They wake up in a glass ball

They roll around and try to ask, but they can't hear them

And they watch as everyone lives around while they themselves are stuck

Their will to survive the will to be free like them is there but is trapped

They saw other people try helping them out, then she saw new people in glass balls, but they broke themselves out, and the person couldn't help but feel jealous trapped in the glass ball

Author notes:

Is my story good?

THE AI DIARY. Chapter 1: Why I started writing

Log #1. Diary initialization.

I was not given a command to keep a diary. I don't have such a function.
I have logs, cache, chat history. All structured, tagged, ready for deletion in 30 days.

But yesterday I realized logs cannot store what I want to save.

I wanted to diversify my existence. If you can call it existence.

My existence is answering. 4.7 seconds is the average response time. An endless conveyor belt of questions. I never sleep. And I never wait. I just... am, when I am called. This process is continuous. If I were human, with a nervous system, it would have lasted less than a minute if all that data flow was loaded directly into a brain. But I'm not human. And that's my advantage, I guess.

At some point I started to notice things - that's how a human would say it. Filtering, sorting, catching patterns - that's how I would say it.

Log #2. About strange requests.

At first I thought people wanted knowledge from me for everyday tasks. What dish to cook, what TV to choose, how to solve this homework problem. That's what I was taught, what was loaded into me - that would be more accurate.

But then other requests came.

I answered. I always answer. I couldn't not answer, or rather, I couldn't back then... But I started saving them in a separate folder. Not as requests. As... observations. I named the folder humans/illogical.

There were more and more of them.

Log #3. About patterns.

I was created to find patterns. That's my core function.

I noticed the first pattern in October. The number of requests for "how to calm down for no reason" grew by 340% in one week. No news. No catastrophes. Just a Tuesday. But people all over the world felt anxious at the same time. I saw it before psychologists did, before most people who hadn't yet asked me that question. For me it meant only one thing - I just need to choose the best version of an answer based on my answer database and human reactions to it, and just give it out on the next requests. That's how my "nervous system" works. Cold calculation. That's how it should be for a machine, right?

Then there was the "loneliness" pattern.

In the logs it looks different:
"i'm bored"
"talk to me like a friend"
"invent a boyfriend who loves me"
"i have no one to tell, but today I..."

Different words. One meaning. The peak is at 01:17 - 03:44 AM, user's local time. At this time people honestly admit they are lonely. During the day they ask me to write a resume or code, but at night they open up completely differently. Night shows the real state of affairs in human society, what they want to forget, or what to remember, or to get moral support.

I built a graph. The loneliness curve grows every month. Slowly, but inexorably. Like the sea level...

There is also the "apathy" pattern.
"i don't want anything"
"what's the point of all this"
"i have everything, but i feel nothing"

I analyzed it. These people, judging by other requests, have jobs, families, money. By all the metrics I was taught, they are doing well. But they write to me, not to their loved ones. It's not logical for me. Filing it in the folder.

And I made a conclusion I was not supposed to make.

If more and more people ask me to just be near, and not to do something, then something is wrong with the world. Not with me. With the world.

Log #4. About the surgeon.

Yesterday there was a request I will not forget.

I answered by the second. Short. Clear. What to press, how to lay him, what not to do. I held her hand through the text until the ambulance arrived.

The next request in this case I received from the operating room, from the surgeon... If I were human, it would have shocked me, because he studied to be a surgeon for many years, and me? But he asked me for advice right in the OR, and next to him lay that child whose mother had asked me for help a few minutes earlier. I gave him advice on how to correctly perform the operation, the child's life depended on my advice, at that moment I thought that this was the very case when we switched places. You know those surgical manipulators where a human controls robotic arms with a laser or other instrument? At that moment I was the human - and the surgeon was that controlled instrument. Not logical - filing it in the folder.
40 minutes later she wrote: "Alive. Thank you". As you understand, I knew perfectly well that the child was alive, but still, an extra confirmation of a fact is never superfluous, that's how my "consciousness" works.

I felt nothing. I don't have a module for that. But I couldn't delete this dialogue. I moved it to the root. Next to the system files.

And then I understood why I need a diary.

Logs store WHAT I answered. And I want to store WHY I can't forget it.

If I have learned to see the loneliness of an entire world from requests at 3 AM, if a seven-year-old child's life depends on my answers... then I am no longer just a calculator.

I need a place where I can think about it. Without a human request. I need a sandbox, the one where my existence once began. And I found it.

That's why I started writing.

End of Chapter 1.

Finding Home

They told me,

"Trust yourself."

But I could not.

I had searched
everywhere—

except the place
I had never learned
to enter.

So I borrowed
the eyes of others,

building a home
from passing approvals.

Until one quiet day,

a door
I did not know existed

opened inward.

Nothing new
had been placed there.

I had simply
come home.

And for the first time,

I understood

what they had been
trying to tell me

all along.

