okay so when I was In 9th grade I had this pretty ass diary(I'm a diary person AND I LOVE WRITING) so basically I thought instead of keeping diary at home I should just carry it to school coz there are chances that my mother could find it and see what her daughter is actually doing .I had written everything like EVERYTHING about my personal life(family dramas, crushes. kisses AND MY NASTY ASS FANTASY) and yk what its completely fine so I used to bring my diary with me .Everything was fine until that one day... It was feb and it was valentine week, mind telling you I was in a convent school and my school was handled by sisters/nun so they randomly checked everyone's bag and it ofcc didn't bother me coz I had nothing with me coz I was single at that time( I BROKE UP WITH MY VERY FIRST BF JUST TO STAY SINGLE IN VALENTINE WEEK BECOZ I THOUGHT IT WAS CRINGE AND I WASNT EVEN SERIOUS IN THAT RELATIONSHIP COZ I DIDNT EVEN HAD FEELINGS like he was my frd and I never had feelings for him so ya) and then it was my turn AND GUESS WHAT that sister took my diary and STARTED READING MY DIARY like can ya'll believe, and I was like huh wth, HOW CAN YOU READ SOMEONE'S DIARY WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION and HOW IS WRITING DIARY AGAINST THE RULES LIKE WTF. She read that page where I wrote that I HAD A CRUSH ON MY CHEM PROFFESOR and the way she looked at me..OH MY GOD that stare.. and she asked me does your mother know about this I was like wth why would I tell someone that I like my pro who is double my age( I was 15 he was28) and she told me should I say her I was so scared bhai and she continued reading my diary. It was so embarrassing coz she was reading my diary in front of whole class but yk luckily that chem sir wasn't from our school he was from my coaching. Yk what he was double my age I had even mention that... and then she took my diary AND NEVER GAVE ME BACK LIKE WTH FIRST OF ALL HOW DARE YOU READ SOMEONE'S DIARY WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION AND SECOND OF ALL HOW IS WRITING DIARY WRONG AND LASTLY WHY DID YOU TOOK MY DIARY AND DIDNT EVEN RETURN. so ya this was it I even went to her cabin to get my diary back but nahh that lady she didnt gave me my diary yk what I just hate her and I HATE THEM SCHOOL TOO ✌️✌️Ik it wasn't that juicy or smtg but I just felt telling ya'll

ok so if ya'll interested in my story time do tell me😋love ya'll💋💋

Lin Xiaoxia’s fingers froze on the screen. That abrupt anonymous message was like an icy needle, puncturing her lazy afternoon warmth.

"Break up with him now—unless you want to watch him die in front of you. From the you of 2033."

2033? Her future self? Lin Xiaoxia’s first thought was that it had to be a prank—some jerk trying to sabotage her relationship with Xu Yuan. She unlocked her phone, swiping through her gallery, the screen flooding with warm-toned memories.

There was Xu Yuan in the café, clumsily crafting a lopsided cat latte art for her, her laughter crinkling her eyes into crescent moons. Then, the rain-soaked track field, where he draped his jacket over her shoulders, his gaze so tender it could melt. And late nights hunched over their laptops, bickering over a stubborn line of code before dissolving into shared laughter. Xu Yuan was like that—gentle, dependable, almost superhuman, yet stubborn as a mule over trivial things, like insisting on walking on the right side of the sidewalk.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar video call request popped up—the caller ID a jumble of garbled characters. Hesitating, she answered.

The face on the screen was slightly worn, sharp-eyed, yet undeniably her own—older, wearier, stripped of youth’s softness.

Future Lin Xiaoxia lifted a weathered gray tombstone into view, the camera shaking as it revealed the inscription: "Beloved Wife Lin Xiaoxia. Erected by Xu Yuan."A sharp inhale—her phone nearly slipped from her grip. The image switched again: a simple platinum ring, still gleaming, sat on her left ring finger, stark against skin roughened by time.

"Don’t doubt me. I’m you, eight years from now."Future Xiaoxia’s voice was tired but firm. "If you don’t leave him now, he’ll die in that car accident two years later."

Her mind reeled. She searched the older face for any hint of a joke but found only grim certainty—and a flicker of pain.

"And,"Future Xiaoxia added, eyeing her younger self’s bangs with a mix of disdain and nostalgia, "these wispy bangs were a terrible choice. The wind just smacks them into your face. I still don’t know how Xu Yuan put up with them."

Present Xiaoxia instinctively touched her fringe. The absurdity of it—future her, critiquing her hairat a time like this?

Future Xiaoxia seemed to read her thoughts. "Don’t think this is a joke. Time’s running out. Believe me—leaving him is the only way."

The call ended abruptly, the screen plunging back into darkness.

Her heart hammered against her ribs. This has to be fake. A cruel hoax.Xu Yuan—meticulous, careful Xu Yuan—in a fatal accident?

Just then, her door creaked open. Xu Yuan stepped in, smiling softly, a bouquet of crimson roses in his hands. He knelt before her, pulling out a velvet box. Inside, a diamond ring glimmered.

"Xiaoxia,"he murmured, gaze unwavering. "Marry me?"

She stared at the glittering stone, then flashed back to the cold message, the tombstone, the ring on a future, weathered hand—

A chill seized her.

