Short Story
The Jasmine Promise
The morning mist still clung to the trees when Prince Indrajit and his sister Princess Indravati arrived at the ashram of Subramanyam, the legendary teacher of kings. The old guru welcomed them with folded hands, his white beard glowing in the dawn light. Behind him stood his son Prasanna - tall, broad-shouldered, with eyes that seemed to hold all the wisdom of his father's teachings. As Indrajit formally requested tutelage, Indravati found herself unable to look away from Prasanna. There was something in the way he stood - not like the stiff-backed warriors at court, but with an easy grace that spoke of quiet confidence. When their eyes met, she felt her breath catch in a way no palace suitor had ever made her feel. Even as her brother led her away, she glanced back three times, and each time found Prasanna still watching her. The next morning, as Indrajit began his lessons, Indravati's handmaiden Pramila approached Prasanna with a bouquet of night-blooming jasmine. "From the princess," she whispered, glancing around nervously. "She said you'd understand the meaning." The flowers' heady perfume surrounded Prasanna as he brought them to his face, his heart pounding. That evening, he pressed a carefully folded poem between the same flowers and had them returned to Indravati's chambers. For weeks, this secret dance continued. During the day, Indravati would sit with her brother during lessons, her eyes constantly drifting to where Prasanna tended the ashram's gardens. In stolen moments when no one was watching, they exchanged whispers by the old banyan tree, their fingers brushing as they passed notes hidden in flower petals. On the final day of training, as the sun set in a blaze of orange and purple, Indravati found Prasanna alone by the river. "I'll speak to my father tonight," she promised, her small hand gripping his. "We'll be married before the monsoon comes." Prasanna's joy was tempered by fear. "Your father is a king, and I'm just a scholar's son. What if he refuses?" Indravati lifted her chin with royal determination. "Then we'll leave together. I won't lose you." But fate had other plans. That very night, King Veerabahu summoned his daughter to the throne room. "Prince Vikraman of the northern kingdom has asked for your hand," he declared proudly. "I've already given my word." The blood drained from Indravati's face, but royal duty kept her protest locked behind clenched teeth. When word reached Prasanna, he collapsed beneath their banyan tree, a dagger glinting in his hand. "If I can't have her," he whispered to the uncaring night, "then let my life end here." Meanwhile, at the palace gates, a handsome stranger calling himself Anandan rescued Pramila from a charging elephant during the wedding preparations. As he carried her to safety, neither realized how their lives would soon intertwine with their masters'. On the eve of the wedding, as tradition demanded, Indravati and her bridesmaids visited the Durga temple in the forest. Hidden behind the towering statue of the goddess, Prasanna waited with a breaking heart, determined to see his love one final time. What he saw instead made his blood run cold - Indravati, alone before the idol, raising a ceremonial dagger to her own throat. "No!" He burst from hiding, grabbing her wrist just in time. The dagger clattered to the stone floor as they clung to each other, tears mingling. Suddenly, the temple doors burst open. There stood Anandan, the mysterious stranger, his disguise now discarded. "Stop this foolishness!" he commanded. "The obstacle isn't the king's promise, but Prince Vikraman's claim. Convince him to withdraw, and your path is clear." Indravati shook her head in despair. "How? I've never even met the man!" With a dramatic flourish, Anandan removed his traveler's cloak to reveal royal silks beneath. "Because Prince Vikraman stands before you." The truth unfolded like a lotus blooming - Vikraman had come in disguise to understand why the princess resisted their marriage. Seeing her true love for Prasanna, he refused to be the cause of their suffering. "No union begun with broken hearts can prosper," he declared. The next morning, a stunned King Veerabahu listened as Vikraman himself pleaded Prasanna and Indravati's case. Moved by such selflessness, the king gave his blessing. As the conch shells sounded their joy throughout the kingdom, two weddings were celebrated - one for the princess and her scholar, another for the noble prince and Pramila, whose courage had matched his own. Years later, when travelers passed the old banyan tree, they would sometimes see an aging couple sitting in its shade - a still-graceful woman leaning against a man whose eyes still sparkled with wisdom and love. And if the moonlight was just right, one might glimpse the ghostly shapes of two young lovers dancing among the flowers, their joy finally complete. Thus they proved that no promise is stronger than compassion, no law greater than love.
By Alice Talesabout a year ago in Fiction
Illicit Affairs
There once was a woman who met a man who was no good for her. They both knew it, but he pursued it. It started subtly, with an excuse to send an email here and a text about something work-related there. She was easy to talk to and refreshingly outgoing. He lived in a world walled in by religion and grossly lacking four-letter words. The dangerous thing- the real problem, if you will- was that they each made the other feel existence. Seen and heard. The banter was perfectly timed. The things they found they had in common seemed otherworldly. She knew it was doomed, but couldn't stop herself from looking at her phone and hoping he'd be in there somewhere. It was harmless.