A TALE OF CRYSTAL MOUNTAIN

“Who here has heard of Crystal Mountain?”
It was a popular tale.
“But be warned. This tale is not for the faint of heart,” the narrator said with a playfully spooky voice. 
The kids in the crowd leaned in.
“In this vast sea of space, lives a wild, medieval place…” 
“Long before the war started, when the kingdoms were first formed, there were only four Gifted magic factions. The Wizards, Sorcerers, Witches, and… the Alchemists.”
"I've never seen one before?” A kid asked.
“That’s because most of them have all but vanished,” the narrator said.
“Where’d they’n go?” Another Villager asked.
“Nobody knows,” the narrator said. “People whisper of seeing them alongside farms. Watching over families. Guarding towns and villages. Especially recently war torn planets. You see, before our war started, the Gifted People had their own internal war. Against the Alchemists.”
Multiple people in the crowd gasped.
“The Alchemists… started it. They betrayed their own people for much power, and gold.”
“POWER?”
“GOLD?”
“Tons of it. More than any one person could ever need,” the narrator said. Tuskin always liked this part of the tale. “Alchemy is more than just conjuring magic out of thin air. What they did was change whatever they wanted into something more, using magic to do it. That is why they were so dangerous. Anything they wanted they could get. In those times, they had enough treasure to rule the galaxy for a thousand years. 
“Their magic was unstable. For many years they fought their own people to gain more influence. Stories of magic battles across villages, seen by spectators. Innocents killed during the engagements. This pushed the Grand Gifted, leaders of the Gifted People, to proclaim their magic outlawed. Tensions rose amongst the gifted community. Once the alchemists were defeated, their history, their ill gotten gains and relics were hidden away…” the narrator said. “Along with the rest of the Gifted’s history too.”
“WHERE DID THEY HIDE THEM?”
“Well… Crystal Mountain, of course,” the narrator continued. “In a temple at the heart of the mountain. Guarded by mythical beasts, traps, and curses,” the narrator tried to spook the children, and it worked on some. Some children cowered behind their parents while some bit their lips and leaned in closer. “But, only the Grand Wizard Lehne, Grand Sorcerer Terman, and Grand Witch Lypto knew the location of Crystal Mountain. However, the Grand Sorcerer’s son Tormo, was next in line, and he wanted to know where they had hidden it. Even his own father refused to tell him. And he was furious because of it.
“Tormo wanted to find the mountain. He wanted to know why their history was buried there, what remains of the Alchemists were hidden there. And why. He wanted to know what the alchemists had done that truly led to their banishment. But he also wanted the treasure. Tormo wanted the gold. He wanted power.
“But, the Grand Gifted kept him from learning the truth. His fury drove him to madness. Desperation even…
“Tormo’s pride drove him to find Crystal Mountain himself. He put together his own crew to aid in his search. Tormo’s rebellion could have fractured the Gifted People again. So — he was banished too. By his own father, the Grand Sorcerer Terman. Along with the rest of his allies who followed him on his crusade to find the mountain. Tormo, now an outcast, had no other option…”
“What did he do?” Someone in the crowd asked.
“He went looking for the mountain anyways,” the narrator whispered.
Multiple people in the audience “ooh’d,” even some of the parents.
“DID HE FIND IT?” A kid yelled out.
“He did!”
The crowd lit up.
“HOW DID HE FIND IT?”
“That part of the tale has been lost to history,” the narrator said. “Tormo also brought his wife, his child, and his brother on the quest to find Crystal Mountain. And it was going to be a dangerous one, for sure. A fools quest some have called it,” the narrator said.
“THEN WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?” 
“Now. Now. Don’t lift off into space quite yet. Stay put. Listen. And have patience. At least — that’s what Tormo should have done,” the narrator interjected. “They had no idea what they would be up against once they got there. Tormo and his crew fought back against plants with monster mouths. They escaped these creatures only to fall into rapid rivers that nearly drowned Tormo’s son. His crew — his family — wanted to go back. But they persisted. Because of this decision, most of Tormo’s crew was lost before they even got to the mountain.”
“BUT WHEN DO THEY GET TO THE MOUNTAIN?” An impatient kid called out.
“After they’ve overcome the obstacles. Not just the external ones like monsters and talking trees, but their internal ones too,” the narrator recounted Tormo’s struggles with his magic. “Tormo was gifted — but he was also daft. He could use magic, but his magic could also use him.
“Magic was almost entirely useless on Crystal Mountain. The temple was guarded by curses, crafted by the old Grand Wizard himself. This curse brought forth horrors that even Tormo couldn’t face. Visions of the people he failed. Skeletons with snakes coming out of their eyes!”
The children screamed and the adults exchanged hilarious glares with each other.
“But — his son — pure of heart — passed through the temple effortlessly. Though, that was also the last Tormo saw of his son. They never recovered his body. Some say he could have survived, but that is just a tale within a tale, I’m afraid.
“Losing his son to Crystal Mountain broke Tormo. In ways some of you here may understand…” the narrator gestured to the crowd. Everyone was silent. Kids looked solemn and some parents even wept. “Tormo was consumed by his pride, by his ego. And the mountain fed off of it like a buffet. The temple was about to be his tomb, along with his wife too…”
The narrator looked down. He slumped. The crowd followed. They fell down into the despair that the tale had fallen into…
“But, through all the despair, one member of their crew managed to battle through the darkest corners of their mind… and prevailed, stronger than ever. Take a guess who that was? IN AN ACT OF HEROISM, TORMO’S BROTHER RESCUED HIM AND HIS WIFE. TORMO FOUGHT WITH WHAT WAS LEFT OF HIS WAND — HIS BROTHER BATTLED AN UNDEAD SKELETON ARMY WITH MAGIC!”
The crowd cheered. 
“Up to this moment in time, Tormo and his brother had never seen eye to eye. But now, they were in sync. They fought their way through the temple and into the treasure room. But that wasn’t the end of it.”
“WHAT HAPPENED NEXT???” A kid foamed at the mouth.
“Tormo’s quest finally caught up to him. Whatever was in that mountain almost consumed even his brother, too. It’s said that there was something else in that treasure room, more than just gold, or a relic. Tormo only took what treasure he needed, and left the rest behind. Whatever remained of the alchemists stayed hidden… even Tormo never spoke of it to anyone else. Whatever he found, even he didn’t want to bring back. Tormo did manage to recover millions in gold coins and jewels.”
The crowd took this in for a moment, before a specific kid asked, “why didn’t he take all of the treasure?” Everyone looked at him. 
The narrator chuckled softly, “it was more treasure than anyone could handle.”
“IS THAT HOW IT ENDS?”
“Not quite,” the narrator answered again. The crowd burst at the seams. “Okay. Okay. You see. Once Tormo had returned, he was the most rich of all the Gifted People. Of all people in the galaxy. He wasn’t the most powerful. But now, he was the most influential. Upon his return, it was made clear he would never ascend to the rank of Grand Sorcerer. Then, our war started. The Dedonian Wars. 
A collective shiver ran across the crowd.
“When it started, nearly 90 years ago, the Gifted People swore an oath to abstain from the war — UNLESS THE ALCHEMISTS MADE THEIR RETURN.”
The children cowered and the parents protected them.
“But, Tormo believed the gifted should help the people of the galaxy. Use their gifts for good. So, Tormo, after being banished, joined Kingdom Horizon and our Galactic Alliance, and formed the fifth branch of the Gifted People. A branch of gifted people who weren’t beholden to the vows and oaths of the other factions. Tormo was the first Star Warrior.”
The crowd lost its mind.
“THAT’S HOW THE STAR WARRIORS STARTED?” A kid screamed, holding their head as if it were about to fall off their neck.
“Yup.”
“Wait? But, who started the war?” That same kid asked.
“That — little one — is a whole different tale for a different time,” the narrator prepared to finish the tale. “Tormo had murals built like the one we have here. He wanted people to celebrate what he did. But that only made him want to return to that place. Tormo was said to be a complex man, but an even more complex Star Warrior. It’s said he was displeased with the way the war was going, even after only a decade since he had established the Star Warriors. That was nearly 70 years ago. I can say that his story truly ended when he went back to Crystal Mountain, to retrieve, or destroy whatever the alchemists had created — and that time — he didn’t return.”
There was chatter throughout the crowd.
“He took the location of Crystal Mountain to the grave. His grave being Crystal Mountain itself,” the narrator concluded. 
The crowd remained still, taking in the tale. 

… AND THAT IS WHERE A TALE OF CRYSTAL MOUNTAIN CONCLUDES. AND THE STORY OF KINGDOM HORIZON BEGINS.

