activity you do or your family and friends. Keep in touch. See you soon in next blog.
Aileen Rose, a struggling historian, receives an unexpected inheritance: an old, sprawling manor on the outskirts of a quiet seaside town. With the promise of answers about her mysterious lineage, Aileen arrives at the crumbling estate, unaware of the secrets hidden within its walls.
Chapter 2: Whispers of the Past
As Aileen explores the manor, she uncovers remnants of its storied past, including faded portraits, an enigmatic family tree, and a locked chest. Villagers warn her of the manor’s curse, but Aileen’s determination grows when she discovers a journal belonging to Eleanor Rose, an ancestor shrouded in tragedy.
Chapter 3: Echoes in the Darkness
Strange occurrences plague the manor—flickering lights, chilling drafts, and distant footsteps in the night. Eleanor’s journal entries paint a picture of forbidden love and betrayal, hinting at a curse tied to the manor’s past. Aileen resolves to uncover the truth, even as unease grows.
Chapter 4: The Stranger’s Warning
A mysterious stranger appears at the manor, cautioning Aileen against delving deeper. He claims the curse is real and connected to Eleanor’s journal, but refuses to share more. The cryptic encounter leaves Aileen questioning his motives.
Chapter 5: The First Revelation
Aileen discovers a hidden passage in the manor leading to an underground chamber filled with dusty relics. Among them, she finds a sealed letter addressed to Eleanor, revealing a romance doomed by social divides. The curse seems tied to a lover’s betrayal.
Chapter 6: Shadows of Deception
Aileen learns of a feud between the Rose family and another powerful lineage in the town. Rumors of jealousy, greed, and vengeance surrounding Eleanor’s time deepen the mystery. The stranger reappears, this time leaving Aileen with a cryptic warning about a “debt unpaid.”
Chapter 7: The Curse Unveiled
A chilling entry in Eleanor’s journal describes a fateful night when love turned to tragedy. Eleanor’s lover was accused of treachery, leading to a betrayal that sealed the manor’s curse. Aileen begins to feel the weight of her family’s dark legacy.
Chapter 8: A Link to the Present
While exploring the manor’s chapel ruins, Aileen finds a relic—a lock of hair bound with Eleanor’s initials. It feels charged with emotion, as though it carries part of Eleanor’s story. Villagers grow wary of Aileen’s persistence, adding tension to her journey.
Chapter 9: A Haunting Truth
Aileen deciphers more journal entries, uncovering Eleanor’s plea for forgiveness and a secret she took to her grave. As eerie phenomena escalate, Aileen starts to suspect the manor itself is alive with the memories of its tormented past.
Chapter 10: The Journal’s Revelation
Eleanor’s final entries reveal the tragic culmination of her love story and the curse she believes she unleashed. Aileen is drawn into the depths of the manor, where she encounters the stranger once more, this time holding answers she desperately needs.
Chapter 11: The Hidden Chapel
Guided by Eleanor’s words and the relic’s pull, Aileen uncovers a hidden chapel beneath the manor. Within its walls lie chilling artifacts and cryptic symbols that deepen the mystery. The curse seems closer to being unraveled, but danger looms as the stranger’s motives remain unclear.
Next in Chapter 12: A Chilling Discovery
As Aileen ventures further into the chapel, a series of startling discoveries pull her closer to Eleanor’s truth and the curse’s origin. Will she uncover the manor’s darkest secrets, or will she become its next victim?
Stay tuned as the story unfolds! Read Chapter 12 on my next blog. Like, share, and subscribe to follow Aileen’s journey in Tides of Destiny.
Chapter 11: A Glimpse of Truth The chilling revelation in the secret chamber lingered in Aileen’s mind as she retraced her steps up the spiral staircase. In Chapter 10, she had unearthed a weathered map and cryptic letters that hinted at betrayal, sacrifice, and forbidden love—threads intricately woven into the tapestry of the manor’s dark past. The map’s faded ink and torn edges seemed to mark locations both within and outside the manor. As for the letters, Damien’s name was mentioned, alongside cryptic references to a mysterious figure, simply addressed as The Keeper. The storm brewing outside mirrored the tempest in Aileen’s heart. The journal entries, the letters, and the eerie connection with Eleanor’s ghost pointed to something far more sinister than just a tale of lost love. Something had been hidden—something dangerous.
