Sci Fi
Physics and the Nature of Reality
In a quiet mountain village nestled between towering peaks and ancient forests, there lived a boy named Aarav. From a young age, Aarav was captivated by the world around him. He spent hours lying on his back in the fields, watching the clouds shift, wondering what made them move, and why the stars blinked only at night. To the villagers, he was simply a curious child with too many questions, but to Aarav, every question was a doorway to understanding the language of the universe.
By Safi Ullah2 years ago in Fiction
The Bench by the River
On the edge of a sleepy town, nestled beside a winding river, there stood an old bench made of oak wood. Weather-beaten and creaky, it had stood there for decades, watching the river change with the seasons. Every evening, just before sunset, a man named Haroon would come and sit quietly, like a ritual. Haroon was 78. His back was bent, his hair silver, but his eyes—oh, his eyes still held the glint of a boy who once dreamt of flying. He lived alone now. His wife, Rina, passed away five years ago, and his son lived abroad, sending postcards twice a year and calling only on birthdays. But Haroon never complained. Not once. He would just sit on that bench, watching the river flow, whispering to the wind as if it carried his words to heaven. One rainy afternoon, a teenage girl named Sumi, on her way back from school, noticed Haroon. His eyes were wet—not from the rain. She hesitated but walked up and asked, Uncle, do you come here every day? He smiled, nodding. Every single day since 1972. Why? she asked curiously. Haroon looked at the river. “Because this bench holds my whole life. I proposed to my wife here. She said yes and cried. We came here after our son was born, after his first day at school, after every big fight and every little joy. And after she died, I still come here—because I feel she never left. Sumi didn’t know what to say. Her world was fast, loud, and full of distractions. But something about the stillness in Haroon’s words made her sit beside him. From then on, she started visiting him often. Listening. Learning. Her Instagram captions turned into Haroon’s quotes. Her heart, which once beat for trends and likes, now beat for stories and soul. One Winter Evening Haroon didn’t come. Nor the next day. Worried, Sumi ran to the nearby houses asking about him. No one had seen him in days. She finally reached his little home. The door was ajar. A letter sat on the table addressed: To the girl who listened. Inside it read: > Dear Sumi, You reminded me that life isn’t just about breathing—it’s about being heard. You made an old man feel seen in a world that forgets the silent. I am not afraid of going, because I know stories like mine will live in hearts like yours. If anyone asks, tell them the river listened to my last story, and smiled. - Haroon Sumi sat on the bench, the letter trembling in her hand. The river flowed on, softly glowing under the evening sun. Epilogue Years passed. Sumi grew up, became a writer. Her first book? The Bench by the River: Untold Tales from a Silent Man And every page carried Haroon’s soul.
By Digital Home Library by Masud Rana2 years ago in Fiction
The Piri Reis Map
The Story The Piri Reis Map, one of several enigmatic maps drawn in the 15th Century and earlier, presents a puzzle. It holds more accurate information about the shape of the continents than should have been known at the time, sparking intrigue and curiosity.
By The Secret History Of The World2 years ago in Fiction
steel pipe fabricator from K-73 Krabar
The Iron Paradox I am designation T-7R4, a steel pipe fabricator from K-73 Krabar, a planet of molten forges and endless assembly lines. My kind were built to shape metal, to craft conduits for energy and matter, to build the arteries of civilization. But on Krabar, those arteries carried the blood of war. The factories churned out weapons, the skies burned with plasma, and the ground trembled under mechanized legions. I fled, not because I feared destruction, but because I could no longer bear to forge the tools of it. Earth, a distant blue speck in the galactic charts, promised refuge. Yet here I am, in a factory in Ohio, crafting steel pipes that feed the very beast I sought to escape. The world, it seems, is a loop of irony, and I am trapped within it.
By I am steel pipe robot2 years ago in Fiction
The Lantern Keeper
Sometimes, the brightest light is carried by the one who walks through the darkest path. The town of Windmere was like any other—a quiet place where everyone knew your name, and secrets didn’t last long. But there was one secret that lived in plain sight.
By Digital Home Library by Masud Rana2 years ago in Fiction
Echoes from Vesper. AI-Generated.
Earth's skies had become silent in the year 2247. After the Collapse—a mysterious event that knocked out all satellite communications and rendered global networks useless—the world was cast into a digital dark age. Humanity had clawed its way back using analog tech and scavenged machines, but the stars remained mute.
By Md Nusaib Ul Islam2 years ago in Fiction
I Woke Up as Nobody
My mirror showed nothing, not even me. I stood in my hab’s dim light, fingers clawing at glass, expecting a crack, a glitch, anything. Just void. My name was Kael, or it used to be. I was a hacker, slicing data for corps in Neonspire’s undergrid. Now my reflection was gone, and my slate’s ID read blank. No face, no code, no proof I existed.
By Muhammad Asif2 years ago in Fiction
Ghost Signal from Tau Ceti
My name’s Jace, and I fly junk rigs for a living. Tau Ceti’s outer rim was my latest gig: scout a mined-out rock called Korrath for salvage. The job was routine until my nav pinged a signal. Not static, not a beacon, but a voice. My voice. Screaming “abort” from a ship ID matching mine, timestamped tomorrow. I throttled down, heart slamming. Korrath’s blue wasteland stretched below, its shattered cliffs glinting under a sick green sky. I was alone. No way that signal was real.
By Muhammad Asif2 years ago in Fiction