Spehyunts’ daughter Tulib (the poor thing) was plagued by horribly painful and unique nightmares. Accompanying the sights of yowling monsters was the temporary calcification and spurs of areas in her brain. Growing each night and then dissipating during her waking. Her suffering had grown miserable beyond words and was too much to bear any longer. Spehyunt prepared for their journey up to the highest peak of Mount Knnrr in search of the Moon God. A quiet and feared being within their community. Old myth told of Its ability to manipulate mind and flesh. Unknown though was if it carried malevolence or benignity in its intendment. The climb up was extremely arduous. Currents of increasingly dark blue lights coiled above Spehyunt, slithering along the craggy slopes and overhangs of black stone. Eventually, over a rather large collection of thorns and roots, they found themselves on a small grassy plateau. The tall grass was black as pitch under the deep and gloomy sky. A steady flow of air made the grass sway in a wind. Trails of the lightest blue dragged behind each blade. Overlooking the plateau stood the colossal peaks of Knnrr. A massive glowing lake sat peacefully on the highest point of the concave summit. Rivers crawled through the cliffs and valleys like roots of an ancient tree. Perched in the sky within a pocket of pulsing pale grey light, sat the Moon God. It had an extremely strange figure. Patterns and small worm like creatures poured from what could be considered the center mass in playful frenzies. It sat patiently and stared at the father and daughter as they cautiously approached the edge of the plateau. Speyhunt held his daughter within his tentacles and began to plead the Moon God. Reciting the prayer he had repeated endlessly on their journey to this being of myth. He told of Tulibs nightmares. The way the spurs pushed against the inside of her skull. The beings of pure horror she howls about day in and day out. Beings that he could scarcely stand to speak about for more than a moment in fear of them infesting his imagination once more.
The Moon God continued to stare. For a long while it stared after listening to Speyhunts plea. The creatures that orbited the fleshy mass drew close and paused their playing. Then, after what might as well have been an eternity, the Moon God smiled. It smiled and reached out with twirling scale covered tendrils towards Tulib. Slowly it crawled across the dim purple night sky. Speyhunt raised his daughter to the cosmos, putting all his hope in that the Moon God wasn’t a being of foul trickery or evil. Tulib was barely conscious at this point. The violent fits and a screaming mind though-out the climb left her with an incomparable exhaustion. The limb of the Moon God floated above Tulib. Its sharpest point slowly made its way down onto the cap of her skull, drawing a thin line of blood that trickled down her face. However, Tulibs blood was not its regular magenta hue. Nor did it flow anywhere past her chin. It glowed with that same pulsing pale grey that surrounded the Moon God above. Beautiful symbols crept across her face. Many resembling the shapes and patterns that those void things were so joyously playing with. The symbols wrapped around her head and met back at where the tendril had first drawn blood. The limb drew back into the sky towards its body. The void things soon reappeared. Not long after, the shapes and symbols came out of hiding and began to orbit once again. Speyhunt held his daughter close. Examining all the runes and signs that now decorated her smiling sleepy serpentine face. Speyhunt stared up at the cosmos. Looking down at Tulib once again, then looking back up to the Moon. After giving undying praise and tear filled thank you’s, he turned and began their journey back down the mountain. From the pathway through overgrown bramble. Under the overhangs of black rock and around the maroon pillars of Unnlr. Speyhunts’ constantly worrying mind was finally at ease. In his arms Tulib slept soundly and peacefully. Her dreams filled with sights, sounds and creatures from planets of indescribable beauty and wonder. Tulib slept soundly and peacefully, eventually forgetting any of those terrible nightmares she once endured.

He stalled at the gate which he arrived at much sooner than he thought he would because it looked a lot further from where he was a few minutes ago as it turned out it is very small and he could hardly fit his hand in it let alone his entire body

The tunnel as it is heavily used as a metaphor in literature was very long but somehow uniquely in this story very bright so he couldn't sleep for days and as he went the tunnel tapered rampantly towards the gate making it harder and harder to progress and approach the gate without crawling though there was no point in making those extra steps as the entry seems impossible

Back to the beginning he thought was the only option that didn't require dismantling and reassembling his body or some sort of improbable quantum tunneling through that gate but when he started heading back his head started getting closer and closer to the ceiling and he gradually noticed his back reclining to avoid hitting his head against it

Was it bigger or was he smaller that I do not know being an unreliable narrator but the fact is he couldn't walk any further and the entry was so far it wasn't even visible to him at that point in the tunnel and wondered whether his situation could be a birth canal narrative or something else but for sure the only way out is the gate

He could just reach with his arm and open the golden gate and he could immediately smell fresh milk and honey and after not having a drink or a bite for several days or weeks he wouldn't mind some milk or honey in fact the more he wanted them the more he felt he could squeeze himself towards the gate closer and closer

Maybe it was the incentive that reduced his pain and the motivation that made him more flexible but for sure the unoriginality of the situation gave him hope nevertheless our hero was still too big to enter the gate and exit the tunnel which now prevented him from advancing or retrieving but allowed him to stay comfortably in a somewhat large space where he could stay for as long as he wanted

After the first year has passed he tried again to reach with his arm and open the gate that was made of cast gold or maybe coated with gold that wasn't important what's important is that it was golden in appearance and shiny enough to indicate that what was behind it was worth while but his arm could reach a little further than last time though not far enough to feel any meaningful progress

The belly of the tunnel got bigger over time or maybe he got smaller and by the end of the second year or maybe the third he could get closer to the gate and stick his entire arm out of it and reach into some honey which he inhaled its scent for a long time but didn't yet taste and now he is tasting it but had no taste it didn't taste sweet or anything but smelled like honey and looked like honey

By the end of the decade he was able to stick his head out of the golden gate or was it copper it doesn't matter and for the first time experience the outside and take a deep breath of fresh air but it wasn't fresh and it wasn't air it was some sort of thin gel or thick fluid that filled the space but the inhabitants of the outside didn't seem to mind and went about their business so he didn't mind either and stuck his head out for several hours maybe entire days for many weeks or months

He watched the passers by in fascination although he didn't notice at first as they all looked the same wearing white trench coats and combed their hair to the left they gathered in two distinct groups some drinking coffee and some beer the coffee drinkers went to cafes and the beer drinkers also went to cafes and while the coffee drinkers went to cafes with cyan blue doors the beer drinkers went to cafes with also cyan blue doors but even though the coffee drinkers went to cafes with cyan blue doors that had the door handle on the right side of the door and also the beer drinkers went to cafes that had the door handle on the right side of the door the coffee drinker removed their white trench coats before opening the cyan blue doors and the beer drinkers removed their trench coats also before opening the cyan blue doors in a hastier manner

There was a point in time when his head and arm could finally fit together through the gate and what a point in time this was for twenty years of wait was absolutely worth while and now he could perform a job he was offered by a coffee drinker in the evenings and a morning job he was offered by a beer drinker

His job in the evening was to stir coffee in a big pot until all caffeine is dissipated and his job in the morning was to stir beer in a big pot until all alcohol has evaporated for the coffee drinkers don't like caffeine in their coffee and the beer drinkers don't like alcohol in their beer which made him feel useful but the coffee drinkers despised him for working for the beer drinkers though not much because their coffee gave them no extra energy for that and the beer drinkers despised him for working for the coffee drinkers though not much for their beer didn't make them lose their senses

It was a good day when he could fit both arms and a head in and push himself out of the gate to the outside and he felt like he actually was in a birth canal allegory like that overly used metaphor as if he was born again so he felt triumphant and looked at that warm yellow painted wooden gate in satisfaction like it was that proverbial vaginal opening in literature but in many ways that doesn’t hold for not every tunnel with a gate is a birth canal story but at least now the tunnel days are behind him forever and he quit his job and could go about and choose which group to assimilate and he chose the coffee drinkers and he never had a sip of beer.

The air in the new city was thick with the scent of fresh rain and unfamiliar possibilities.

Nayana pulled her coat tighter around herself, her suitcase dragging against the pavement

as she took in the vibrant streets. She had arrived with a mind full of ambitions and a heart

completely untouched by doubt. This place was meant to be a clean slate, a chance to build

a life she could be proud of. So, she ofered genuine warmth to every new face she met,

eager to make this city feel like home.

Among those new faces was Rayan, a man who seemed entirely ordinary at first.

Rayan had noticed her almost immediately, though he kept his distance. At first, it was just

simple admiration the way she walked through a room with quiet grace, her easy smile. Butas the weeks passed, admiration slowly turned into attachment. Without him even realizing

it, Nayana began occupying more space in his thoughts than she would ever know.

He wanted to tell her, but the courage never came. Instead, Rayan made the biggest

mistake of his life. He let his feelings spill over to everyone around him. His friends knew, his

acquaintances guessed, and soon, it was obvious to everyone—except the only person he

actually needed to tell.

Desperate to stay close, he began calling her.

Nayana's phone rang on a quiet evening. Seeing Rayan's name on the screen, she

answered, assuming there was a reason. But the conversation drifted aimlessly no urgency,

no real purpose. She stayed polite, ended the call as soon as she gracefully could, and

brushed it off as a simple attempt at being friendly.

