Putul

Joined April 2025

7 stories

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Storyteller by craft, writer by choice. Putul specializes in creating content that informs and sparks thought, one article at a time.

Stories (7)

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Blades of Flame
In the mythical land of Kaenbara, where cherry blossoms fall even in winter and mountains sing ancient lullabies, there lived a warrior unlike any other—a cat named Hiroshi. Clad in red-and-gold samurai armor, his amber eyes gleamed with courage and wisdom beyond his feline years. He was not an ordinary cat, but the last of the Kogarashi Clan, protectors of balance in Kaenbara. Their enemies were many, but none as feared as the legendary Three Danger Dragons.
By Putul8 months ago in Fiction
When the Sky Caught Fire
It began as a whisper in the silence of space—a flicker on the Sun’s surface that few noticed at first. But far away, deep in the control room of the Solar Dynamics Observatory, Dr. Alina Rahman stared at her screen in disbelief. The sunspot she was tracking had grown monstrously large—ten times the size of Earth, its dark mass boiling and twisting with unstable energy. Then, without warning, it erupted. A coronal mass ejection, or CME, burst from the Sun’s surface like a solar cannonball, hurling billions of tons of plasma straight toward Earth. It was moving faster than anything they had seen in decades. “Estimated impact: 48 hours,” Alina said quietly to her team. Around her, alarms began to ring. The race against time had begun. In a quiet town in northern Canada, twelve-year-old Maya looked up at the sky that evening. It was unusually bright for that time of night. Strange colors—green, purple, crimson—twirled across the stars. “Northern lights?” she asked her grandfather, who nodded, though his eyes were filled with worry. What Maya didn’t know was that those lights, beautiful as they were, marked the arrival of something much larger—a geomagnetic storm with the power to cripple the planet’s technology. Back in space, the storm struck with fury. Earth’s magnetic field shook violently as the solar wind smashed into it. Satellites drifted off course. GPS signals flickered and failed. High-frequency radio communications fell silent. At 38,000 feet, pilots scrambled to reroute planes from polar routes where communication had gone dark. Power grids in several countries trembled under the stress—voltage fluctuations threatened widespread blackouts. On the International Space Station, Commander Elena Zhao received urgent instructions from Earth. “Get into the shielded chamber. Solar particles incoming.” She and her crewmates floated quickly into the protected area, hearts pounding, knowing full well what exposure could mean. Down below, cities buzzed in confusion. Phone calls dropped. Bank systems slowed. Tractors in the fields, guided by GPS, started veering off course. In some places, the power flickered and went out completely. People turned to the skies to see auroras where there had never been any—Italy, India, Texas—places too far south for such displays. Maya stood outside with her grandfather, mesmerized. "The sky’s on fire," she whispered. And in a way, it was. Despite earlier warnings, most governments hadn’t been prepared for something of this magnitude. Days before, Alina and other scientists had issued alerts, urging caution. But space weather often gets ignored, buried beneath news of storms and politics. After all, how dangerous could sunlight be? Now, the answer was burning in the atmosphere. As the storm raged on, emergency meetings were held across the globe. Satellites were switched into safe mode, airlines grounded certain flights, and military systems double-checked their backup networks. The K-index, which measures geomagnetic disturbances, hit the maximum level of 9. Scientists hadn't seen that in over 20 years. Alina sat in her lab, exhausted, but unable to look away from the data streaming in. She knew this was not the worst the Sun could do—just a glimpse of its true fury. By the third day, the storm began to ease. Earth’s magnetic field, though bruised, held strong. Slowly, satellites were restored. Flights resumed. Electricity returned. Humanity had endured, but the scars remained—not physical, but intellectual. “We got lucky,” Commander Zhao said in a post-mission interview. “The next time, we might not be.” In the aftermath, action finally stirred. Governments pledged funding to improve solar monitoring. Power companies began reviewing how to harden the grid against solar events. Scientists pushed for better global coordination. Even the public—once oblivious to space weather—began to ask questions. What if a stronger storm hit? What if it lasted longer? Back in Canada, Maya opened her notebook and began to draw the lights she’d seen. “Was it dangerous?” she asked her grandfather. He nodded. “Yes. But we learned something.” “What did we learn?” “That the sky can warn us,” he said. “And we should always listen.” Epilogue:The May 2025 solar storm came and went like a cosmic dragon—fiery, breathtaking, and dangerous. It gave the world a moment of awe and a moment of fear. It reminded us that the Sun, our eternal flame, is not only the source of life—but sometimes, a messenger of chaos. And high above, in the quiet corridors of space, the Sun burns on—its next secret already building beneath its surface.
By Putul8 months ago in Earth
Life Only Rewards Action Takers, Not Idea Makers