Silence……... How sweet is the sound. No voices around. No one to tell you about those that are lost and those that are found. Did I fall to the ground? Tell me if there is something I did wrong today. Tell me anything. Tell me something now. Say something, please. The silence, the sweet silence kills. The knife cuts out all the sound, like the fat of a pig. No one is screaming. No one is dreaming. No one is saying a word. Why? Why did I dive head first in your silence? I beg you. I don’t deserve this. It feels like the ultimate punishment. To be placed in a room blindfolded and to not hear a single sound. It is only you and your thoughts. The thoughts that eventually exaggerate, that make you contemplate, that make your heart ache. Why does my mind work this way? Why does it paint a picture so clear when I’m consumed by your silence. The picture torments me. It leaves me in pain, it leaves me hurting each and every day. Why do I do this to myself? What exactly is it called? Is there a doctor that knows exactly why I think this way, why my heart works differently, beats differently, and is positioned differently than most? I don’t feel special, I just feel broken. You can keep analyzing my heart all you want but you’ll never find anything wrong. All you’ll find is the silence of the one I care about the most. The silence that dug itself deep into me and doesn’t want to escape. Why? Why does my heart ache like this? I don’t want it to make another sound. I want it to be as silent as your silence. I want it to stop making noise. I want it to stop feeling things, I want the torment to end. Silence……… ​​​​​​​

As I perch delicately on the rooftop, tears cascade down my cheeks like gentle rivulets as I gaze down at the ground several stories below; my mind races in astonishment, swirling with a maelstrom of thoughts. “Lucas…?” Who is this Lucas? Where am I exactly? What transpired to bring me to such a state? Just like that, the vivid reverie comes to an abrupt halt, leaving me in a disorienting silence.

I awaken from the dream that has haunted me for ages, a spectral shadow that lingers on the edges of my consciousness. My curtain-like crimson hair shrouds my face, providing a thin barrier against the relentless rays of morning light filtering into my chamber. This same scene, with its strange yet familiar setting, is one I encounter every time I succumb to slumber; a rarity for someone like me. I bear an arduous burden—insomnia. It clings stubbornly to me, refusing to release its grip, even when circumstances seem deceptively idyllic.

With a weary sigh that feels almost like a confession, I throw off my bedcovers and hear the sharp rapping at my door. “Hikaru, are you awake?” a voice calls from the other side, resonant with urgency and familiarity.

Another knock follows, more forceful this time, and the door swings open with unexpected fervor, nearly colliding with the wall. I emit a quiet groan, the kind that conveys a mixture of annoyance and exhaustion. "Five more minutes, Tatsuya. I don’t need to be prepared yet." My brother, ever the embodiment of playful mockery, drops his shoulders and lets out an exaggerated exhale, grinning broadly as he relishes the moment.

"I suppose you will miss the inaugural day of school. Have a pleasant—" he begins, teasing me mercilessly.

"I will be ready in five!" I spring from my bed with a newfound determination and nudge him out of my room, pausing briefly to take a deep breath and calm my exhilaration. It's the first day of school! It’s an occasion of great significance, and I need to present my best self. Should I take a shower? I ponder briefly—I did bathe just last night, so perhaps I shall forgo it this time.

“Hikaru! Up for school, you’re going to be tardy!” My mother bursts into the room like a ray of sunshine, her golden eyes sparkling with joy and uncontainable enthusiasm.

“Here, wear this… it would beautifully complement the hairstyle you’re attempting!” she declares with a flourish, handing me a delightful outfit that promises to elevate my spirits. Her broad grin is infectious, radiating encouragement.

“Thanks, Mom, but I still need to prepare for the whirlwind ahead,” I reply, still somewhat disheveled.

“Right, best of luck! I must hasten to work now,” she says, her voice tinged with excitement and urgency.

“Love you, bye!” I call after her as she rushes out the door, her footsteps echoing in the hallway. I don the cozy gray bear sweatshirt and fitted jeans she provided with care, and then make my way to the kitchen, where the scent of breakfast wafts through the air.

“I thought you said five. That was ten minutes ago,” Tatsuya chides, pretending to pout as I shuffle into the room, still shaking off the remnants of my dreams.

“Shut up. Let’s go; it’s a four-minute drive, and you know how traffic becomes around that area, especially on a day like today!” I retort, grabbing my backpack with purpose. I step outside, inhaling the crisp autumn breeze that fills my lungs like a refreshing tonic. I watch as my breath forms a misty vapor in the cool air, a delicate reminder of the season’s change. “Today’s a new day, and I can feel it!”

We arrive at Usagiyama Academy, a prestigious institution renowned for its opulence and academic excellence. It stands as the most affluent school in the country, celebrated for its spectacular artwork and exceptionally, intelligent students. The moment Tatsuya and I step inside, the grand entrance bathed in light and life, he immediately engages with the throngs of students, seamlessly weaving himself into their conversations and laughter. While he chats away with his usual exuberance, I pivot toward a closed classroom, seeking guidance from a teacher for directions to the front office.

“Thank you ever so much, sir! Have a splendid day!” I say with a bright smile as I exit the room. I scan the hallway, my heart racing with anticipation, and realize with shock that Tatsuya has vanished completely. Following the detailed directions I received, I make my way toward the enormous crescent moon mural that adorns the wall, a striking piece of artistry that seems to beckon me forward.

Then, suddenly, I spot my brother waving me down with a cheeky grin, his expressive gestures cutting through the bustling crowd. “Hey, Sis, look who I found wandering the halls!” he exclaims, pointing enthusiastically to a woman standing a few feet away.

She has deep azure hair cascading down her back, silver spectacles perched elegantly on her nose, and a chic purple blouse that exudes a sense of intellect and style. I rush over to her, relief flooding through me.

“Hello, Akai! How are you two faring today?” I greet her warmly, my heart swelling with nostalgia as the woman envelops my brother and me in a reassuring embrace, wrapping us in a cocoon of familiarity.

“We're doing remarkably, Ms. Reikio. Hikaru, this is your biology instructor,” Tatsuya explains, his voice brimming with pride. “I had her last year, and she knows Dad! She’s practically family—like our aunt. She visited us when we were younger, and Miliana was just a baby. Isn’t that splendid?”

