Suborna Paul
Bio
Use creativity to create your own way
Stories (13)
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The Reflection Room
The first rule of Holloway Institute was: never speak of the Reflection Room. However, every student whispered about it. A locked chamber in the basement, door painted pitch black, no handle—just a keyhole that never seemed to rust. No one knew what was inside, only that strange things happened after someone went near it. People talked of headaches, missing time, even seeing their own faces smile back at them—when they weren’t smiling.
By Suborna Paul8 months ago in Horror
The Role of Mothers in the World and Their Miserable Condition
Mothers play one of the most essential roles in human life. They are the first caregivers, teachers, protectors, and emotional anchors in our lives. Across cultures and societies, the contributions of mothers are universally significant. Yet, despite their central role, millions of mothers around the world live in difficult and often miserable conditions, facing physical, emotional, and economic hardships with little recognition or support.
By Suborna Paul8 months ago in Writers
The Last Confession
Detective Elisa Grant had seen her share of brutal crimes, but the Matthews case clawed at something deeper. Walter Matthews, a quiet librarian, had been found stabbed in his modest home, a single knife wound to the heart. There is no sign of forced entry. No fingerprints. Just an overturned mug and a slip of paper with a strange symbol — a triangle with a dot in the center.
By Suborna Paul8 months ago in Criminal
The Elevator
At 2:43 a.m., the silence in the office tower was broken only by the soft hum of the lights and the occasional groan of the ancient elevator. Erica Thorn, an overworked cybersecurity analyst, punched the elevator button with a sigh. She’d stayed too late again. Her fingers still itch from decoding the last anomaly, a strange string of encrypted data that did not belong to any project, and her eyes burned from hours of screen time. As the elevator doors creaked open on the 42nd floor, a tall man in a dark hoodie stood inside, staring at the ground. His face was shadowed because his hood was pulled low. She hesitated. “Going down?”
By Suborna Paul8 months ago in Criminal
The Boy Who Planted Hope
A young boy by the name of Aarav lived in a quiet village between green hills and dark forests. He was ten years old, curious, and had a lot of questions. He stood out, however, not for his curiosity but for his quiet determination. Aarav was once a prosperous village. Crops swayed in the breeze, birds sang in the trees, and children played in a sparkling river. However, droughts became more frequent over time, the river dried up, and numerous families fled in search of better conditions. Those who stayed talked more about surviving than about their goals. One afternoon, as Aarav walked past the sun-drenched fields, he came upon an elderly man digging a hole alongside the dusty road. The wrinkled man with a gray face was planting a sapling. "Why plant trees in the first place?" Aarav questioned. "Here, nothing grows anymore." The senior man smiled. "I plant them as a result of this. They will eventually. Aarav didn't understand at first. The ground was cracked and dry. For weeks, there had been no rain. However, the elderly man's calm assurance persisted. The following day, Aarav came back with a watering can and helped him water the tree. the day after that. And there's more. The elderly man went by the name of Hari, and he told Aarav tales about the times when the land was in full bloom. "The earth remembers," he'd say. "She just needs some help with her memory." Aarav was inspired to start collecting seeds. He planted them in cans, bottles, and broken clay pots. Some he found in derelict fields, while others he sought out from the locals. He discovered which plants required less water and how to compost kitchen waste. He began with three small plants outside his home. Many people laughed at first. "The world is changing," they said. "No single boy can fix it." On the other hand, Aarav was just trying to make his little corner of the world better. Months passed. The Aarav plants survived despite the brief and light monsoon. Some even grew taller. After seeing this, a few villagers brought their own containers. They received what Aarav had learned from Hari. On rooftops, window sills, and courtyards, the gardening began slowly. One day, Hari got sick. Aarav sat beside him and held his hand. "You were correct," he said. "The earth recalls." Hari gave a meager grin. "You also reminded her." As Hari passed by, Aarav planted a tree on the road where they first met. He wrote, "He planted hope" on a stone next to it. The tree grew tall and extended its branches outward like arms to welcome the sky. The time flew by. A young man by the name of Aarav turned some of the dry fields into a nursery for the community. He taught children to read the soil, care for plants, and listen to the natural world. The village was once quiet and dusty, but now it was bustling. A reporter visited the village one summer and wrote about "The Boy Who Planted Hope." The news spread. Donations showed up. Volunteers arrived. Instruction was provided by scientists. However, there was still a boy, a tree, and a dream that began with a single sapling on a dusty road. Aarav stayed in the neighborhood always. He wasn't going to. His roots were in that soil. Additionally, over time, the land grew not only with plants and flowers but also with a purpose. The river began to trickle once more during the rainy season after decades. The birds returned. The kids had fun. In addition, when they read the words on the roadside tree, every visitor felt a tug on their emotions. Because small acts of faith—like planting a tree where nothing grows and believing that it will one day—sometimes bring about the most significant change....
By Suborna Paul8 months ago in Motivation
The signal came at 2:17 a.m.
The signal came at 2:17 a.m. It was faint, barely a blip on the radar screen, but unmistakable. SOS is a recurrent Morse code. Vostok-7. Alive. The location of a Soviet spacecraft that vanished in 1982 was in line with the coordinates. Dr. Lena Harrow, senior communications analyst at the Arctic Listening Post, blinked at the screen, adrenaline slicing through her fatigue. The Vostok-7 had been written off as a Cold War mystery. All crew presumed dead. But this signal—it was real.
By Suborna Paul9 months ago in Humans