In today’s fast-paced and competitive world, ideas alone are not enough. People have amazing aspirations, creative ideas, and clever solutions to problems everywhere you look. Yet, despite all these brilliant ideas, only a handful of people manage to turn them into reality. Why? Because life doesn’t reward those who merely think or talk about doing something—it rewards those who take action. This truth, though sometimes uncomfortable, is a powerful reminder that success lies in execution, not imagination. Everyone has had a great idea at some point. Perhaps you thought of a new app, a unique product, or a business model that could revolutionize an industry. Maybe you dreamed of writing a book, starting a YouTube channel, or getting fit and healthy. But how many of those ideas did you actually act on? How many of them turned into something real? Chances are, very few. That’s because the journey from idea to result is long and often difficult—and only those willing to walk that path reap the rewards. Ideas are cheap. In fact, they’re everywhere. Everybody is always talking about what they "could" do. “I had that idea years ago,” someone says when a new company succeeds. But here’s the thing—having an idea doesn’t make you successful. Taking action does. The person who turned the idea into a business, built the team, faced the challenges, and stayed consistent is the one who deserves the reward. Fear is a major reason why people don't act on their ideas. Even the most gifted minds can be paralyzed by fears of failure, rejection, and judgment. They convince us to wait, to overthink, to keep planning without ever starting. But what most people don’t realize is that failure is not the enemy—inaction is. You can learn from failure, adapt, and improve. But if you do nothing, there’s nothing to grow from. Action is what teaches you. It’s how you gain experience and get better. Another common barrier is perfectionism. Many people want everything to be just right before they begin. They wait for the perfect time, the perfect plan, or the perfect conditions. But perfection is an illusion. There is no perfect moment. What matters is starting—imperfectly, awkwardly, even messily—and improving along the way. The most successful people in the world didn’t wait to be perfect. They just began, and they figured it out as they moved forward. Confidence, or the lack of it, also holds many people back. They think, “Who am I to do this?” or “I’m not qualified enough.” But here’s the secret: confidence grows through action. The more you do, the more you learn. The more you learn, the more capable you feel. And the more capable you feel, the more confident you become. It’s a cycle—but it starts with action. The world is full of people with potential. But potential doesn’t pay the bills. Potential doesn’t build companies or write books or change lives. Only action does. If you want results, you have to move. Even small steps matter. Writing one page a day, recording one video a week, saving a little money each month—these things add up over time. Progress doesn’t have to be dramatic; it just has to be consistent. Let’s look at some real-life examples. Thomas Edison didn’t just imagine the lightbulb—he tested thousands of materials until he found the right one. Elon Musk didn’t just dream of electric cars—he invested his own money and worked 100-hour weeks to build Tesla and SpaceX. J.K. Rowling didn’t just come up with the idea of Harry Potter—she wrote the books while facing poverty and rejection. What made them successful wasn’t their ideas alone—it was their willingness to act, to persist, and to overcome obstacles. When you take action, amazing things happen. First, you gain clarity. You start to notice what doesn't work and what does. Theory becomes practice. Second, you increase your speed. One step leads to another, and soon you’re further than you thought possible. Third, you earn respect—from others and from yourself. People admire doers. Most importantly, you begin to see results, albeit modest at first but undeniable. So, how can you learn to take action? Start by breaking your big idea into small, manageable tasks. Don’t aim to finish everything in one day—just begin. Set deadlines for yourself. Make a schedule. Take one step every single day, no matter how small. Embrace mistakes—they are proof that you’re trying. Surround yourself with people who take action too; their energy will inspire you. And most importantly, believe in yourself enough to begin. Also, keep in mind that the world doesn’t care about what you’re planning to do. It cares about what you’ve done. People don’t invest in ideas—they invest in action. Employers hire people who deliver. Readers read what’s published, not what’s imagined. Customers buy finished products, not concepts. Until you take action, your idea has no real value in the world. One of the hardest truths you’ll ever accept is this: No one is coming to push you. It’s your job to act. Your job to show up every day and put in the effort. Motivation is not the issue; commitment is. And when you commit to action, life rewards you in ways you never expected. New opportunities appear. Unexpected support shows up. Confidence grows. And step by step, your idea becomes reality. In conclusion, having a great idea is only the beginning. What truly matters is what you do with it. Life is a field of action, not a fantasy. You can think, plan, dream, and hope all you want, but without action, none of it will matter. So take that first step. Start messy. Be bold. Make the effort. Because at the end of the day, life only rewards action takers—not idea makers.
By Putul8 months ago in Motivation