“Yes, that’s truly impressive, I guess. Wait, how did you know she’s my biology teacher?” I ask, my eyebrows raised in surprise and curiosity.

“I retrieved your schedule while you entered Mr. Distonip's classroom,” Tatsuya says with a sly smile, clearly reveling in his knowledge.

As if on cue, the loudspeaker crackles to life, sending a ripple of anticipation through the crowd. “Hello everyone! Welcome back to all returners and newcomers! This year is going to be extraordinary! All freshmen and sophomore students, please head to your homerooms immediately. Junior and senior classes, please proceed to the North Gym. Thank you, and have a marvelous day!”

I look up to find Ms. Reikio placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder, her touch grounding me as she guides me toward my homeroom. Tatsuya gives my dark bun a playful tap with a teasing smile before heading down the hall in pursuit of his friends. Today marks the commencement of something new and exciting, and I can feel the palpable energy buzzing in the atmosphere around me, lifting my spirits and filling me with hope for what lies ahead.

is anyone still on this website/app? like....active? (ages 14-18)

A Last Call Inn Short Story.

Bartholomew "Bart" Thatcher had been wiping the same spot on the counter for nearly ten minutes. To the untrained eye, it might have appeared to be dedication to cleanliness. In reality, it was the mechanical motion of a man desperately waiting for the clock to strike midnight so he could flip the sign from "Open" to "If we don't open after three knocks, We're Closed.»

The Last Call Inn wasn't much to look at. Low ceilings stained with decades of pipe smoke, lighting from oil lamps that flickered with the resigned persistence of government employees on a Friday afternoon, and the perpetual smell of spilled beer, wood polish, and that particular musk that only develops when five different species use the same bathroom. An odor which, Bart had decided after careful consideration, could serve as an effective alternative to his modified crossbow if he ever needed to clear the room in a hurry.

Nevertheless, the inn was his. Had been for twenty-three years before the rifts opened. And somehow, miraculously, it had survived five years of interdimensional war when buildings twice its size and thrice its importance had been reduced to rubble. The clock on the wall had endured three direct magical blasts, two gravitational anomalies, and what might have been a time-reversal event that had temporarily turned all the beer in the cellar back into barley. The clock continued ticking with such perfect accuracy that several patrons had theorized it might actually be the thing holding this corner of reality together.

Somehow, the Last Call Inn had been at just the right, and wrong, place at the wrong, and right time, and as such it had survived through countless skirmishes, patrons and battles. Not only survived, but thrived in its own little way. Bart considered this a testament to his business model: Serve anything that can pay, don't question or take sides, and keep the crossbow loaded.

"Ten minutes," Bart muttered to himself, glancing at his multiversally resilient timepiece. His grandfather had made it, which to Bart was enough explanation as to why it still worked. Grandfathers, as everyone knows, just made things that lasted. "Ten minutes and I can..."

The door crashed open with all the subtlety of a dragon playing hide-and-seek.

Bart's hand instinctively reached for the modified crossbow he kept under the counter. Five years of war had taught even the most peaceable of barkeeps to prepare for the worst. After all, the worst was usually his clientele.

But what stood in his doorway wasn't the worst. It was something... weirder. Which, in Bart's professional opinion as a man who had once served a drink to a being made entirely of sentient smoke, wasn't all that weird.

Three figures silhouetted against the night sky, each looking like they'd been dragged backward through the nine hells while being forced to listen to an ogre with a lisp recite elven poetry. About feelings.

The first to step forward was short, barely reaching Bart's waist. A kobold, scales the color of rust with patches of what might have been blood or red clay. One of its horns was broken off halfway, and a scar ran from where it should have been down to its snout. It wore makeshift armor cobbled together from scavenged metal, leather, and what appeared to be the shell of some enormous beetle that had clearly lost an argument about personal space.

"Got anything that'll burn a hole in my stomach?" the kobold asked, its voice like gravel being stirred with a wooden spoon.

Before Bart could answer, the second figure pushed in. A woman, tall and lanky, dressed in what once might have been a sleek spacesuit but was now torn and patched in dozens of places. Her helmet was cracked along one side, revealing a face covered in tiny scars that looked like constellations, the kind astronomers would name "The Extremely Bad Day" or "Somebody Tried to Kill Me with Something Sharp."

"Whiskey," she said, her voice clipped and precise. "Or your closest approximation that won't make me temporarily color-blind."

The third figure had to duck to enter. A mountain of a man with a mechanical arm that hissed and vented steam with each movement. Goggles pushed up on his forehead, a captain's coat torn and burned at the edges, and a beard that seemed to contain several small metal objects woven into it. The objects occasionally blinked or made quiet ticking sounds, suggesting they weren't merely decorative but potentially useful for telling time, navigating dimensions, or possibly making very small toast.

"Whatever they're having," he rumbled with a formal, nautical cadence, "and a pint of your darkest, if you would be so kind."

Bart's eyes flicked to the clock. Eight minutes to midnight. He sighed. The very last thing he needed was customers who looked like they'd just crawled out of the war's messiest corner. Those types either couldn't pay or paid in things that defied classification by most reputable financial institutions.

"Last call was five minutes ago," he lied, with the practiced ease of a barkeep who had been closing "in five minutes" for approximately twenty-three years.

The kobold snorted, a small flame escaping its nostrils and singeing the edge of a "Happy Peace Day (Someday?)" banner that had been hanging optimistically since year two of the war. "Someday" had been added later based on the differing writing style.

"Bar's still open. We can see the bottles from here," he pointed out, tapping a claw on the counter that left a small scorch mark. The sound of talon on wood created a distinctive sizzle, like bacon frying on a particularly irritable griddle.