The following morning, Aileen sat in the parlor, the journal and letters spread before her. The manor was quieter than usual, as though holding its breath. The map haunted her thoughts, its markings leading to unknown secrets. Eleanor’s words whispered through her mind: “The storm will come, and with it, the truth will rise.” A sudden knock at the front door startled her. She hadn’t expected visitors. Brushing her thoughts aside, she rose to answer, only to find the local historian, Mr. Fletcher, standing in the rain-soaked doorway. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes carried a mix of curiosity and concern. “I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, stepping inside and shaking the water off his coat. “I thought you might need some help with your research.” Aileen hesitated before nodding. “I’ve found some… interesting things.” She led him to the parlor and gestured to the scattered papers. Mr. Fletcher examined them with a practiced eye. “This map,” he murmured, tracing the lines with a finger. “It leads to the estate’s southern woods, near the ruins of an old chapel.” “Chapel?” Aileen’s voice wavered. The word stirred something deep within her. “Why wasn’t it mentioned in any of the records I read?” “It was destroyed over a century ago,” Mr. Fletcher replied. “There were rumors, though—about strange rituals, a secret society, and a treasure hidden beneath its altar.” Aileen’s pulse quickened. “Treasure?” “Not gold or jewels,” he clarified. “Something more profound. Some say it’s the truth about the manor’s curse.”
The rain had subsided by the time Aileen and Mr. Fletcher reached the ruins of the chapel. The ground was soft beneath their boots, the air thick with the scent of moss and decay. The ruins were overgrown, the remnants of stone walls barely visible through the tangled vines. With Mr. Fletcher’s help, Aileen navigated to the center of the ruins, where the altar once stood. The map indicated a spot nearby. Aileen knelt, brushing aside the leaves and dirt until her fingers hit something solid—stone. “Help me,” she urged, and together they cleared the area to reveal a stone slab, engraved with a symbol that matched the design on the map. Mr. Fletcher frowned. “This symbol… it’s older than the manor. Medieval, perhaps.” Aileen’s heart raced as they pried the slab open. Beneath it was a narrow tunnel leading into the earth. The air was cold and musty, carrying a sense of foreboding.
The tunnel descended sharply, the walls lined with ancient carvings. Aileen’s flashlight cast long shadows, revealing depictions of angels and demons locked in battle. At the end of the passage was a small chamber, its walls covered in murals. In the center stood a pedestal, upon which rested a single, unmarked chest. With trembling hands, Aileen opened the chest. Inside was a bundle of parchment, fragile with age. Unfolding the top sheet, she gasped. It was a confession—a declaration of guilt and love written by Eleanor. The letter revealed the truth about Eleanor and Damien’s tragic love, but it also mentioned The Keeper as someone who had forced their hand, threatening them with ruin if they didn’t comply with a sinister plan.
As they left the chapel ruins, Aileen’s mind was ablaze with questions. Who was The Keeper? What was this plan that had doomed Eleanor and Damien? And how was Aileen herself connected to all of this? Back at the manor, as Aileen prepared to study the letters further, she heard a faint melody echoing through the halls—a song she recognized from her dreams. Following the sound, she arrived at the grand piano in the parlor. The lid was open, but no one was there. On the piano’s surface lay a single rose, its petals as crimson as blood. Aileen picked it up, and a voice—Eleanor’s voice—whispered from nowhere: “Beware, Aileen. The truth you seek comes at a cost.” The piano lid slammed shut, the sound echoing through the house, leaving Aileen standing alone in the dimly lit room, the weight of Eleanor’s warning heavy in her chest.
The storm Eleanor had cryptically mentioned was not far off—Aileen could feel it in her very bones. The day was unusually still, with the kind of silence that pressed against her ears, amplifying the smallest sounds: the creak of the manor’s old wood, the faint rustle of leaves outside, and her own shallow breaths. The journal and the newfound key felt heavier than ever in her hands, as though they carried the weight of lives long past.
Aileen decided she needed clarity, and the only way to get it was to confront the lingering specters of the manor head-on.
The Mirror’s Echo
The mirror in the study had taken on a foreboding presence since Eleanor’s ghostly appearance. Something about it now called to Aileen, as though it held not only her reflection but also the fragments of a deeper truth. Armed with a flickering candle and the journal tucked under her arm, she returned to the room.