The Secrets of Treasure Hunting Etiquette
In an age where instant gratification rules and mysteries seem scarce, there remains one pursuit that defies the noise of modern life—a silent dance with the past known as treasure hunting. This isn't just a pastime for the curious or thrill-seekers; it's a timeless ritual of wonder and reverence, an ancient artform that stretches beyond maps and metal detectors into the murky realm of myth, memory, and magic. To be a treasure hunter is to become a whisperer of the Earth, a listener to forgotten stories buried beneath soil and stone. Long before a spade touches ground or a detector hums to life, something sacred stirs in the heart of a true seeker. Many experienced hunters observe a private ritual, whispering an oath beneath their breath—a vow not to conquer the past, but to understand it. These are not empty gestures; they are promises born of respect, an acknowledgment that each coin, shard, or pendant is not merely a relic but a message from those who walked the world before us. In holding such objects, you’re not just touching history—you are communing with it. But the world of treasure hunting is veiled in more than excitement. It is laced with codes, customs, and unseen boundaries. The lands one explores are not always governed by legal signs or fences. Many hunters speak of “phantom lines”—mythical boundaries that aren’t found on any map, but are etched in folklore, passed through generations as whispers of protection or warning. These places, soaked in ancestral presence, carry the weight of stories untold, and wise hunters know better than to cross them recklessly. Sometimes, the richest treasures are those left untouched. Silence, too, is a guiding force in this world. The best hunters know that discretion is not just etiquette—it’s preservation. In a time when locations can be broadcast with a tap on a screen, the most sacred sites are shielded in shadow. Veterans often keep “ghost journals”—cryptic notebooks filled with riddles, codes, and symbol-laced entries that obscure rather than reveal. These aren’t hoards of greed, but protective spells in ink, keeping the delicate balance between discovery and destruction intact. In the hands of the wrong people, even knowledge can be a weapon. The Earth itself is a living entity in this sacred exchange, and its wounds must be healed as they are made. Ethical hunters follow the principle of the “ghost dig”—a practice so clean, so mindful, that not even a footprint lingers once the task is done. There is a certain grace in this vanishing act, a humility in knowing that your presence should pass like a whisper. To leave no scar is to show respect not only for the past, but for the planet that continues to hold it. Then there’s the question of what to do with the treasure once it is found. While the urge to keep a dazzling find can be strong, many seasoned hunters feel a deeper calling—a belief that some treasures are not meant to be owned, but returned. In Japan, for example, hunters who discover artifacts connected to ancient shrines will often return them quietly, performing an unspoken ritual of thanks. These offerings are made anonymously, not for recognition but for reverence. It is a humbling reminder that not everything unearthed is meant to be possessed. Sometimes, the act of giving back is the treasure itself. Beyond the tools and techniques, treasure hunting thrives on the strength of its community. It is a secretive brotherhood and sisterhood, bound not by competition but by mutual respect. Newcomers are often taken under wing in quiet mentorships, their growth guided not with fanfare but through subtle lessons, shared stories, and patient encouragement. Within this circle of trust, a simple nod of acknowledgment can speak louder than accolades. Here, generosity of knowledge is as valuable as gold. Yet even within this community, perhaps the greatest skill a hunter can possess is knowing when to walk away. The Earth has a voice, and it speaks to those who listen. A sudden shift in wind, a stilled bird song, or a signal that fades without reason—these are not accidents, but omens. Many hunters believe in the “silence sign,” an unspoken warning from the Earth or the ancestors that a secret must stay buried. Stories abound of those who ignored such warnings, only to find misfortune—or something stranger—following close behind. Whether superstition or spiritual truth, one lesson remains: not all treasure is meant to be found. Indeed, the true wealth of treasure hunting often lies far from gold or gems. It lives in the stories etched along the journey—the rustle of leaves beneath your boots, the old farmer’s tale that leads to an unexpected find, the quiet heartbeat of the land as you kneel to dig. It lies in the patience learned, the respect earned, and the awe rekindled in every rusted coin or weather-worn trinket pulled from the earth’s embrace. And there are always traces left behind—not just in the soil, but in the soul. Subtle carvings on trees, tiny stacks of stones, or a folded ribbon tied to a branch—these are known among hunters as “whisper marks.” They're not meant to guide, but to remember. They are signs to fellow seekers that someone came before, someone who heard the same whispers and felt the same awe. These marks are not just messages—they are echoes of a shared reverence, the silent communion of those who dig with purpose, with care, and with heart. In the end, treasure hunting is not about the glittering object tucked into a pouch or displayed on a shelf. It is about the transformation that occurs along the way. Each quest changes you, shaping your perception of time, space, and story. The Earth does not yield her secrets easily—but when she does, they are given not to the loudest, fastest, or most determined, but to those who ask gently, who listen closely, and who carry the weight of history with wonder. So walk softly, dig mindfully, and listen well. For beneath your feet lie not just relics, but whispers—timeless, waiting, and very much alive.