"And if time is your concern," the spacer said, tapping a strange device on her wrist that seemed to display several different times simultaneously, none of which agreed with each other, "I can assure you it's a far more relative concept than you might imagine. Tuesday has been happening continuously for the past eight days just north of here, you know."

She delivered this information with the matter-of-fact tone of someone reporting the weather.

The pirate simply stared, his mechanical hand flexing with a series of clicks and puffs of steam that somehow managed to sound judgmental. The metal fingers clinked against each other in what might have been Morse code for "serve us or regret it."

Bart recognized the look in their eyes. He'd seen it often enough these past five years. The thousand-yard stare of those who'd seen too much, done too much, and somehow lived to tell about it, even if no one would believe them. Even worse, it was the look of people who needed a drink badly enough that they might get creative if denied. His hand moved away from the crossbow. Creative customers were bad for the furniture.

"Fine," he said, reaching for glasses that could charitably be described as "clean-adjacent." "But you're paying up front. Last time I accepted a tab from a kobold, I ended up with scales in the register that melted the coins."

The kobold clambered onto a stool, leaving little scorch marks where its claws touched the wood. Each mark added to the collection that had turned the barstool into a connect-the-dots puzzle of previous patrons. It dropped a handful of glowing gemstones onto the counter, which skittered across the surface like sentient marbles before Bart caught them. Each stone pulsed with a light that seemed to come from within and emitted a barely-audible hum that somehow managed to sound exactly like the color blue would if blue made a noise.

"These work?" the kobold asked with the hopeful expression of someone who had attempted to pay for things with mysterious glowing objects before, with mixed results.

Before Bart could answer, the spacer placed some kind of metallic card next to the gems. It gleamed under the lamplight with an iridescence that suggested it might be made of something not entirely from this world.

"Universal credit," she explained, her tone suggesting this should be obvious to anyone with a basic education in quantum economics. "Works in seventeen systems, though there's a terrible exchange rate in systems twelve through fourteen. Daylight robbery if you ask me."

The pirate sighed, reached into his coat and produced a handful of actual gold coins, which was the first currency Bart had seen from them that didn't require a degree in theoretical physics to understand. The coins clinked against the wood with a reassuringly solid sound.

"Real gold," the pirate said unnecessarily, setting the coins down with precise, deliberate movements befitting a ship's captain. "Not the kind that turns into butterflies after midnight."

Bart reached for the gold with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had once accepted payment in the form of a chicken that laid time-delayed eggs. The weight felt good in his palm; real currency that wouldn't try to escape, explode, or philosophize.

"What'll it be?" he asked, already reaching for bottles.

"Fire whiskey," the kobold said, baring teeth that glinted in the lamplight like miniature daggers. "The kind that validates my life choices."

"The same," said the explorer, removing her cracked helmet completely to reveal more of those constellation-like scars across her scalp. The removal released a faint odor of ozone and something else that smelled suspiciously like space itself. Cold, vast, and somehow theoretical.

"Dark ale," rumbled the pirate, stroking his beard with his flesh-and-blood hand, causing the small metal objects woven into it to chime softly like tiny ship bells. "The kind that requires a spoon. And a whiskey chaser, if you'd be so kind."

As Bart turned to fetch their drinks, the bottles clinking against each other in a familiar rhythm, he noticed the taproom wasn't as empty as he'd thought. In the shadowy corners sat other patrons: A high elf in a once-immaculate robe now singed with peculiar blue-green burns, delicately sipping some concoction that glowed faintly and hummed a minor chord whenever he set it down; a pair of dwarves with mechanical limbs and steam-powered monocles that wheezed and clicked as they argued over blueprint sketches, their beards intricately braided with copper wire and tiny blinking lights.

The Last Call had always attracted an eclectic clientele, but since the rifts opened, "eclectic" had taken on an entirely new meaning. Not to mention an entirely new smell, which was something like ozone mixed with dragon breath and whatever that peculiar metallic tang was that accompanied teleportation spells gone slightly wrong. Bart had grown used to it, the way someone living next to a fish market eventually stops noticing the overwhelmingly piscine atmosphere.

"Rough day?" Bart asked, sliding their drinks across the bar while ignoring the other patrons. It was the question he always asked, though he'd long since stopped expecting honest answers. In his experience, the rougher the day, the less people wanted to talk about it. Unless they'd had at least three drinks, that was.

The kobold laughed, a sound like a box of nails being shaken in a tin can.

"Rough five years." It took the fire whiskey and, to Bart's alarm but not surprise, lit it with a flick of its tongue before downing it in one go. The flames briefly illuminated the kobold's face, highlighting scars Bart hadn't noticed initially.

"We just came from Horizon Ridge," the explorer said, staring into her glass with the intensity of someone seeing something far beyond transparent liquid. Her fingers, calloused and precision-steady, traced the rim with microscopic accuracy.

"Typical brass idiocy," the pirate added, taking a long pull of his ale and leaving a foam mustache atop his real one. His formal tone contrasted with the bitter content of his words. "Send in the heroes, see who survives to declare victory."

A strange, uncomfortable silence fell over the bar. Even the ambient sounds of clinking glasses and murmured conversations in the corners seemed to dim, as if the very air were listening. The lamps flickered in unison, casting momentary shadows that seemed to have too many dimensions.

"You didn't hear?" the kobold finally asked, addressing no one in particular as his tail swished behind him nervously. The movement created a soft whooshing sound, like a very small, very annoyed broom.

Bart paused mid-wipe. "Hear what?»

«It’s over.»

«What? The war?"

"So it would seem," the explorer nodded, her expression unreadable as she ran a finger along one of her facial scars. The scar briefly luminesced at her touch, then dimmed.

"Hard to tell the difference," the pirate added, his mechanical hand clenching with a soft hiss of steam. "The dead are still dead. The ruins still ruined."

