Mehrdad Rajabi
Bio
A quiet observer of the human heart and the cosmic dance. Diving deep into the beauty and complexity of what it means to live, feel, and strive.
Stories (10)
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The Oracle's Shadow
The air in the small, cramped office of Nexus Innovations always smelled faintly of burnt coffee and ambition. For Alex, it was the scent of hope. For Ben, his best friend and co-founder, it was the fuel for genius. They were two halves of a whole: Ben, the quiet, brilliant architect of code, whose fingers danced across keyboards with an almost mystical grace; Alex, the charismatic hustler, the dreamer, who could sell a snow cone in Antarctica. Their dream, 'Oracle,' an AI-driven predictive analytics tool, was finally, agonizingly, nearing completion.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Architect of Light
The city of Veridia was a canvas of muted greys and faded browns. Once celebrated for its vibrant architecture and sprawling gardens, it now lay under a perpetual shroud of industrial haze, a monument to a forgotten future. Its people moved like shadows, their footsteps hushed, their eyes mirroring the desaturated landscape – vacant, resigned, utterly devoid of the spark that once defined humanity. A slow, insidious despair had seeped into every crack and crevice, silencing laughter, dimming aspirations, and ultimately, stealing colour from the world.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Silent Roar of Veritas
The Veritas Dam stood as a benevolent colossus, a century-old sentinel cradling Lake Veritas high above the idyllic valley of Aethel. For generations, its concrete curves had cradled the lifeblood of the village below, feeding their fields, powering their mills, and ensuring their serenity. It was more than a structure; it was a promise, a bedrock of their existence.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Weaver's Paradox
The old cabin by the lake hummed with the quiet symphony of a late autumn evening. Outside, the wind whispered secrets through the skeletal branches of ancient oaks, and the first tentative drops of rain tapped against the windowpanes. Inside, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the rustic walls. Elara sat curled in a large armchair, a half-read book forgotten in her lap, her gaze fixed on Liam, who was meticulously arranging a new log on the fire. Their silence was not empty, but full, woven with years of shared understanding and a love that had grown as steadily and deeply as the forest around them.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
Aetheria's Song
Elara's fingers danced across the ebony and ivory keys, a tempest of sound filling the small apartment. The melody was Tchaikovsky, passionate and soaring, mirroring the fervor in her own heart. In a week, she would be boarding a plane to Vienna, a scholarship to the prestigious Royal Conservatory clutched in her hand, a dream she had pursued with every fiber of her being since she was a child. The world of classical music, of grand concert halls and rapt audiences, was finally within her grasp.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Weight of Honor
Elara moved through the echoing halls of the Scriptorium, her footsteps barely a whisper against the ancient stone. Dust motes danced in the slivers of light piercing the high, arched windows, illuminating shelves upon shelves of scrolls, tomes, and brittle parchments – the amassed wisdom of Oakhaven. As the Principal Archivist and Keeper of the Scrolls, Elara was not merely a custodian; she was the living memory of their secluded mountain community, the guardian of its intellectual and spiritual heritage.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Language of Tides
Elara arrived in Oakhaven like a whisper carried on the wind – seen, felt, but rarely heard. The small, coastal village, with its salt-laced air and rhythm dictated by the unforgiving sea, seemed to swallow her silence whole. She bought a small cottage overlooking the churning grey-blue expanse, its windows often fogged with sea spray, its walls eventually adorned with canvases depicting the very view it offered. Elara painted with a fierce, almost desperate passion, each stroke a word she couldn’t utter, each colour a feeling too raw for speech. A profound grief, a void where her voice once resonated, had driven her here after a tragedy that had shattered her world and stolen her words.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Seed of Hope. AI-Generated.
The air itself tasted of rust and forgotten dreams. For seven years, Elara had known little else, each breath a gritty reminder of what Earth had become. Outside the reinforced walls of Haven-7, the planet was a canvas of ochre and grey, painted by ceaseless dust storms that had long since scoured away cities and forests alike. The sun, a pale, indifferent disc, struggled to pierce the perpetual twilight, offering little warmth to a world that had forgotten how to bloom.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
Love's First Shadow. AI-Generated.
The world, for Elara and Liam, had been painted in hues of sunrise and starlight. They met in the bustling corridors of their university library, a serendipitous collision of textbooks and shy smiles. She, with her wildfire spirit and a sketchbook filled with dreams; he, with his quiet determination and a mind geared for logic. Their attraction was immediate, their connection effortless. Their love bloomed in the final throes of their academic year, a vibrant, insistent bloom against the backdrop of impending adulthood.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
The Echo of Courage. AI-Generated.
The village of Oakhaven nestled in a valley carved by the Whispering River, its existence a vibrant splash of color against the muted greens and greys of the surrounding mountains. It was famed not for its strategic location, for it had none, nor for its wealth, for it was meager, but for its weavers. And among them, Elara was a legend. Her loom, a sturdy oak frame passed down through generations, was a stage where threads of every hue danced into tapestries that spoke. They told tales of ancient heroes, of the river's whims, of the mountain’s enduring spirit, and of the everyday joys and sorrows of Oakhaven folk. Her work was the village’s collective memory, its vibrant voice.
By Mehrdad Rajabi5 months ago in Fiction