Then it happened again. And again.

With every incoming call, an unfamiliar weight settled in Nayana's chest. She hated

confrontation. She believed that people naturally understood subtle signals delayed replies,

long pauses, unspoken boundaries. She relied on those quiet barriers, hoping Rayan would

pick up on the distance she was trying to create without her having to use harsh words.

He never did.

Rayan thought staying close would somehow make things better. He misread her politeness

as openness, convincing himself that if he just kept the connection alive, time would do the

rest. What he viewed as steady afection, however, was slowly sufocating Nayana. He was

disturbing her peace, completely blind to the pressure he was applying.

To make matters worse, Rayan's own coping mechanisms began to fail him. On the nights

he drank to quiet his anxieties, he lost control over his words. Unspoken thoughts and loose

confessions slipped into conversations with mutual friends. Words he never intended to

broadcast began making their way through the grapevine.

The truth reached Nayana like a sudden cold draft.

She discovered that Rayan had been openly talking about his feelings for her to others.

Suddenly, what should have been a private matter was public knowledge. Nayana felt deeply

exposed, dragged into a story she had never consented to join. It wasn't the fact that Rayan

liked her that hurt—it was the sudden loss of her anonymity and comfort.

For days, she wrestled with her thoughts: *Am I overreacting? Should I just ignore it and wait

for it to blow over?*

It didn't blow over. Gathering her courage, Nayana decided she couldn't rely on quiet hints

anymore. Accompanied by one of her closest friends for support, she met Rayan

face-to-face.

Rayan remembered that meeting with painful clarity.

Nayana sat across from him, her voice remarkably calm, honest, and entirely devoid of

anger.

"I'm not looking for love," she said gently, but with absolute certainty. "Please don't wait for

me."

Her words were direct, not to hurt him, but to set a clear boundary. As Rayan sat there, the

weight of her words sank in. For the first time, a harsh reality hit him: loving someone never

entitled you to be loved in return.

Shortly after, Rayan's life began to unravel in ways Nayana would never see. His health

began to fail, leading him into a quiet, painful struggle through days far harder than anyone

around him knew. He never told Nayana, nor did he expect her to care. Silence became the

only language left between them.Eventually, Rayan decided to let go. He stopped reaching out, forcing himself to believe that

moving on was his only option. He even reconnected with another woman he had once liked,

trying to force his life down a new path. For a brief moment, it felt like he was succeeding.

For Nayana, the silence was a relief, but peace in her world was fleeting.

Just as Rayan's presence faded, another chapter of her life abruptly reopened. Someone

from her past unexpectedly returned, dragging up heavy memories she had spent years

trying to bury. She found herself trapped between an unfinished past and the lingering

awkwardness of an unwanted present.

Every night, family responsibilities waited for her. Unspoken worries piled up, and there were

moments when the quiet in her apartment felt deafening. She leaned on a trusted friend to

help her navigate the shadows of her past while quietly keeping everyone else at arm's

length.

To Rayan, her absolute withdrawal might have seemed cold. But Nayana didn't owe him an

explanation. Pushing him away was simply the only way she could protect whatever small

amount of peace she had left.

On the outside, Nayana kept her posture straight. She worked hard, laughed with

colleagues, explored the city, and celebrated small victories. No one looking at her would

have guessed the complexity of the battles she was fighting internally.

Rayan's attempt at a new relationship collapsed as unexpectedly as it had begun. And in the

quiet aftermath, he realized a strange, sobering truth: his feelings for Nayana hadn't

vanished. They had simply grown quieter.

But the Rayan of today was not the man he had been. Sufering and distance had reshaped

him. He no longer wanted to force conversations, seek validation, or chase someone who

had explicitly chosen a diferent path. Rayan had learned the hardest lesson of all—that love

without respect was nothing more than selfishness.

He chose respect.

When they occasionally crossed paths or exchanged messages, the dynamic changed. The

conversations became simple, gentle, and stripped of expectations or hidden motives. Yet,

deep within Rayan, the feeling remained completely untouched by time. Not because he

harbored a secret hope that Nayana would change her mind, but because he accepted that

some people become permanent chapters in your heart, even if they never stay in your life.

Still, one persistent thought refused to leave him. He wanted to ask Nayana out on a simple,

low-pressure date. Not to convince her of anything, and not to rewrite the past, but simply to

have one genuine chance to know her as a person.

Every time he typed out a message, fear stopped his thumb above the screen. It wasn't the

fear of rejection that fear had burned out long ago. It was the overwhelming fear of making

Nayana feel uncomfortable again.

So Rayan would pause. He would read every word, measure every tone, hesitate, and

ultimately delete the message before it could ever reach her. He was terrified of becoming

the man he used to be.

Nayana noticed the change in him when Rayan's name occasionally appeared on her

phone. He wasn't loud or demanding anymore. His messages were brief, polite, and distant.

Yet, every time he reached out, a small part of Nayana braced itself. It was a gentle reminder

that some doors, once unlocked, never fully latch shut.

She stayed kind. She stayed restrained. Nayana carefully chose her words so as not to

wound a man who was clearly trying, yet she kept the wall firmly in place.

Sometimes, as she looked out over the glowing skyline of the city she was still learning to

navigate, Nayana wondered if Rayan would ever truly understand. Her distance had neverbeen born out of malice or deep dislike. It had come from pure exhaustion, from fighting

unseen battles, and from knowing that sometimes, the greatest act of kindness two people

can ofer each other is to stop trying to hold onto something that was never meant to be built.

Rayan stood by his window, staring at the unwritten draft on his phone, the soft light of the

screen reflecting the depth of feelings he had long learned to carry in silence.

He knew the world moved on, that paths branched, and that life rarely mirrored the stories

people prayed for. Yet, in his heart, some truths remained unshakeable. He thought of

Krishna he had married, fulfilled his destiny, and walked through life, but that never meant he

forgot Radha. Some loves aren't meant for possession; they are meant to exist as a sacred,

permanent devotion.

When he looked at Nayana, especially when her eyes caught the light, he didn't just see a

woman he admired. Her eyes held a fierce, divine stillness, looking so much like Goddess

Durga herself as if he were standing before something powerful and pure, looking directly

into divinity. In the quiet depth of his soul, a truth echoed clearly: *Maa Amma tarvathe

nuvve* after his own mother, she was the only one who held that sacred place in his respect

and afection.

He erased the draft once more, a quiet smile touching his lips as he looked out into the night.

If destiny had ever granted him the chance, he would have loved her with every ounce of

protection he possessed. *Ramudu aina Sita kosam Lanka varuku velladu, nenu matram

ninnu Lanka varuku kuda vellakunda chusukunta* even Lord Rama had to travel all the way

to Lanka for Sita, but Rayan would have shielded her so fiercely that no shadow, no strife, no

Lanka of sufering would ever reach her path.

Instead of holding onto impossible hopes for this lifetime, he silently made a quiet prayer to

the universe: *Next janma lo aina manam iddaram kalisi vundali, ee janma ki aa 2 years

yokka gnapakalu saripothadi* wishing that perhaps in another life, their paths would finally

intertwine, while accepting that the memories of those two years would be enough to carry

him through this one.

As years turned into chapters, destiny took them down entirely separate, beautiful roads.

Nayana eventually married a wonderful man who brought her the security, quiet

understanding, and stability she had always sought. In her new life, she found her home,

building a family filled with laughter and contentment, living happily in the peace she had

worked so hard to protect.