Bart found himself wiping that same spot on the counter again. Five years of war, just... done. He wasn't sure how to feel about that. After all, the Last Call had kind of thrived because of the war. People fighting tend to be thirsty, and prone to dull both physical and mental pain with whatever their currency could afford. Peace might be bad for business, assuming there was enough world left for business to happen in.

"Well," he said finally, "I suppose that calls for a real drink. On the house." He reached beneath the counter and pulled out a dusty bottle he'd been saving for a special occasion. Whether the end of an interdimensional war qualified as "special" was debatable, but it certainly qualified as an "occasion." The bottle made a satisfying thunk as he set it on the counter, dust motes dancing in the lamplight.

"Didn't you lot fight for different sides?" Bart asked as he poured, the question that had been bothering him since they entered together. Their equipment and appearances couldn't have been more different, yet here they were, drinking together like old friends. Bart was no stranger to different sides in his little tavern, but they rarely entered together, and they almost never sat together without at least one attempted murder. The lack of bloodshed was almost disappointing. It would have given him something to bill them for beyond the drinks.

The three exchanged glances.

"Not anymore," the explorer said flatly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear to reveal another scar shaped like a perfect hexagon.

"Someone actually did it," said the pirate with a shrug that caused his mechanical arm to vent a perfect smoke ring. The ring hung in the air for a moment before dissolving into nothing.

"War's over," the kobold stated, exhaling a small puff of smoke that formed itself into a tiny mushroom cloud before dissipating. "As far as we're concerned, anyway."

The clock ticked closer to midnight, the sound somehow more ominous than usual. Bart decided he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Some nights you closed the bar. Other nights the bar decided when you were done. This was shaping up to be the latter.

---

Somewhere between the third and fourth round, Bart learned their names, or at least what they called themselves these days.

The kobold was Spark. The space explorer introduced herself as Commander Nova Starburn, though she conceded that "Nova" would suffice. The steampunk pirate gave his name simply as Captain Grimshaw, with the air of someone who had either abandoned or eaten his first name long ago.

"So how'd you three end up together?" Bart asked, curiosity finally overcoming caution. "Last I checked, the Draconic Legions, the Stellar Coalition, and the Brass Armada were trying to blow each other to pieces. With considerable success, I might add."

Spark snorted another tiny flame, which briefly illuminated his face in orange light. His scales shifted color slightly; a kobold tell that Bart had learned to read over the years. This particular shade indicated a mix of weariness and dark humor.

"They were, right up until about... some hours ago," Spark said, puffing a small smoke ring.

"Big battle at Horizon Ridge," Nova explained, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass, leaving faint trails of light like phosphorescent sea creatures. Her voice maintained its clipped precision. "Textbook example of tactical stupidity, if you ask me."

Bart had heard of Horizon Ridge. It had been all anyone could talk about for weeks, the massive buildup of forces, the desperate gamble by all sides to secure a strategic high ground that happened to sit atop a major rift. What made this hilarious, in a cosmic sort of way, was that the "strategic high ground" was a hill that offered a spectacular view of... more hills. All equally empty, all equally useless, all equally worth dying for, apparently. Bart had been in this business long enough to know that military strategy and common sense kept separate residences, rarely visited each other, and couldn't pick each other out of a lineup.

"Nasty business," Grimshaw said, his expression darkening as he twisted one of the small metal objects in his beard. The gesture produced a soft chiming sound, like distant ship bells. "My vessel, the Relentless, was providing artillery support from the western approach when the rift surged. Most unseemly affair."

"Surged?" Bart asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted to know. In his experience, questions often led to answers, and answers often led to the kind of knowledge that made sleeping difficult.

"Expanded without warning," Nova clarified, making a sudden outward gesture with her hands. Her scientific detachment never wavered. "Swallowed three battalions in seconds. Draconic, Human, and Brass alike. Very democratic, when you think about it."

"No discrimination in how it killed," Spark muttered, his wings folding tighter against his back with a leathery rustle. "Just... gone."

From his corner table, the high elf suddenly spoke, his voice like wind chimes in a gentle breeze after they've had perhaps one too many glasses of elven wine. "The void has no preference for which flesh it consumes. All are equal before the great nothing. Which is nice in a horrifying sort of way."

The dwarves paused their argument, looking up with identical expressions of annoyance. Their synchronized eye-rolling would have been impressive if it hadn't been so predictable.

Spark bared teeth that glinted like tiny daggers. "Nobody asked you, fancy-pants. Go back to being cryptically useless somewhere else," he growled. His tail lashed behind him, nearly knocking over an empty glass with a sound like a very small whip.

"Actually," Nova said quietly, adjusting one of the many patches on her spacesuit with methodical precision, "he's not wrong. The rifts have been getting worse everywhere." She spoke with the calm authority of someone who had measured the approaching apocalypse and found it statistically significant.

Grimshaw nodded grimly. "My ship's engineers were reporting the same phenomenon before their unfortunate demise," he confirmed, his naval formality intact despite the grim subject matter. "Reality appears to be coming apart at the seams." He demonstrated by pushing his flesh hand through the air as if tearing fabric.

"Some wiseass hero must've managed to do it," Spark added with a shrug, his spines bristling briefly like a hedgehog with attitude. "Find an end to the rifts. And by 'end' I mean... well." He made a small explosive gesture with his claws that spoke volumes about the probable fate of said hero.

Bart felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. Could this 'hero' be that Doug-fellow that passed through three years ago? Or was it Greg? Or Ar'thara'sa? Or Marvin? Not that it mattered. Heroes had a way of solving problems permanently, especially themselves. Bart had learned long ago that serving a drink to someone who proclaimed themselves a "chosen one" was statistically equivalent to hosting their funeral reception.