The mirror’s surface was once again undulating faintly, a ripple breaking across its silvery depths. This time, as she stepped closer, Eleanor’s figure emerged more sharply, as if waiting. Her lips moved, and though no sound escaped the glass, Aileen felt the words resonate in her mind:
“The garden was where it began… and where it must end.”
The connection severed abruptly, and the mirror turned flat once more. But not before something else flickered into view: a shadow behind Eleanor’s spectral figure, broad-shouldered and menacing, with eyes that glinted like cold steel. Aileen stumbled back, gripping the journal tightly, her pulse roaring in her ears.
Unearthing the Past
Determined to follow Eleanor’s clue, Aileen returned to the garden, where the neglected fountain stood sentinel over the overgrown remains of a once-beautiful sanctuary. The ornate key now felt like an extension of her, its cool metal grounding her as she approached the fountain.
She bent down, tracing the carvings of angels once more. One cherub’s outstretched hand seemed to point toward the fountain’s base. Digging through the soft earth, Aileen uncovered a latch—rusted, but still intact. The key fit perfectly.
With a groan, the stone base shifted, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was a weathered wooden box, its hinges fragile but functional. Aileen’s fingers trembled as she lifted the lid to reveal its contents: a bundle of letters tied with a faded ribbon, a gold locket, and a small vial of what looked like dried blood.
The letters were addressed to Eleanor, penned in a hand both elegant and urgent. The ink spoke of love, betrayal, and despair, the words heavy with Damien’s desperation. One letter, however, stood out. It was unsigned, the handwriting jagged and frantic:
“The storm will not forgive. Neither will I. This house will be your tomb, Eleanor, and his too.”
Confrontation in the Halls
Aileen felt the cold embrace of fear as she returned inside. The manor seemed alive, the shadows growing deeper, the walls pulsing faintly as though the house itself was reacting to her discoveries. As she climbed the staircase, footsteps echoed behind her. Turning sharply, she saw no one, yet the sound persisted, closing in.
She broke into a run, her heart pounding as she reached her room and slammed the door shut. The candle flickered violently, then extinguished, leaving her in darkness. A whisper, faint but chilling, curled around her like smoke:
“You’ve seen too much.”
The air turned frigid, and Aileen felt a presence behind her. Whipping around, she faced an empty room—save for the journal, which had fallen open on the floor. The ink on its pages was bleeding, the words shifting and reforming:
“The truth lies beneath the ballroom.”
The Ballroom’s Secrets
The ballroom had always been locked, its grand doors adorned with gilded handles that spoke of elegance long past. Aileen hadn’t dared to approach it until now. With the journal clutched to her chest and the newfound locket hanging around her neck, she descended the stairs, her steps echoing ominously.
The doors swung open effortlessly, as though the house itself was inviting her in. The room was breathtaking even in its decay: a massive chandelier hung precariously, its crystals casting fragmented light across the cracked marble floor. Faded murals adorned the walls, depicting scenes of celebration that seemed to watch her with sorrowful eyes.
At the room’s center was a large circular panel on the floor, its design matching the carvings on the fountain. Aileen knelt and ran her fingers over the edges, finding the faintest groove.
The key fit once more, and the panel shifted, revealing a staircase spiraling down into darkness. Aileen hesitated, the weight of Eleanor’s words echoing in her mind. “The garden was where it began… and where it must end.”
Descent into Shadows
As Aileen descended, the air grew colder, the scent of damp earth and mildew filling her nostrils. The faint sound of water dripping echoed in the dark. Her candle barely illuminated the path, its flickering light casting monstrous shadows on the stone walls.
At the bottom, she found herself in a cavernous chamber, its walls lined with alcoves holding dusty relics: masks, jewels, and weapons, all seemingly untouched for centuries. At the room’s center was a stone pedestal, upon which rested a book bound in black leather, its cover engraved with a symbol she had seen before—on the locket around her neck.
As she reached for the book, a voice rang out, low and commanding:
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
A figure stepped out from the shadows, his face obscured by a hood. He held a torch, its flame illuminating sharp features and eyes that bore an unsettling resemblance to Damien’s portrait.
“Who are you?” Aileen demanded, her voice trembling but firm.
The man tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “The one who has been waiting.”
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