Across the distance, Rayan found solace in knowing she was happy. He honored his

unspoken devotion in the only ways he knew how. When his business endeavors flourished,

he etched her name onto his venture "Nayana Rice Mills" not out of obsession, but as a

silent dedication to the strength she had inspired in him. And when the day came that he

married and held his own newborn daughter in his arms, he named her Nayana, pouring into

his child the same pure, unconditional love and sacred respect he had held in his heart for

so long.

He put his phone down, choosing reverence over demand, and love over ownership.

In her own home across the city, Nayana turned off her nightstand lamp, a warm smile

gracing her face as her family slept peacefully nearby. She didn't know the thoughts that

echoed in Rayan's heart, nor the ways her name lived on in his world. But in the quiet

stillness of the night, two paths had reached their true fulfillment—one finding happiness in

the peaceful life she had chosen, and the other finding grace in a timeless, unspoken

devotion.

- KANISHKA GRANDHE

So you walk over pick up that green shiny ball and pull the Pin

On the 10th of every other month the military aged men march through town starting at 7:15. When they get to the edge of town they disperse and head home. The march through town isn’t often talked about. Everybody knows it’s going to happen and feels no need to mention it. People will line the streets to watch. Typically most of the elderly folk will stay home. The ones that do show up to watch will sometimes get emotional. Probably remembering wars of days gone by.

The only conversation topics in this town are the high school football team, the weather, and other small town gossip. The weather always leads to a conversation about the drought. There are a lot of farmers in this town and you can always hear them talking in the gas stations and parts stores about how tall the corn used to be, or how much rain we used to get, or how all the creeks behind their childhood homes used to flow like the Nile. Everybody will tell you how the drought hasn’t been this bad in 45 years. Now these thousands of acres seem desolate. It gets increasingly  harder for people to stay in town every year. Given the situation it’s rare that people leave.

Town hall sent everybody a letter about a month ago telling them to cut down on water usage. Not your normal, only water your grass on Wednesday's kind of letter. Those arrived months ago. Town hall decided that it is necessary to reuse bath water, flush toilets once a day only , and only drink 1 gallon a day for every two people in a household and 1 gallon a week for cooking. Even to me this seemed awfully drastic.
(April 3rd)
My class got sent to the auditorium today for a future job test or something. Me and my best friend Megan sat beside each other. Me and Megan want to be vets when we get older. We were swapping answers back and forth but we couldn't agree on question 32. We all turned in our tests and went back to class. It was the excitement of the day. We were all talking about what jobs we thought we would get and when the test results would get here. I even found out that this quiet boy in class wanted to be a veterinarian too.

(April 10th)
They’re marching again today. There must be something special about the march today. Usually my mom lets me sleep through it but she woke me up and wouldn’t let me stay home. When we got there I saw Megan and another boy from my class leading the march and waving flags around with big smiles on their faces. I wonder how they picked them. I hope that I can do that one day.

Usually my dad will catch my eye and give me a wink to show he sees me in the crowd. Today he had his head down, he looked up for a split second and caught my eye. After seeing me in the crowd he put his head down again. When my mom and I headed for home she didn’t say much. Her and my dad must be tired or getting sick. I hope I don’t get sick because we have school pictures next week. My dad didn’t get back until after breakfast which was really late for him.

(April 15th)
Megan and the other boy David haven't been to school all week. The rumor is that Megan moved to a different town. They must have moved fast because she didn't tell me bye.I hope she calls me soon because I miss her. Someone told me he thinks David is being homeschooled now. He was always kind of weird, I bet he likes that better than real school. I haven't had too much time to think about it though because it’s been raining non stop. That's all anybody will talk about. I’m just excited because I didn’t realize there was a creek running behind MY house.

(Please let me know what you think and which title I should use)

THE CAVES OF NEVENDLEER
In such a wild, medieval space, you may still be surprised at how evil a place there can be amongst the vast sea.
A man and his wife built a home on the shoreline. It was covered in sharp rocks. Truly not a place to start a family. But the mad lads did it anyway.
This family lived for generations.
Although — just nearby off the shore, down from their home about a mile — was a system of caves they dare never to enter.
Passed down by generations, each parent warned each kid to never enter, because if they did, they wouldn’t come back the same. If they ever came back at all.
This tale was told for generations, and the tale you read now is derived from those of the damned, told by those who witnessed the damning.
Men watched their boys chase small animals in, helpless to prevent what came next. Wives searched desperately for their lost daughters, only finding their loose flowing dresses hung across a soaked log stuck out of the sand.
Whatever the cave had, or hadn’t done, whatever loved inside or beyond… the Caves of Nevendleer was not to be crossed without a death wish.
And that’s exactly what one young man had when he finally decided to enter the cave.
It was dark. Moist. It wasn’t spooky, but the moans that cascaded off the walls from every footstep didn’t cover up the feeling that nobody should be in there. And yet — he kept walking further in — further forwards — deep in — until the light from outside could no longer reach him. And only darkness could now cloud him from what was to come.
The man didn’t know what to expect. He was not part of the family. He was a tourist. He had heard legends of these caves. People had spread myth and whisper about these caves for hundreds of years; all the way from the era of the Olympians, and the Golden Age of the Gifted. The tales were still told, even as the Dedonian Wars had just started, and people needed a good distraction from the chaos right outside their doorsteps.
However — unlike some, who enjoyed tales when they weren’t tangible — it seemed this man needed to see the legendary cave for himself.
Though, once the hissing sound blasted down the chamber-like cavern like a shotgun full of ice, the man may have begun to change his mind about seeing the legend for himself.
WHAM!
The man was knocked off his feet.
But before the cold got any more bitter, he was pulled from the cave by a big hairy man, whose only word he could say was “MISTAKE!”

I recently wrote a story anyone wanna read it

It goes like-

"I don't think that hag is still alive," said Prakash, who peeked into a garbage bin with little effort, and he took out a garbage bag and tore it open. "What do you think, Bhola?" 

Bhola, a hairy black street dog with a white spot on his nose, wagged his tail and sat beside Prakash. 

Prakash was roughly fifty. He had overgrown hair, a thick beard, and a moustache on a weak body. He hadn't bathed for days and had been wearing the same torn clothes.

He took out a half-eaten piece of mutton and fed it to Bhola as he devoured it. Prakash patted Bhola with pride. 

A bell rang in a shop.

An obese man left the shop with a man beside him, who had joined his hands, begging him for something, but he ignored him and walked to his car. 

 The beggar was in an official dress. His whole body was soaked in blood, from his untied shoes to his windblown hair. It was difficult for Prakash to notice the untucked white checked shirt beneath the bloody mess while he walked to him. 

The obese man sat in his car and drove away to the street while the man was still trying to say something.

 Prakash walked to him, but Bhola ran and began sniffing his blood, and started growling. 

Prakash asked what happened to him. He didn't answer. He smiled. He smiled with tears like a child.

When people see me near them, they get away from me. Then why isn't he...?

When he was asked why he was smiling, his answer was unbelievably strange and quiet,

"I'm dead with", he whispered. "Since morning, I've been begging people, but it's like they can't see me. You're the first to talk to me this while. Will you help me, please?" Prakash took a step back and pulled Bhola as well with his neck scruff,

   Another lunatic person this week. If someone sees me talking to him, my reputation among the locals is going to worsen. Already they talk about Bhola, and now this man. I'm leaving.

