Habibullah
Bio
Storyteller of worlds seen & unseen ✨ From real-life moments to pure imagination, I share tales that spark thought, wonder, and smiles daily
Stories (141)
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The Digital Detox Revelation
Lena’s world was a symphony of information. Holographic screens floated around her apartment, each a river of news feeds, social updates, and market data. As a Data Stream Curator, her value was her ability to stay connected, to spot trends in the chaos. She was good at it. The constant hum was the sound of success.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Emptiness Engine
The monastery of the Void Chapter was the quietest place in the known universe. It hung in the silence between stars, a simple asteroid hollowed out by centuries of meditation. Here, the monks practiced the Art of Release. They believed the cosmos was drowning in a cacophony of creation—a violent, wasteful struggle for more energy, more matter, more stuff.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Cosmic Nomad's Burden
The Star-Sworn was not a ship; it was a tombkeeper’s silent procession. Its halls echoed with the ghosts of worlds. In its climate-controlled vaults rested the last of their kind: the Final Seed of the Xylosian Crystal Forests, the Last Egg of the Azure Wyvern of Lyra, the Root-Spore of the Singing Fungi of Kepler-186f. Kaelen was their guardian, the last of the Starfarer order. His purpose was singular: to keep them safe until a new, safe world could be found.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Memory Sculptor
Silas’s workshop smelled of old wood, beeswax, and something else, something intangible: the scent of yesterday. He was a Memory Sculptor. He didn’t erase—that was a crude, dangerous art. He refined. He softened edges. He helped people carry their past without being crushed by it.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The AI Oracle of Truth
The Chamber of Veritas was the quietest place on Earth. It had to be. Noise—emotional, informational, or auditory—could cloud the purity of the answer. People called the entity at its center the Oracle. It was an AI, built not for efficiency or automation, but for a single purpose: to discern and deliver objective, verifiable truth.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Lunar Ark's Secret
The Lunar Ark was a tomb of life, built to be a cradle. For fifty years, it had circled its silent vigil, a gleaming silver locket containing the frozen DNA of every species that had once called Earth home. Dr. Aris Thorne was one of its keepers, a botanist whose world was the hushed, sterile hallways of the Seed Vault.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Quantum Locksmith
The bell above Elias’s door didn’t tinkle; it hummed a faint C-sharp, the resonant frequency of their particular slice of reality. His shop was a chaotic museum of what-ifs and almost-weres. Gears turned without touching, crystals hummed with captured starlight, and on the wall hung keys of every description—not for physical doors, but for temporal and quantum ones.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Dream Market Auction
The air in the underground vault was thick with expensive smoke and desperate desire. This was the Veiled Bazaar, where the hyper-rich of Neo-Sanctuary came to buy what they could no create themselves: real, unfiltered emotion. Lysander moved through the crowd, a ghost in a tailored suit. He was a Dream Trader. His product was humanity, bottled and sold by the milliliter.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Star-Seed Gardener
Silas was a gardener of the absolute scale. His greenhouse was the cargo hold of the Ketheres, a lonely ship drifting between the stars. His seeds were not of oak or apple, but of atmosphere and organism, designed to shatter barren rock and whisper life into the void.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Empathy Implant's Failure
The morning it happened began like any other. Elara’s neural implant, the Harmony-7, hummed its gentle morning pulse, calibrating her emotional baseline. As she walked through the pristine, quiet streets of Aethel, the implant did its job perfectly. She felt the subtle anxiety of the man rushing to work, a sympathetic flutter in her chest. She sensed the contented fatigue of the woman walking her dog, which brought a soft smile to her lips. She was a perfectly tuned instrument, resonating with the feelings of everyone around her. There was no conflict, no anger, no loneliness. The Great Division was a forgotten chapter in history. Harmony was mandatory.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Gravity Well Commune
Kael’s world was defined by weight, or the lack of it. He lived in the Brink, a shantytown built into the rim of a vast crater on Moon LV-426. Here, the gravity was a whisper, a mere 0.2 G. Children leaped between rooftops like sparrows, and the elderly floated with fragile, bird-like bones. But it was a poverty of force. Their muscles were weak, their hearts lazy. They suffered from the "Bone-Waste," a brittle, aching sickness that came from a life too light.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
The Data Stream Shepherd
Leo’s world was a river of light and sound, a ceaseless, chattering current known as the Data Stream. His title was Senior Stream Analyst, Third Shift. Most called him a glorified janitor. His office was a dim cubicle on the 214th floor, and his purpose was to watch the flow—endless lines of code, consumer metrics, communication packets, and digital debris—and ensure the weirs and filters were clear. It was a job of profound loneliness, surrounded by the noise of seven billion people.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
