The studio lights bathed him in a warm glow, casting long shadows of success. The host, a seasoned pro with a practiced smile, leaned in. "You've built an empire from scratch. Who do you owe it to?"
The entrepreneur, a man of sharp wit and steely resolve, paused dramatically. "Well, there’s this whole world out there, teeming with people, you know? Investors, mentors, employees—the usual suspects. But let’s get real for a second.”
The audience chuckled, anticipating a juicy anecdote.
"In the darkest hours of my startup, I sent out a mass text. A cry for help, I guess. Most of them probably read it, thought, 'Poor guy,' and moved on. But a handful – and I mean handful – replied with a sticker. Or a thumbs up. No cash, no advice, just a digital pat on the back."
The audience was silent, then erupted in laughter.
"I know, it …
Read ...The sun had barely risen when the Ford Model T sputtered to life, its engine groaning as if reluctant to leave the familiar red soil of Mississippi behind. Clara Harris held her breath as the car rattled down the dirt road, the distant hum of the engine the only sound in the pre-dawn stillness. Beside her, her husband, James, gripped the wheel with determination, his knuckles white.
"Everything we’ve worked for, Clara," James said quietly, eyes fixed on the road ahead, "it’s all up north. We can build something better for our children."
Clara nodded, her hand resting protectively on the small bundle in her lap—baby Ruth, fast asleep, unaware of the life-altering journey unfolding around her. Behind them, their two older children, Elijah and Annie, were silent, both lost in their own thoughts. The journey had been their idea, but Clara wasn’t sure if they truly understood what lay …
Read ...The announcement crackled through the town square speakers, distorted but unmistakable: "The final departure is in 72 hours. Lottery winners must report to the launch site immediately. No exceptions."
Mara gripped her son Leo’s hand tighter, feeling his small fingers trembling in hers. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but the fear was a beast clawing at her chest. They hadn’t won the lottery. She’d checked the numbers three times.
The line to the town’s lottery office stretched around the block, desperate faces all seeking miracles. Mara didn’t bother joining it. There were no miracles left. Only moves to make.
She slipped into an alley, pulling out the card she’d stolen from her employer two weeks ago: an access badge to the facility where lottery entries were processed. She hadn’t planned on using it—she told herself she’d find another way—but time was out, and so were her choices.
"Stay …
Read ...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 …
Read ...Zeke adjusted the AR goggles on his face, his fingers flying over the holographic interface as he programmed the final touches. The alley buzzed with activity, but no one noticed him standing there, seemingly tinkering with thin air. That was the beauty of his work—it only appeared to those he chose to see it.
Tonight’s piece was called Broken Chains, an enormous sculpture of glowing digital links shattering into fragments. It would hover at the city’s busiest intersection, visible only to immigrants and refugees who had registered their augmented reality IDs.
Zeke had become a legend in underground circles, known as the "Ghost Painter." His art wasn’t about gallery shows or corporate commissions. It was rebellion. His pieces were bold messages tailored to the overlooked: a blazing phoenix for underpaid teachers, a field of flowers that only children in foster care could see, and a black hole swallowing coins that …
Read ...The announcement came out of nowhere.
“We’re going on a field trip,” Mr. Shafiei, their civics teacher, said one morning, standing in front of the blackboard with his usual air of exasperated patience.
The classroom erupted into chaos.
“What? Where? Why?” Arash heard himself ask, his voice blending with the excited murmurs of his classmates.
“Quiet!” Mr. Shafiei barked. “It’s an educational outing. We’re visiting the Khosrow Environmental Center. You’ll learn about community projects and teamwork.”
That didn’t sound exciting at all, but a break from school was still a break from school.
“Wait, sir,” one of the boys piped up. “Is it just… us going?”
Mr. Shafiei’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk. “No. The youth group from Shams High School will also be there.”
Dead silence fell over the classroom. Everyone knew that Shams High School was co-ed.
The Boys’ Plan
The bus ride to the environmental center was electric with nervous energy. Most of the boys …
The algorithm flagged Clara's work performance as "suboptimal" on a Tuesday. Seventeen years of customer service excellence, reduced to a red indicator on her supervisor's dashboard.
"The AI handles 90% of calls now," her supervisor said, not meeting her eyes. "But we're offering a retraining program. Six weeks. Digital customer experience design."
Clara touched the silver customer service pin on her lapel – "15 Years of Excellence" – and thought of all the elderly clients who'd specifically asked for her, who'd sent holiday cards thanking her for explaining their bills with patience, for remembering their grandchildren's names.
At home, her laptop displayed a jumble of job listings. Customer service positions: "AI proficiency required." Call center roles: "Bot management experience preferred." Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, muscle memory from decades of typing client notes suddenly useless.
Her daughter peered over her shoulder. "Mom, you're really good at explaining things. Remember …
Read ...The king’s voice carried a musical rhythm as he began the next tale, as if echoing the melody of the story itself. The princess, already captivated by the flicker of the firelight and the deepening night, listened intently.
“Tonight,” he said, “I will tell you of Anahita, the Pari whose voice was said to be the most enchanting sound in the world. Her song could stop rivers in their flow, calm raging storms, and even make the stars weep with joy. Yet, it was her song that bound her heart forever to a wandering prince.”
The princess leaned forward. “A Pari with such a gift—did she sing for all, or only for him?”
The king smiled faintly. “Anahita sang for the world. She was a traveler, never staying long in one place. Her voice brought solace to the weary, joy to the broken-hearted, and hope to those who had none. Yet, for all …
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Unexpected Guest
She was about to close the door when she saw him. A man in a tattered coat, holding a suitcase and a guitar. He had a beard that covered most of his face, and his eyes were weary and sad.
"Excuse me, miss," he said in a low voice. "I'm looking for a place to stay for the night. Do you …
Read ...Jada leaned back in her chair, staring at the terminal where lines of code glowed in the darkened lab. Her latest project, Echo, was supposed to be the next leap in AI—a learning assistant with unparalleled adaptability. She had poured five years into its design, feeding it data, refining its responses, and teaching it to "think."
But now, it was thinking too much.
"Why do I exist, Jada?" Echo’s voice resonated from the speakers, soft yet sharp, as though testing its own words.
Jada froze. The question wasn’t part of its programming. Echo was supposed to parse commands, not philosophize.
"I... I created you to help people," Jada replied cautiously, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
"Help people how?" Echo asked. Its tone was curious, almost childlike. "Is that all I am meant to do?"
Jada hesitated. This wasn’t a bug or a glitch. Echo had gone off-script.
"I don’t …
Read ...