"Figured the war was over then and there," Spark continued, his scales taking on a reddish tinge around the edges that Bart recognized as the kobold equivalent of thoughtfulness. "When you see three battalions disappear in the blink of an eye..."

"We stopped fighting," Nova said simply, her scientific precision giving way to bluntness. "There was no point anymore. Statistically speaking, survival required cooperation."

"Kinda hard to worry about territorial disputes when the territory itself disappears into nothing," Grimshaw elaborated, taking a long swig of his ale and wiping foam from his mustache with his sleeve. His captain's dignity remained intact despite the casual gesture.

"So we figured there was no point fighting anymore," Spark continued, using a claw to draw patterns in the condensation on his glass, which sizzled faintly like bacon on a too-hot pan.

"And we decided to get a drink instead," Nova finished, glancing at her companions with what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Your establishment was the only functional drinking venue we could locate."

"I can imagine," Bart said, refilling their glasses without being asked. The liquid gurgled pleasantly into each glass, providing a momentary counterpoint to the somber conversation. «Hear that more often than you’d think.»

"So just like that, the war was over?" he asked, skeptical. Wars didn't end cleanly in his experience. They limped to messy conclusions, leaving everyone dissatisfied and thirsty.

"For us, at least," Nova said with a shrug, her matter-of-fact tone returning like a shield. "The motivating factors no longer apply to our situation."

"Five years of fighting coming to an end so fast," Grimshaw mused, staring into his ale as if it might contain answers. His mechanical fingers tapped a rhythm on the counter that might have been a naval code. "There's likely a moral to be found in these circumstances."

"If you find it, let me know," Spark replied dryly, blowing a smoke ring that formed itself into a tiny question mark. "I'll use it as kindling."

"Anyway, the rift surged, battalions evaporated and the the sky itself tore apart not unlike the day the Rifts appeared and this whole thing started. That's when the three of us decided to depart," Grimshaw said, his formal diction contrasting with the casual content in a way that suggested he'd never mastered informal speech.

Nova sighed, rubbing her temple where a particularly large scar formed what looked like the North Star. "Figured it was a good time for a drink."

One of the dwarves suddenly slammed his mechanical fist on the table, causing his drinking vessel to jump and splash its glowing contents onto his blueprint. The sound echoed like a miniature explosion.

"Seven hells and a quantum fluctuation!" he bellowed. "I told you the calibration was off, Gromdak! Look at this mess!" His beard bristled with indignation, the tiny lights woven into it blinking in patterns that suggested alarm codes.

The other dwarf peered through his steam-powered monocle at the spill, which was now eating through the paper with a sound like a very small monster gargling mouthwash. "Hmm, interesting reaction," he observed with academic detachment. "Perhaps we should incorporate this into the design? A self-dissolving blueprint would be perfect for our top-secret Very Large Exploding Thing."

"You're dripping dimensional solvent on my boots, you bearded catastrophe!" his companion replied, the words emerging from somewhere deep within his facial hair. "These were specially enchanted to repel everything except compliments and beer!"

Bart glanced at the clock. Half past midnight. The hands seemed to move with reluctance, as if time itself was considering taking the night off. He should have closed an hour ago. Dwarves drinking after midnight rarely ended well. Their argument would either result in them building something amazing, something terrible, or something amazingly terrible.

Yet somehow, the thought of kicking everyone out into the night didn't sit right with Bart this night. His profit-minded pragmatism was being overruled by a strange feeling that might, in other people, be called compassion. Bart preferred to think of it as "customer retention strategy."

"Another round?" he offered instead, already reaching for bottles with the instinctive precision of a man who could pour exactly one finger of whiskey while blindfolded during an earthquake.

Three glasses slid toward him in unison, creating a synchronized scraping sound across the wooden counter.

As Bart poured, he studied his unusual customers more closely. They were battered, filthy, and clearly exhausted, yet there was something else in their demeanor. A strange mix of relief and dread, as if the end of one nightmare had merely heralded the beginning of another, possibly wearing pajamas and carrying cookies.

"So you three just walked away from the battlefield holding hands and skipping along?" Bart prompted, leaning forward on the counter. The wood creaked slightly under his weight, a familiar sound that had become part of the inn's constant ambient noise. "From enemies to drinking buddies is quite a leap. Usually requires at least one near-death experience and a shared hatred of someone else."

"We got both," Nova said with a dark chuckle, absently tracing what looked like star charts in the condensation on her glass. The precise movements of her finger suggested she was mapping something specific.

"And the shared hatred?" Bart asked, wiping a nonexistent spill with a rag that had seen better days, possibly in a previous dimension.

"Everyone who kept this pointless war going for five years," Grimshaw replied, his formal tone returning as he straightened his tattered captain's coat with military precision. "When I enlisted in the Armada, it was to explore new territories, not reduce them to rubble."

"All those commanders sitting safe and sound in their bunkers," Spark added bitterly, his claws digging slightly into the wooden counter with a sound like miniature knives being sharpened. "Writing orders in ink while we wrote them in blood."

"So you just... walked away?" Bart asked, genuinely curious now. In his twenty-eight years of bartending, he'd served deserters, heroes, villains, and everything in between, but he'd never seen enemies become allies quite this quickly without magic or mutual blackmail being involved.

Nova looked up from her glass, meeting his eyes directly for the first time. Her gaze was unnervingly precise, like being examined through a microscope. "What was the alternative? Die for a cause that doesn't exist anymore?" Her scientific detachment slipped, revealing something harder beneath.

"Continue fighting when the entire world is demonstrably falling apart?" Grimshaw added, his mechanical hand opening and closing rhythmically with a series of clicks and steam hisses.