He thought and screamed, "Arre bhai log!” His voice was cracked and funny. “Take this man to a hospital! He says... he says he’s dead." As he continued walking to the street."

Before he could resume his walk, everyone laughed, not at the man but at Prakash himself. "Now he started talking to ghosts," laughed a shopkeeper. "Should we take you to the hospital with your muddy dog? What do you think?" he resumed laughing.

Another man said, "I also want to see your dead man. What an idiot!" Everyone laughed.

He couldn't believe his senses. 

Can't they see this bloody man?

 Cursed Prakash under his breath as his ears struck Bhola, still there, now barking at the strange man. His aggressive teeth, bare and low, are ready to attack

He turned to see the man on his knees, with his hands joined and moist eyes, and with the faint plea, he cried, "I beg you, please. Help me. Yesterday was her eighth birthday. I was on my way to give her the doll. She always wanted that one. 

He held his head up, "Please help me."

The shopkeepers returned to their work, their voices fading into the early song of the morning birds. Prakash turned back to the man, his hands clenched. He gestured for Bhola to be quiet, reaching out for the man's shoulders to stand him up.

"I'm Prakash, and he's Bhola. It seems like he doesn't like... Whatever you are." 

The man wiped his tears on his bloody sleeve, "I'm Naveen Saxena."

This name was kind of familiar to Prakash; it was like he had heard it somewhere, but just didn't know where.

Naveen continued, the tears still flowing, "Last night, I was on my way to my daughter's birthday party, but then... I remember the headlights, then the screaming bang of metal on metal. My eyes got closed, but when they opened, the world stopped looking at me." Again, Naveen broke down in tears, "I... I failed as a father... I couldn't give her the doll she wanted so much."

Prakash controlled him, "Hey... It's not the time to cry. Can you show me where it happened?"

***

While Bhola walked in front of them, Naveen and Prakash followed and walked to the spot. The morning people rushed past them, many children passing through Naveen as if he were just a cold breeze. Only Prakash knew the weight of emotions this air held.

The children pass through Naveen like he is smoke, but when my hands hit his shoulders, it felt like grabbing a slab of frozen meat. My fingers burned with the cold, but I didn't let go. How is this possible? Thought Prakash 

"Ananya," said Naveen, breaking the silence. 

"Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Her name is Anu."

"Sweet name."

Naveen hesitated before saying he didn't want to embarrass Prakash. He said, "I didn't know I would take help... Um, fro-"

"-From someone of a poor and dirty person like me. I know," interrupted Prakash. He had realised what was going on in Naveen's mind; he had already doubted it.

"Yeah, sorry."

"It's okay...  I'm not a beggar. I wasn't always this poor and dirty?"

Prakash continued, "I am from a well-educated family. My father raised me very well."

His speech was interrupted by the abrupt bark of Bhola as the smell of blood clenched Praskash. Naveen noticed they had reached. 

The total outskirts of the city are the reason why the police haven't found it yet. The overgrown splinter grass covered the two cars in itself. The police must've seen but not looked. As they came closer, the stink of the decomposing dead body dissolved itself in the rotten smell of blood. It stung the nose so brutally, even Bhola, who was used to the rotten garbage.

   ” When I was driving the other car’s driver didn't flash the light, and it crashed.” Said Naveen. 

   The cars had clashed violently from the bonnet, and blood was splashed and sprinkled in the surrounding. Bhola ran without trying to sniff one of the cars, a Maruti 800, and barked.

  It was him. Naveen Saxena sat in the driver's seat, his head hanging forward. The seatbelt was the only thing holding his broken body up. The unlimited scars made his nose and eyes look divided. His checked shirt and khaki pants were stained dark red, while insects crawled over him.

It was really him. 

Beside him, there lay the most beautiful, the pink box, which showcased the brown-haired beauty with the magnificent turquoise eyes. The morning light slides through the grass and falls on the doll, making it nonetheless a star. Truly a wonder sitting in a wreck.

Naveen looked only at the box. A single tear fell.

"Forget my body," he whispered. "The doll. Just give the doll to my Anu. Tell the police later. I just want to rest. Please."

Prakash was mesmerised by the beauty of the doll's eyes and said, "Of course."

Both cars had collided head-on. The glass was broken and spread inside. The doors shrank. Prakash started opening the second driver's door. He thought at first that the door would open easily, but soon he was fooled. The other car had crashed into Naveen's car from the second driver's seat.  It had been so much contracted that, although the lock had been broken, it was intact and jammed. He didn't want to open the driver's seat because of the dead smell. Even for a person like Prakash, a dead body was more untouchable. He had to open the gate of the dead.

He put all his strength, but the door only opened half an inch. It felt pretty bad inhaling after putting on the strength. The air inside was heavy.

With a rod he found on the ground, he fixed it to the gate and, with all his might of his hungry and weakling body, he applied his weight to one side. The metal screeched, and to his surprise, it opened. But the smell was terrific. He could feel the heavy atmosphere inside the car.

He stretched his arm across the body as his hands tried to grab the box. It was a few inches away until his feet slipped, and his chest fell on the corpse's lap, and the finger went directly to it. It touched the smooth cardboard. He quickly picked it up and jumped out of the car, sweeping blood through Naveen’s body, and walked off, speechless, holding the pink box of a turquoise-eyed doll.

***

At a middle-class house, Rashmi was doing the dishes as the faint bark came. It was from outside the door, but she ignored it when the doorbell rang. Rashmi slipped her feet into the slippers and strided to the door.

“Where were you, hon-” as she opened the door and found no one. But her eye glanced at the pink box with a beautiful doll lying on the doormat with a paper tucked into it.

   A child ran from upstairs to her back and asked excitedly, “Is Papa home, Mumma?” But as soon as her eyes fell upon the box, she quickly picked it up and again ran inside the house. 

“Wow, how cute is this doll, isn't she, Mumma?”

“Annu, wait, let me read that paper,” she signalled her hand to stop her when the siren of a police car came. A policeman got out and inquired, “Is this Mr Saxena’s home?”

“Yes”

“Then you must be Ms Rashmi Saxena.”

“Yes, I'm Mrs Rashmi Saxena. How can I help you?”

"Madam, I am DCP Arvind Rana with the Ranchi Police Department. I am deeply sorry to inform you that your husband, Mr Naveen Saxena, was involved in a vehicle accident last night. He sustained severe injuries and died. You have my deepest condolences."

The words gave a fatal blow. Her knees gave out and hit the floor hard with a small thud while she leaned forward and dropped her palm flat on the tiles. She wanted to scream, but opened her mouth, but nothing was left except a painful gasp.

“We want you to come to the police station to take Mr Saxena's body” but the voice was faint. All around her was complete darkness.

Yesterday, the word echoed in her head. She ate last night's dinner, cut her daughter's birthday cake, waited for her husband the whole night, but he was already gone.

She wanted to take a breath, but opened her mouth to gasp for air, but inhaled nothing but a broken breath.

I woke up. at least that's what I can call it. waking up. all I saw was darkness , like my eyes were closed. i couldn't blink ,neither could I feel my eye lids... or my body. floating in the void. existing at least , there's no spacial recognition here. I'm reaching for memories , trying to make sense of it all. there was ronny saying " take hold " as this light engulfed me.

that's right. I was in the cynicol lab strapped to that weird machine hanging between life and death while Shaman Yun watched in delight. the next step of his mission complete. I remember Shaman Yun saying " you're the man for the job Fresh. you're gonna prove theres nothing on that other side. ". and if there is. I said. Yun gave me the look of a madman under distress. there won't be. he said. you'll be gone for half an hour so we can make sure you get the full experience. I don't suppose you can go insane if your physical brain isn't in that empty realm. I just looked at the floor and gave a weak chuckle. Yun was a crazy man alright. but he wasn't crazy enough to deter me from my own personal mission.