By Putul9 months ago in History
“The scar has a star in it, and it belongs to me.”
The Night Star of the Scar A Poem in Micro-Prose The first time I touched silence, it bled. This was the silence that resides within a person when the world has unraveled every thread and left only the ache of empty fabric—not the soft hush of snowfall or the stillness of a room. On a beach where the sky hadn't brought any stars, I ran into it. As if trying to recall a song it once sang to the moon, the sea kept exhaling. And while I was there, barefoot, I seasoned each memory. They assert that the body heals. But the spirit? Poetry is written by the soul in scar tissue. My left scar was small and just below my ribs. By the time I realized that love doesn't always stay—and sometimes it isn't meant to—it wasn't carved by a sword or a battle. That was the never-scabbed cut. That was the home of my silence. However, silence does not necessarily imply absence. It's sometimes the beginning of something sacred. Nearby, a bird landed—not just any bird, but a raven—slender and shrewd like the kind you think only exists in your imagination. It looked at me like it knew everything I hadn't said about my betrayal. "Are you still awaiting a call?" It seemed to inquire. I whispered, "No." "I'm waiting for something that could be worth becoming." Once did the raven blink. "Then you're getting close," A single feather was all that remained of it as it vanished into the pitch-black wind. As if it were a thought I didn't want to forget, I tucked it behind my ear. Nights went by. Perhaps years. When you stop begging it for answers, time folds strangely. I wandered through rust-colored and prayer-filled cities. People I met had oceans in their wounds and galaxies in their eyes. I discovered that joy—joy can be rebellion—and grief—can become art. I met a woman in the middle of nowhere who carried a compass without a needle. She stated to me, "Direction is a lie." "All roads lead inward if you're brave enough." So I entered. I walked through the cathedral of my own ribs, past memories that pulsed like reversed constellations and old laughter. Then I discovered it. The middle the actual silence Not the injury. The absence, not. However, there is still a dim flame burning beneath everything. It did not yell. It failed to shine. It was just that. like holding a note too long. like a name you can't remember when you say it, but you know in your bones. I felt it as I placed my hand over my heart: a wound that has a star inside. That was the turning point in my life. Many people have the misconception that becoming real entails accumulating scars, enduring hardships, or ultimately finding love. But it isn't. It is the moment when you still decide to stay because you see yourself fully—raw, luminous, and without shame. Under a star-filled sky that night, I carved the truth into my breath: "I own the scar, which has a star in it." It didn't come from a book. It wasn't said by anyone else first. Since the day it learned that beauty is the birthplace of pain, not the opposite, my soul had been carving this phrase into my skin. Therefore, should you ever forget who you are... If the world shuts you down, cracks you open, and makes you feel empty... Head for the water. Go all the way to the sky's edge. Let the tide wash away your expectations. And keep in mind: "I own the scar, which has a star in it." It should burn. Be guided by it. Allow it to infuse your spirit with everything you've built up over time.
By Putul9 months ago in Art
The Breathless City Under the Waves is Aqualis.
Titik A Brief Overview of A Silent City In the year 2275, humanity ceased reaching for the stars and turned instead toward the depths. What started out as a desperate adaptation evolved into a radical evolution. Aqualis, which lies five kilometers below the Indian Ocean, is more than just a city. It is a living example of what the human race has the potential to become. Seabirds soar like messengers between realms, fish serve as guides, and dolphins whisper secrets here. And no one breathes—not because they can’t, but because they no longer need to.
By Putul9 months ago in Fiction
Muhammad Yunus Returns: A Nation Reborn Under the Guidance of a Nobel Laureate
In a moment that has stirred both national pride and global interest, Bangladesh is undergoing a historic transformation. The nation was at a crossroads after a student-led uprising overthrew the authoritarian prime minister last year. In a decisive and symbolic act, the people turned to one of their most celebrated sons—Nobel Peace Prize laureate Muhammad Yunus—to help chart a path toward democracy, justice, and a renewed national identity.
By Putul9 months ago in Humans

Putul

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Blades of Flame

When the Sky Caught Fire

Life Only Rewards Action Takers, Not Idea Makers

The Secrets of Treasure Hunting Etiquette

“The scar has a star in it, and it belongs to me.”

The Breathless City Under the Waves is Aqualis.

Muhammad Yunus Returns: A Nation Reborn Under the Guidance of a Nobel Laureate

Stories (7)