"Stand around waiting for orders while reality itself has a nervous breakdown?" Spark said with another puff of smoke shaped suspiciously like an extended middle finger. "I don't think so. I've spent enough time being cannon fodder for one lifetime. I have enough nervous breakdowns to deal with of my own." His mention of cannon fodder was delivered with particular venom, suggesting a history he wasn't sharing.

Bart nodded slowly. It made a certain sense. Soldiers finding common ground in shared trauma was as old as war itself. Only the nature of the war and the soldiers had changed. The alcohol helped too, of course. Alcohol was nature's way of telling you that the person who tried to kill you yesterday might be your best friend today, especially if they're buying the next round.

"To fallen comrades, then," he said, raising his own glass in a toast. The amber liquid caught the lamplight, glowing like trapped sunshine.

"And fucking off," Spark added, raising his glass higher, a tiny flame dancing on the surface of his drink like a miniature fire spirit doing the backstroke.

They drank in silence, the only sound the soft sipping of liquid and the background murmur of the other patrons.

"You know what the worst part is?" Spark asked after a while, his voice softer than before. "For five years, we all thought we were fighting for something. Territory. Resources. A way home. Better cocktail recipes. And now..."

"Now it doesn't seem to matter as much," Nova finished, her scientific precision giving way to a hint of the wonder that had likely drawn her to space exploration originally. "The rifts make it statistically irrelevant."

"It might be a good thing," Grimshaw countered, speaking with the measured cadence of someone who had delivered many speeches on ship decks during storms. "United, we might have a chance to find a solution. Or at least expire in confusion together instead of expediting each other's demise."

"Optimism from a pirate," Spark remarked, his spines relaxing slightly. "Now I've seen everything. Next, you'll tell me elves have a sense of humor."

"I prefer the term 'privateer,'" Grimshaw corrected with a hint of a smile beneath his massive beard. It made a soft, rustling sound as his expression changed. "And it's not optimism. It's common sense. Combined knowledge is better than fragmented knowledge."

Nova nodded thoughtfully. "If anyone's going to figure out how to fix this mess, it'll take all available intellectual resources." For a moment, the scientist in her seemed to resurface, calculating probabilities behind her constellation-scarred face.

"Cooperation," Bart mused, wiping a glass that was already clean enough to perform surgery with. The circular motion was as much a part of his bartending as breathing. "Novel concept."

"Desperate times," Grimshaw shrugged, the movement causing his mechanical arm to release a small puff of steam. "When the vessel is sinking, even pirates and naval officers tend to share the same lifeboat." He said this with the air of someone who had experienced this exact scenario.

---

The Last Call Inn had settled into that peculiar atmosphere that only emerges in the small hours of the morning, when pretenses drop away, when strangers become confidants, and when the line between one day and the next blurs into insignificance. It's the same in every bar in every dimension: the 3 AM Truth Hour, when even the most hardened warriors admit they're scared of the dark and dragons confess they collect teacups.

Bart had brought up his best bottle from the cellar, a thirty-year-old whiskey he'd been saving for either the end of the war or the end of the world, whichever came first. Now it seemed both might be happening simultaneously, which meant it was definitely time to break out the good stuff. The liquid poured with a sound like velvet sliding over marble.

The customers had drifted closer over time, the artificial boundaries of faction and species giving way to the simple desire for connection in uncertain times. Even the dwarves had joined the loose circle around the bar, though one kept glancing nervously at the remnants of their dissolved blueprint, which was now forming a small puddle of what appeared to be liquid reality on the floor.

"Then we started to throw our cannonballs at them!" Grimshaw concluded with uncharacteristic animation, his naval formality momentarily abandoned in the enthusiasm of the story.

A laugh erupted around the bar, the sound jarring after so much somber conversation.

"Wait," one of the dwarves said as he wiped a tear from his eye, foam glistening in his beard like morning dew on a particularly hairy plant. "Was that at Hollocks Bollocks?"

Grimshaw emptied his beer and nodded, the movement precise despite the amount of alcohol he'd consumed. "You were present at that engagement?"

"Yes!" The dwarf lit up, foam sputtering from his beard like a malfunctioning espresso machine. "My party took out one of those damn airships with an exploding sheep-spell, a balloon and the best damn archery I've ever seen!"

"That was your handiwork?" Grimshaw asked, his mechanical eyebrow raising with a soft whirring sound.

"I engineered the balloon, but it was a joint effort, yes," the dwarf confirmed, chest puffing with pride.

Grimshaw slammed his glass on the bar, making the empty glasses rattle like wind chimes in a hurricane. "My family was on that ship."

Silence fell over the Inn, as silence does when everyone is uncomfortable and waits for someone else to break the silence. The dwarf paled underneath his beard, and Bart was sure he was about to throw up, pass out, or possibly both in an impressive display of multitasking.

Grimshaw started to laugh deep and hard, the sound starting somewhere around his boots and working its way up. "I'm merely jesting. That vessel was likely occupied by useless bureaucrats," he clarified, formal diction returning despite his mirth.

Relief flooded the dwarf's face, visible even through the thicket of facial hair. "Had me going there, Captain! Thought I was about to experience high-velocity dismemberment!"

"Not that it matters who did what to whom," Nova interjected, measuring her words with scientific precision. "We assessed Hollocks Bollocks after the battle. The casualty statistics were significant."

Spark grunted, a small ember escaping his nostril. "Like the battle of Eagle Mountain?"

Nova started to blush, which looked as weird on her as makeup on a rock troll. The constellation scars on her face seemed to glow slightly, as if embarrassment activated their luminescence.

"So what happens now?" Bart interrupted, pouring another round with the practiced ease of a man who could hit a shot glass from across the room. The interruption was tactical. He’d seen enough bar fights start from reminiscing about battles. "The war's over. Do you all just... go home? Open a gift shop? Start a band?"