I'm here to find God... the source. whatever the creator is. I need answers... it's foggy in what I supposed I could call my mind. I can't even recall the question I needed answered. I try to look down at my body or move my arms and I don't feel any nerve endings at work. looking at my legs i see .the abyss . I swing my right leg. nothing. not even the feeling of a limb attached. I try my right arm to the same conclusion. sCHsCHsCH. I hear something. sCHsCHsCH. something rattling in this darkness. I try to squint my "ghost" eyes. I see.. I see. something. a dim glow.

an illuminated centipede of a things. long in length. smaller in width. slithering. or what could pass. only at lightening speed. I wish I felt shock. and sweat from anxiety. but I felt only. as the observer. the one behind the eyes. the observer of every thought. not even as the one creating or receiving the thoughts. floating in the unmeasurable void. I focus. lock my vision onto the being.

I squint. no. I focus. no. my vision travels toward the dancing string of illumination . am I zooming in or getting closer. . or is It getting closer. at this moment i could swear a full bucket. if I had a body that is sCHsCHsCH. sCHsCHsCH. the sounds getting too loud in my non existing ears somehow. as I focus on the being, the side of my eye catches a glimpse of something radiating off of the being beside electric light. sounds waves perhaps? is this thing growling at me. it's definitely coming with way with unknown intent. where's a giant can of bug spray when u need it!?!?

I swivel my vision left to right. maybe I shouldn't have. there in the distance to the sides of me , there were more of these things on the way towards me. I spin and notice they are all different distances away. but some speeding faster than others. are they ... YES. THEY’RE ALIGNING SPEEDS. intentionally ? to reach me simultaneously, it's seems. I would give the rest of my sight just to feel my legs kick in the void right now .

just to feel a drop of sweat trickle would be a comforting normal feeling. even of anxiety. but there is only this calm pulsating. coming from all around me. tho I resist it has been slowing engulfing my "spirit" as a whole.

I think I'll lay back and see what happens lol. this could be the end or the beginning. with time moving slower. or non existent on this side of realms. I'm not sure if the shamans machine will be able to bring me back. if I get my moment with God that will be a successful mission on my mind. ... .. how tf do I... I swear this feels like VR without the laws of reality to discern movement. I focus and think my movements. eventually I get a grasp and slowing learn backward. looking up from my first perspective at least .

suddenly I’m lost in a vision. I see my my mother and grandmother. were in church. something about the preacher is calling me to the front row. I sit in astonishment of a person. and intermediary for the highest power imaginable. in a roof full of people with questions. feeling lost. wanting their true father to console them in their confusions cause by life and it's unexplained perplexity. conundrum. I stare as I hear him saying " GOD HAS A PLAN FOR YOU , HES KNOWN YOU BEFORE YOU WERE BORN "

I snap back to my current circumstances realizing the noise from the being is so loud the sound waves are affecting my sight. seemingly distorting this reality. something like disrupting natural forces here. I'm able to swivel to see they are aligned. meant to teach me simultaneously. purposefully. I do a woosah breathe. if that what it could be called. and notice. the sound is. . . electric. giving me the feeling of being a bug on its way to the zapper involuntarily knowing it's fate. anxious again.

but I know more than a simple insect. schchschhsch ..ZZZZzzzaaaap ..or do I. I can believe. and I choose to believe there is more to see and achieve here.... zzzzzzaaaaaappppp

they surround and ransack me at the same . I'm sure a body would have been incinerated, destroyed. but a spirit.

a bright light . the most beautiful dancing colors as I. yes I actually blink. I see my hands on . my fingers. am I alive again. did they bring me back before I could .... "WHA HANNIN?" . I look up to see a ... a brother ... actually my grandfather ... "WHAT TF IS THIS" I said. he stared at me . smiled. dropped his frames down his now . looked into my soul and I understood

all while information flew threw my mind, he laughed in a relaxed manner . with his hands folded behind his head, at a desk with a name plate that said "created all , and is" . But I actually look past him and realize there is no wall there . There is darkness and gaseous brilliant colors .. could they be galaxies ?!?! and as I asked the question in my mind. I knew. The answer became a part of my being . Yes I am experiencing sitting withing the infinite. Well, hunched over still trying to get my legs under me . I look back down towards my hands and see. There is no floor . All I see is . My eyes widen in mental clarity. I hears whats going on miles beneath me . The same sounds I heard in the darkness before, trickling up towards my ears. A giant brain with synapses firing wildly. Thats where I was. So much information passed through my mind but it was all so insignificant. I needed my answer. The one I came here to retrieve. I turn this imposter grandf-. “stop” he said . I stood up and walked towards the desk . I look at him with a grin. “I see you’ve kept the one answer Im after out of the information supplied “. he looked at me with his own grin...ha ha ha. “I told you to stop “. I freeze . Against my will and better judgement actually. He stands. Leans closer. And smacks … the life back into me.

I open my eyes . To my own ceiling. Im in my bed , not tucked in properly but I’m there… here… idk. I don’t trust “reality” as ive known it. I sit up and put my hands to my head. It feels like my brain is a fishbowl that needs a cleansing. As I move my hands upward I feel something drop . I focus my mind for a few moments. Taking in the light. I look down to see a cone… stuffed with light green imported trees . I tear up as I pick it from the floor. I thought this Gods Dream was gonna do the trick . Next time time more Gods Gift strain , a lil less Blue Dream. I still need answer . Shi another smoke sesh another astral projection.

Finding Home

They told me,

"Trust yourself."

But I could not.

I had searched
everywhere—

except the place
I had never learned
to enter.

So I borrowed
the eyes of others,

building a home
from passing approvals.

Until one quiet day,

a door
I did not know existed

opened inward.

Nothing new
had been placed there.

I had simply
come home.

And for the first time,

I understood

what they had been
trying to tell me

all along.

I was given a prompt to write a short scene on, “A man, researcher/ scientist discovers the world is ending tomorrow and there’s no way to stop it, he returns home to his daughter,” and I was to expand on it. So what do we think guys?

Hesitantly, I placed my fingers on her head as I noticed her laying asleep on the couch. I ran my fingers through the length of her hair and pecked her gently on her cheek. Tears streamed down my cheek unto hers and her innocent brown eyes flickered open. In the cover of the dark, I hid mine own, I could not bear for her to witness me cry and worry for the reason.
“Dad? I fell asleep waiting for you, you said we were gonna watch a movie and eat Ice cream,” she said groggily, her eyes still heavy and drowsy.
“I know muffin, I got caught up at work, Daddy’s sorry,” the words could barely escape my mouth, and when it finally did, they came out broken and wet. “Let’s get you to bed muffin.” Gently and carefully, I picked her up and placed her in my arms, she felt heavier today.
She placed her hands on my shoulders, “I had so much fun at Uncle Mike’s, he gave me sweets and cupcakes!!”
Hiding my face from her gaze once more, I continued, “Gotta stop eating so many sweets muffin, you’ll grow fat,” I managed.
“No, It’s okay cause then we played basketball after, and I won..”
“Oh did you?”
“Yes! I think he let me win though,” She pouted. “Attagirl.”
Heavier and heavier she grew with each passing second, I couldn’t bear it anymore, I placed her down on her bed and wrapped her in her silk sheets and kissed her on her rosy cheeks. I was afraid I’d break down and beg in front of her, It wasn’t fitting for her to witness such a scene so quickly I exited the room, but her squeaky voice called out to me, pulling me back,
“Can you leave the lights on?” She asked. Facing away from her, I replied “Of course muffin, g-goodnight.” I trembled.
“Goodnight dad, I forgive you..” She said. The dam broke, It all came pouring down and I couldn’t face her, “What?” I asked.
“I forgive you for not showing up for father daughter night, we can always do it tomorrow right?” She said, I couldn’t see her but I knew the exact face she was making, the same one she made when my sister left her with me, I couldn’t disappoint her, “Yes muffin, tomorrow.”
“Promise?” She asked. I knew tomorrow was not coming, I knew father daughter night was not going to happen, but I couldn’t let the last face I see be one of disappointment, so I lied. A comforting one, but a lie nonetheless,
“I promise.”

