Flash Stories

Chai-tanic Mishap

hamed Jan. 23, 2025, 7:10 p.m.

Aman "The Snack Guy" Sharma, a mid-tier YouTuber known for his over-the-top food reviews, was live-streaming to his 50,000 subscribers from his tiny Mumbai apartment. Today’s episode: "Rating the Best Chai in Mumbai from Zomato!"

“Alright, folks,” Aman said, adjusting his camera. “I ordered the classic cutting chai from ‘Aunty’s Authentic Chaiwala.’ Let’s see if it lives up to the hype.”

The doorbell rang. Aman grabbed the Zomato bag with dramatic flair, hyping up his audience. “And here it is, my liquid gold! Let’s—”

He paused mid-sentence, pulling out not chai but a plastic container of dal makhani.

The chat exploded:
_‘Bro, chai turned into lunch! 😂’
‘Aunty’s dal makhani review incoming?’

“Wait, what?!” Aman said, holding the container up to the camera. “This is NOT chai. Unless… it’s some revolutionary new chai dal fusion I don’t know about.”

He immediately switched into “angry customer mode” and dialed Zomato support, putting the …

After the Storm

hamed Jan. 16, 2025, 5:18 p.m.

The morning after the storm, the Great Smoky Mountains stood shrouded in a ghostly mist, as if mourning the devastation below. Entire trees lay uprooted, power lines tangled like webs, and the small town of Cedar Hollow, nestled in a valley, was barely recognizable.

Clara stood in what used to be her front yard, holding a shattered photo frame. The glass was gone, but the picture—a faded snapshot of her late husband holding their infant son—remained intact. She clutched it to her chest, her breath fogging in the cold mountain air.

“Clara!” a voice called. She turned to see Jake, the local mechanic, jogging up the muddy road. His jeans were soaked, and his hands were caked with dirt.

“We’re meeting at the church,” he said. “Figured it’s the best place to coordinate.”

Clara nodded. “I’ll be there soon.”

By noon, nearly the entire town had gathered at the church, …

The Elastic Friday

hamed Jan. 20, 2025, 6:38 p.m.

It started innocently enough. Dan woke up on the first Friday of the new four-day workweek, his phone buzzing with a government-mandated notification:

"Enjoy your new day of freedom. No work. No emails. Just you."

He stared at the message while sipping his coffee, feeling an unfamiliar emptiness in his schedule. By 9:00 a.m., he had already walked the dog, tidied the apartment, and considered organizing his sock drawer. By 9:05 a.m., the thought of another weekend stretching ahead filled him with cautious optimism.

But by 11:00 a.m., something strange happened. Time slowed.

Not in a metaphorical sense—Dan actually felt the minutes drag, each one stretching thin like taffy. The digital clock on his oven ticked over sluggishly, as though it was fighting the act of progression.

At first, he assumed it was just his mind playing tricks. After years of Fridays packed with deadlines and meetings, an empty schedule …

The Roc’s Egg

hamed Jan. 19, 2025, 5:55 p.m.

Dr. Amir Rahimi had seen many things in his years of studying climate change, but nothing had prepared him for the discovery that lay beneath the shifting sands of the Persian Gulf coast.

It was the dry season, the sun hanging low in the sky like a burning coin. His research team had been out on a routine survey, mapping the effects of coastal erosion, when one of the workers, Morteza, had spotted something strange protruding from the earth. It looked like a massive rock—smooth, rounded, and impossibly large.

Amir knelt down, his heart quickening as he ran his hand over the surface. The fossilized shell was cold and textured, unlike any geological formation he had ever encountered. He dusted off the sand, revealing more of its shape, his mind racing with the possibilities.

“This can’t be real,” Morteza muttered, his eyes wide.

The others gathered around, but Amir was …

Financial Independance Equals Being Wealthy?

dehongi Jan. 11, 2024, 5:24 p.m.

Sarah and David were two friends who grew up in the same neighborhood. Sarah was always ambitious and hardworking, and she eventually became a successful lawyer. David, on the other hand, was more laid-back and preferred to pursue his passions, which included playing music and writing.

Sarah was very proud of her career and her financial success. She had a big house, a fancy car, and all the latest gadgets. However, Sarah was often stressed and unhappy. She worked long hours and was constantly worried about money.

