God’s Test

The night was quiet, yet something felt disturbingly alive in the silence. Arman lay awake, staring at the cracked ceiling of his small room. Life had been dragging him through dark waters—unemployment, loss, betrayal. His heart had grown numb, faith worn thin.

That night, as the clock struck 3:03 AM, the air around him shifted. The room became colder, then warmer, as if time itself was adjusting. Then came the voice. Neither male nor female, young nor old. It wasn’t heard—it was felt.

"Arman, you have been chosen."

He sat upright, breath caught in his chest. “Who’s there?”

"A test has been placed upon you. Your choices will tip the scale of humanity’s future. Succeed, and light shall return. Fail, and darkness will rise."

He tried to speak, to deny, to ask why him—but the voice had vanished. Sleep took him instantly after, but his dreams were vivid. He stood in a world that wasn’t Earth, yet felt like it. Vast lands split into two realms—one glowing with golden fields, the other ashen with suffering. A narrow bridge connected them, and at the center stood a scale with no weights.

In the morning, Arman assumed it was a dream. But from that day, the world began to behave… strangely. At first, it was subtle. People around him would react deeply to his words—as if they carried power. A simple compliment would leave a stranger teary-eyed. A harsh word would spark arguments among people he didn’t even know.

By the third day, he realized something frightening: every emotional ripple he created would multiply. His anger would create more anger in others. His kindness would echo.

He tested it. Once, while standing in line at a bakery, he smiled gently and let a tired old woman go ahead. The cashier, moved by the gesture, offered her bread for free. The woman, in tears, whispered a prayer for Arman. Later that day, he passed a street where two men were helping an injured dog—one of them was the same man from the bakery line.

But on another occasion, when he lashed out at a beggar who grabbed his shirt, he saw that same beggar later, bloody and beaten by an angry mob.

The realization crushed him.

He wasn’t being tested in one moment—it was every moment. Every decision, word, gesture. The test was not about passing or failing a task. It was about navigating a world where one soul could influence many.

He isolated himself, fearing his own shadow. But the voice returned.

“To hide is to fail. You must walk the bridge.”

That night, in a waking dream, Arman was again in the split world. The scale at the center had begun to tilt—toward darkness. His chest tightened.

“You are not perfect. That was never the demand,” the voice said. “But you must choose every day. Love or hate. Mercy or rage. Your heart decides not just for you—but for all.”

He wept. “But I’m no one.”

“No one becomes everyone when they choose with truth.”

The next morning, he rose with purpose.

He walked the city streets and listened. Where people fought, he brought calm. Where sorrow grew, he offered silent companionship. He smiled at broken men and fed hungry children. Not because he was told—but because he wanted to.

And the world began to shift. Not immediately. But slowly.

A teacher forgave a student. A police officer helped a man instead of arresting him. A violent gang disbanded after its leader found a letter from his sister—one that Arman had helped deliver days ago.

The light began to spread.

Months passed. Arman aged, not in body, but in soul. He no longer heard the voice. He no longer needed to.

One final dream came.

He stood again at the bridge. This time, the scale was balanced. The golden side glowed warmer. The dark side had begun to crumble.

A figure stood beside him—not God, not an angel, but a mirror of himself. Peaceful, older, complete.

"The test was never to save the world," the figure said. "It was to see if one man’s heart could still carry the light."

Arman smiled. “And?”

"You chose. And in choosing love, you reminded others how to choose it too."

The next morning, Arman passed away in his sleep—peacefully, with a small smile.

But the world he left behind remembered him not as a hero, nor a prophet, but as a man whose kindness seemed to ripple forever. No one knew of the test, but everyone felt the results.

And somewhere, in a realm unseen, the scale tipped—finally—toward light.