By Christa Leighabout a year ago in Fiction
Hot Dirigible
Tallulah felt the thick braids of the whicker basket through the soles of her running shoes. She imagined it matched the thick braids in her long blond hair. She was not sure about getting into a hot air balloon when she first arrived at the field near the Fort Crittenden Dam Park. She almost chickened out, but once they were up in the air she found the view utterly breathtaking. She could see the entire valley from their height.
By Amos Gladeabout a year ago in Fiction
Where Were You? . Runner-Up in The Second First Time Challenge.
Halcyon was one of those things no one comprehended as it was happening, or we didn’t want to comprehend. Couldn’t comprehend. I watch Director Ehler in the recording of the press conference that inevitably accompanies the new footage of Janus, and I don’t recognize my colleague of twenty-five years. He is younger, yes, but still grey, and slim, and himself. After comprehending, he was older. Greyer. Slimmer. Part of him died with Halcyon.
By Rosie Ford about a year ago in Fiction
Blocked
Bonnie slowly walked to her car, each step exhausting and sending new waves of pain echoing from her feet. When she finally got inside her car and closed the door, she sat there for a long moment. Then the tears came strolling down her face, and though they were unbidden, Bonnie didn’t stop them. Instead, a sob broke through her lips as she placed her forehead on her steering wheel, her body already shaking.
By Rebecca Pattonabout a year ago in Fiction
Little Bug
I never thought Helping The Police With Their Inquiries could be so.much.fun. To think I've always avoided them. They're not so scary. Not really. Not half. They're just normal people. Average. Trying to do their jobs. Get by. Like anyone, I suppose.
By L.C. Schäferabout a year ago in Fiction
We Are The Visitors
So we left Earth. Or maybe Earth left us. The timeline is fuzzy, like an old photograph smudged by too many fingers. There was water once, and grass. Birds, probably. A sky you could breathe. Then we made some really cool stuff like Netflix and nerve gas and a planet that smelled like melting plastic. So we said, “Hey, let’s go colonize something.”
By Paper Lanternabout a year ago in Fiction
One of Those Nights
It had been one of those days. My wife and I both worked long hours and we’d been paired up on a stressful project all week. By the time we pulled into the driveway, the sun was low and everything felt heavy. She climbed out of the car without a word, and I grabbed the mail from the box before heading inside.
By Mark Stigers about a year ago in Fiction
The Last Gate to Paradise
The air shimmered like glass in the golden light of the setting sun. A vast meadow stretched endlessly, blooming with flowers that had no names, colors that defied human language, and scents that evoked forgotten dreams. In the center of it all stood a lone gate — ancient, majestic, and pulsing with light.
By NIAZ Muhammadabout a year ago in Fiction
Building Beyond the Jars. Content Warning.
She quickly scurried around, juggling jars of various things. One full of yellow and bright leaves, flowers, and rocks. Another full of the same items but in blue, pink, green, and red. Each one was a representation of a moment in her life. She had a place for each one on the shelves she had meticulously built and arranged. Suddenly, a thud outside her home shook the walls. The jars shook from their place on the shelf and inched toward the edge. She, the one they call Elora, quickly threw open her windows and searched for what was causing the shaking of her home and the thing that was threatening the comfort of her routine. She noticed a tall man dressed in a black t shirt and blue jeans standing outside her home, his back facing her as he motioned for another load of lumber to be dropped. The lumber clattered to the ground, and Elora’s home shook once again. One of the jars, the one decorated with red, crashed to the ground.
By Elora ThornWoodabout a year ago in Fiction
When I Close My Eyes. Content Warning.
When I close my eyes The summers end was coming near as fall was bestowing on us. Our children played in our yard as the sun was beginning to set. The nights began to cool down a sigh of relief as it was a tall tell sign that fall was drawing nearer. As the years come to pass, the summers seem to get hotter. Sitting on our back deck, I look around at my beautiful family, admiring how blissfully lucky I am. My wonderful husband Remi was making our favorite meal Falafel for dinner. The aroma wafting in my face as I take a deep breath, the heavenly scent Maqluba. Rice, fried vegetables such as tomatoes, cauliflower potatoes and eggplant, seasoned to perfection served with your choice of chicken or lamb. Tonight, Remi is making it with Lamb. “Smells wonderful darling,” I say smiling at Remi. He gives me a wink, “of course it does, I am after all a professional chef, “he quips. I burst into laughter, the kind that comes from your stomach, causing for it to ache. “A chef huh? You burn half the meat half the time,” I quip.
By Aubrie Sandnessabout a year ago in Fiction