David, on the other hand, was much happier. He didn't have a lot of money, but he didn't need it. He was able to live comfortably on his music and writing income, and he had a lot of free time to pursue his passions.

Sarah and David often talked about their different lives. Sarah often envied David's freedom and happiness, while David often …

The Forgotten Club | Part Three

hamed Feb. 10, 2025, 9:43 a.m.

The air grew colder as they descended the stone staircase, each step creaking underfoot. Olivia’s flashlight illuminated the walls, revealing moss and cobwebs, signs that the place had been forgotten for a long time. The stairs twisted downward into what seemed like a forgotten cellar, and the deeper they went, the more the sense of anticipation hung in the air.

“Are we sure this is safe?” Jake asked, his voice echoing strangely in the underground space. His grip tightened on his flashlight, and for a moment, he hesitated on the stairs.

“It has to be,” Maya said, her voice steady as ever. “The Mystery Solvers Club wouldn’t have left a clue if there wasn’t something important down here.”

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Olivia shined her light around the room. It was bigger than she expected—an old, empty space with stone walls and no windows. In the …

Ashes and Embers

hamed Jan. 12, 2025, 5:59 p.m.

The house was gone.

Emma stood at the edge of the blackened lot, her boots sinking into the scorched earth. The air still carried the acrid scent of smoke, mingling with the faint sweetness of charred wood.

In her mind, the house was still there—the yellow shutters her daughter had painted, the oak dining table that had seen every family meal, the bookshelf her late husband had built. But reality mocked her memories. All that remained was a pile of ash, twisted beams, and broken glass glittering like fallen stars.

Her daughter, Clara, clutched her hand tightly. “Mom,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What about Dad’s guitar?”

Emma closed her eyes, the lump in her throat too large to swallow. That old guitar had been his treasure, a relic of nights filled with music and laughter. It was gone, just like the photographs, the letters, the heirloom quilt her grandmother …

Payload

hamed Jan. 18, 2025, 6:12 p.m.

Jules adjusted their cap and swiped the screen of their controller, directing the drone to its next drop-off. It was a normal Tuesday in the city, the skyline humming with autonomous machines zipping between rooftops. Jules didn’t think much about the contents of the boxes they delivered—most were tech gadgets, groceries, or overpriced sneakers.

But this package was different.

The first clue was the weight. It felt heavier than its size suggested, the kind of weight that didn’t match coffee beans or wireless earbuds. The second was the delivery coordinates: an unmarked building in a quiet corner of the financial district. And when the drone reached the drop point, the receiving bay opened not to a human but to a robotic arm that snatched the package and disappeared without so much as a confirmation ping.

Weird, but not unheard of. Automation was everywhere.

Jules shrugged it off until the next …

The Algorithm’s Blind Spot

hamed Jan. 17, 2025, 1:56 p.m.

The room buzzed with energy, a dimly lit warehouse crammed with people who didn’t seem to belong together. Posters covered the walls, each one cryptic: “Offline is the New Rebellion.” “Bridge the Divide.” “Find What’s Real.”

Mara adjusted her scarf, scanning the crowd nervously. She wasn’t sure why she’d come. Her niche—a tight-knit online group for minimalists and urban gardeners—had whispered about this gathering for weeks. A rare chance to connect “beyond the screen,” they said. But as she stood there, surrounded by strangers, she wondered if she’d made a mistake.

"First time?" a voice asked.

She turned to see a tall man with disheveled hair and a jacket patched with odd symbols. He held a drink that smelled vaguely like kombucha.

"Yeah," Mara said, trying to match his casual tone. "You?"

He smirked. "Hardly. I’m Luka. I usually stick with my group—open-source hardware enthusiasts—but this seemed… interesting."

Mara arched …

The Secret

hamed Feb. 7, 2024, 7:15 p.m.

She had always been drawn to his eyes, those deep pools of amber that seemed to hold a thousand mysteries. She felt a connection with him, a bond that transcended words and logic. She knew he felt it too, but he never spoke of it. He was a man of few words, a man of secrets.

One day, she decided to ask him what he was hiding, what he was afraid to share with her. She looked into his eyes and said, "I don't know what secret is hidden in your eyes, that I can see that secret but I cannot tell. Please, trust me. Tell me what you are hiding."

He sighed and looked away. He seemed to struggle with something, a conflict that tore him apart. He finally turned back to her and said, "You won't believe me if I tell you. You won't understand. You won't accept …