Love

She Left Without a Sound"
I woke up to the smell of coffee, but the house was silent. The mug sat on the table. Still warm. Her handwriting on a sticky note:
By bakhto khan4 months ago in Fiction
🌧️The Night It Finally Rained. AI-Generated.
She stood by the window, arms folded, as the sun dipped behind the grey horizon. Fifty-six evenings had passed without a single drop of rain. Fifty-six evenings since Rayan had walked out of her life—quietly, without an explanation, without a goodbye. The world felt thirsty, and so did she.
By Yaseen khan4 months ago in Fiction
The Clockmaker’s Daughter
The Clockmaker’s Daughter When time itself falls in love, the universe must hold its breath. The gears of the old clock tower sang their steady hymn through the fog of London’s dawn. Beneath its brass ribs, where dust shimmered like captured sunlight, lived Elias Renn, the city’s last true clockmaker. His hands — scarred by years of delicate craft — shaped time into beauty.
By Abdul Muhammad 4 months ago in Fiction
Memory For Sale
The shop was called "Echoes," and it existed in the quiet, grimy space between a broken dream and a desperate need. Its proprietor, a man named Silas, was a memory broker. In a world saturated with sensation but starved for meaning, his was the most lucrative, and most tragic, trade.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
Who’s at the Window?
My aunt once told me she never liked dogs because they demanded too much attention. “They always need something,” she’d say. But I don’t think she ever met every dog. Some do bark for company, sure—but not Bruno. He was a small brown mass of gentleness, patience, and quiet understanding. This story is about him—how he found me one cold, misty Sunday morning in November, and how that day began to piece my life back together.
By Atiqbuddy4 months ago in Fiction
Grandpa's Hologram
In Răzvan's Village, a small, isolated settlement nestled in the heart of the hills, the year 2025 had brought with it a quiet modernity, but also great sadness. Here, heritage was measured in aromas, and the most precious was that of sourdough bread—a 300-year-old recipe, known only by Grandpa Nicu, the village baker.When Grandpa Nicu passed away, the recipe died with him. His text file, saved on an old tablet, was incomplete. The bread baked by his granddaughter, Ana—a software engineer who had returned home—lacked that "soul."Thus, the idea was born: Ana used all of her grandfather's video recordings, voice memos, and handwritten notes to train a Holographic Artificial Intelligence. This AI was not just an archive; it was a simulation of her grandfather's consciousness, capable of speaking, thinking, and, most importantly, "feeling" the recipe.One cold evening, the holographic light flickered to life in the old bakery. Grandpa Nicu stood there once more, a warm, ethereal specter of light, with his virtual apron tied around his waist.
By alin butuc4 months ago in Fiction
The Voynich Manuscript. AI-Generated.
Ahmed had thought he had seen strange things in his life—hidden libraries beneath deserts, tombs with traps that seemed designed to test courage—but nothing compared to the first time he laid eyes on the Voynich Manuscript.
By Nusuki4 months ago in Fiction
The Cosmic Background Whisper. AI-Generated.
Dr. Elias Koren had spent his life listening to the stars. Not with his ears, exactly, but with the instruments that let him hear space—the faint hum of cosmic radiation, the static that stretched across the universe like whispers between galaxies.
By Nusuki4 months ago in Fiction
Sunset Grace: A Parisian Balcony Encounter
It was the soft, golden hour in Paris, that fleeting, sacred interlude the French call l'heure dorée. The day, with its clamor and commerce, was exhaling a final, contented sigh, and the city, in turn, breathed back a soft, ethereal light. The wind, a gentle accomplice in this twilight conspiracy, drifted from the Seine, carrying with it the faint, complex perfume of river water, rain-washed stone, and the distant promise of evening blossoms. It brushed against my face, a cool, silken touch, as I leaned back on the modest wrought-iron terrace of my rented apartment in the 7th arrondissement.
By Stefano D'angello4 months ago in Fiction
Children of the Moon Colony
Luna Prime was a marvel of human engineering, a city of sealed domes and humming life-support systems buried deep in the lunar regolith. For the children born there, it was simply home. They knew the Earth only as a beautiful, blue-and-white marble that hung in their black sky, a place of ancient history and whispered stories. Their world was one of recycled air, synthesized food, and measured, efficient lives.
By Habibullah4 months ago in Fiction
🌙 The Sorceress of Neelam Nagar
The Sorceress of Neelam Nagar – ) The shadows of night had not yet completely withdrawn. Above Neelam Nagar, the blue moon drifted between the clouds.
By New stAr writer 4 months ago in Fiction
Thermometer. Top Story - October 2025.
Three sharp pings alerted Emily that the oven had completed its preheating cycle. Donning two protective potholders, she inserted a large tray of muenster cheese-topped chicken breasts and an equally large tray of thoroughly seasoned Brussels sprouts. Two blood orange Le Creuset pots began to bubble on the stovetop, prompting the sous chef to slightly turn down the heat. With her left hand, Emily thoroughly folded the truffle-buttered mashed potatoes with a heart-shaped wooden spoon while her right hand unraveled the frozen slab of spinach with a three-pronged silver fork.
By Kale Sinclair4 months ago in Fiction