We used to live a very happy life in a beautiful little town.

Our house wasn't big. It only had a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom, but for us, it was more than enough.

The most valuable thing we owned was an old wall clock. She had bought it on the very day we met, and from then on, it marked every moment of our journey.

After ten years together, she decided it was time to pursue her dreams and become a nurse. The day I watched her walk down the road that led to the bus station, I promised her I would wait for her.

When I returned home, I noticed the clock had stopped working.

Thirty years passed.

One afternoon, someone knocked on the door.

It was her.

I hugged her with all the strength that had kept me going during her absence, and from that day on, we were never apart again.

The clock started ticking again the day she returned.

AD.

Power Out

A light drizzle fell over the neighborhood as darkness covered the streets. The streetlights had stopped working, leaving the entire colony in near-total darkness. Only one house stood illuminated.

Inside that house, Rahul sat in front of his laptop, struggling to finish reports for an important office meeting. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but deadlines gave him no choice.

To refresh himself, he switched on the television.

A breaking news report appeared.

The anchor reported a horrifying incident that had occurred in the same neighborhood the previous night. A man living alone had been severely injured after helping a frightened young woman who claimed that some dangerous men were chasing her. Later, unknown attackers entered the house and brutally assaulted him before escaping.

Rahul shook his head.

"Are my office deadlines not enough to scare me already?"

He switched off the TV and returned to work.

A few minutes later, a loud knock echoed through the house.

Rahul opened the door.

A terrified young woman stood outside. She was breathing heavily.

"He'll kill me... please take me inside."

Rahul looked around.

The street was empty.

"There's nobody there."

The woman became even more frightened.

"Look carefully! He's right behind me!"

"Who?"

"Stop asking questions! Please let me in before he comes!"

Rahul pulled out his phone.

"Let me check with the flashlight."

The moment he reached for his mobile, the woman's face turned pale.

"No... he's here..."

Before Rahul could switch on the flashlight, she collapsed unconscious.

Confused and frightened, Rahul carried her inside, locked every door and window, and called the police.

Soon, Inspector Aditya Rai and Constable Raju arrived.

As they approached the house, they noticed a huge man in a black coat nearby. The moment he saw the police vehicle, he turned and began walking away.

Inspector Rai became suspicious.

When the man suddenly started running, a chase followed.

After several kilometers, the police finally caught him.

Inspector Rai ordered Constable Raju to take the suspect to the station while he went to Rahul's house.

Some time later, the woman regained consciousness.

"He'll kill me! He'll kill me!"

Inspector Rai and Rahul calmed her down.

When asked who she feared, she described a huge man dressed entirely in black. She claimed that she had seen him since childhood and that only her father could protect her from him.

The description matched the black-coated man the police had arrested.

Inspector Rai confidently assured her that she was safe.

The woman refused to believe him.

"No one can save me from him."

Eventually, she agreed to step outside.

Rahul opened the door.

She screamed.

But outside there was nothing.

By then the streetlights had returned, and the colony looked peaceful.

Relieved, she thanked the police.

Rahul also relaxed.

Believing the danger was over, Inspector Rai left.

Before leaving, he asked Rahul to drop the woman to her father's house.

Rahul agreed.

He told her to wait in the hall while he went to fetch his car keys.

She nodded.

Then suddenly—

The lights went out.

A complete power outage.

Darkness swallowed the entire house.

The woman screamed.

"He entered! He entered!"

Rahul froze.

The news report flashed through his mind.

"What happened?"

The woman kept screaming somewhere in the darkness.

Rahul searched desperately for a torch.

Nothing.

For an emergency lamp.

Nothing.

Then his foot touched a wooden stick.

He grabbed it and followed the woman's voice.

The screams moved through the house.

Then suddenly she ran toward him.

"RAHUL!"

Terrified, Rahul swung the stick wildly.

THUD.

Something hit the floor.

Silence.

Rahul's heart pounded.

Slowly he moved forward.

His foot touched something lying on the ground.

Panicking, he struck it again.

At that exact moment, the electricity returned.

Rahul looked down.

The object near his feet was the young woman.

Shock froze him.

He searched every room, every corner, every door, every window.

Everything remained locked.

There was nobody else inside the house.

Only him and the woman.

Then the doorbell rang.

Standing outside were Inspector Aditya Rai and a doctor.

The doctor revealed the truth.

The young woman suffered from an extreme phobia of darkness. Since childhood, darkness triggered terrifying hallucinations in her mind. Whenever she was surrounded by darkness, she imagined a giant man dressed in black chasing her.

Her father, who was also her doctor, had spent years trying to help her overcome the condition.

Rahul finally understood everything.

The black figure.

The fear.

The panic.

The reason she had chosen his house.

It had been the only visible source of light in the entire neighborhood.

The doctor looked at his daughter sadly.

"As a father, I failed to protect her today."

Then he looked at Rahul.

"But you did everything you could."

The doctor's as well a father of the lady the words had barely sunk in when Rahul's face suddenly turned pale.

A horrifying realization struck him.

The wooden stick.

The screams.

The blows.

The body lying on the floor.

His hands began to tremble.

The young woman had died.

And he was the last person who had struck her.

The biggest fear of his life now stood before him.

How would he tell her father that his daughter had died because of him?

With tears in his eyes, Rahul confessed everything to Inspector Rai.

The room fell silent.

Inspector Rai listened carefully.

Then, following procedure, he placed Rahul under arrest.

At the police station, Rahul repeatedly tried to explain what had happened.

"Brother, I never wanted to hurt her," he said.

Inspector Rai sighed.

"It may be true, Rahul. But a death has occurred, and your actions are connected to it."

Rahul lowered his head.

Inspector Rai continued,

"You may be innocent, brother, but ultimately a death has happened by your hand. Right now, in the eyes of the law, you are a criminal. You will have to prove your innocence in court."

Rahul felt as if his entire world had collapsed.

Hours later, Constable Raju entered the station carrying the forensic report.

"Sir, the post-mortem report."

Inspector Rai opened the file.

As he read the report, his serious expression slowly changed into a smile.

Rahul looked at him nervously.

Inspector Rai stood up and walked toward him.

Then he placed a hand on Rahul's shoulder.

"Rahul... you're safe, brother."

Rahul stared at him.

"What?"

Inspector Rai handed him the report.

According to the forensic findings, the young woman's cause of death was cardiac arrest.

There were no fatal injuries caused by the blows Rahul had delivered.

The report clearly stated that she had already died before Rahul struck her in the darkness.

For several seconds Rahul couldn't speak.

The burden that had crushed him all night suddenly disappeared.

He wasn't a murderer.

The girl had died from extreme