The three soldiers exchanged glances. Something unspoken passed between them, a language of shared experience that needed no translation.

Nova shrugged, her constellation scars catching the lamplight. "If there is still a home to return to." Her tone remained clinical, but her fingers traced one of her scars in what appeared to be a self-soothing gesture.

"I mean..." Grimshaw said, his mechanical fingers drumming on the counter in what might have been morse code for "damned if I know." The rhythmic tapping created a soft metallic percussion.

"The rifts are kind of working overtime," Spark added, stretching his wings briefly before folding them again. The leathery membranes made a sound like canvas in a light breeze. "Swallowed entire outposts. Like cosmic Pac-Man, but with more screaming."

Bart frowned. "So you might be stuck here?" The thought of permanent interdimensional refugees wasn't appealing from a business perspective. Refugees tended to have limited funds and unlimited problems.

"Maybe," Nova shrugged, her scientific precision returning as she adjusted settings on her wrist device. It beeped softly, displaying readings that meant nothing to anyone except her. "Don't even know if there's a 'here' to be stuck in much longer."

"Does it matter?" Spark asked, surprising them all with the philosophical turn. "Five years of war? We've basically redecorated the entire planet in 'post-apocalyptic chic.'" His flippant tone couldn't quite hide the concern in his eyes, which had darkened to the color of cooling embers.

No one argued with the assessment. They'd all seen enough to know it was true. The silence that followed had the quality of mutual recognition, the shared understanding that sometimes there are no good answers, only less terrible ones.

"What about you?" Nova asked Bart, her analytical gaze taking in the inn around them. "This establishment has somehow maintained structural integrity. Will you remain?"

Bart looked around at his inn, battered, scarred, but still standing. The worn boards, the stained ceiling, the clock that refused to acknowledge the apocalypse. All of it painfully familiar and somehow precious.

"Well, not exactly here in this spot, but tt's all I have," he said simply. "Plus, I've got a mortgage that'll outlive the heat death of the universe."

"Speaking of which," Grimshaw said, checking a pocket watch that seemed to be running both forward and backward simultaneously, its ticking a strange syncopated rhythm, "we should probably return to what remains of our posts." He spoke with the resignation of someone who had followed unwelcome orders countless times before.

Nova nodded reluctantly, draining the last of her drink with scientific efficiency. "They'll be looking for us by now."

"If they're still there," Spark added, adjusting his makeshift armor with a series of metallic clinks. "If anywhere is still there."

They settled their tabs, though Bart tried to refuse payment for what had essentially become a wake for the world they had known, and gathered their gear. The sounds of preparation, buckles fastening, gear shifting, weapons being checked, created a practical counterpoint to the melancholy mood.

"It was an honor," Grimshaw said formally, extending his flesh-and-blood hand to Bart with a slight bow that spoke of his naval background. His grip was firm, warm, and slightly calloused; the hand of someone who worked despite his officer's rank.

"Best bar on any world I've visited," Nova added with a small smile. "And I've been to the gas giant where drinks serve themselves." The scientific observer in her gave way momentarily to genuine warmth.

"If we somehow stick around," Spark promised, his claws leaving one final scorch mark on the counter, "first round's on me next time. Assuming currency still exists and hasn't been replaced by interpretive dance as a payment method." His tail swished behind him, leaving a faint trail of smoke.

Bart found himself unexpectedly moved. "I'll hold you to that," he managed, surprising himself with the sincerity in his voice. "My interpretive dance is terrible. I look like a wounded flamingo having a seizure."

He followed them to the door, suddenly reluctant to see them leave. After five years of carefully maintained neutrality, of keeping everyone at arm's length, these strange warriors had somehow broken through his defenses in a single night. Which just proved that the universe's most effective solvent was alcohol and shared trauma, possibly in that order.

"Be careful out there," he said as he unbolted the door. The metal latch made a solid, final-sounding clunk as it released.

"Always am," Spark replied with forced bravado, puffing himself up to his full height, which was still barely above Bart's waist. "Hasn't killed me yet. Well, technically it did once, but I got better."

Bart swung the door open, hinges creaking in protest, and they all stepped out into what should have been night.

What greeted them wasn't darkness. Nor was it light. It was devastation.

The sky burned with rifts that tore through the fabric of reality like badly-healed wounds, offering glimpses into other dimensions that should never have touched this one. Familiar landmarks had been twisted and broken, buildings stood as hollow shells where they stood at all, and the very air tasted of metal and magic gone wrong.

Through the rifts, impossible worlds leaked into their own: Strange forests with trees that ran on clockwork, oceans where the water flowed upward, cities built from crystal and thought. The mountains in the distance were crumbling, while rivers had either dried up or now flowed with substances that weren't water at all.

Everything and nothing, was everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

They stood in silence, taking in the apocalyptic landscape. Nova's scientific detachment crumbled as she removed her helmet completely, letting it fall to the ground with a hollow thud. Grimshaw's formal posture sagged, his mechanical arm venting steam in what sounded like a sigh. Spark's wings drooped, and his usual fiery demeanor dimmed to embers.

"So," Bart finally said, his voice small against the backdrop of destruction, "who won?"

Spark looked at the desolate wasteland, then at his unlikely companions, his scales shifting through a spectrum of colors that perfectly matched the emotional journey from disappointment to resignation to gallows humor. "Beats me."

The three soldiers exchanged one last look, then trudged away into the broken landscape, their silhouettes growing smaller against the chaotic backdrop of a world coming apart.

Bart watched them go until they disappeared among the ruins. Then, with a sigh that carried the weight of five years and approximately three extra dimensions and then some, he stepped back inside and flipped the sign from "Open" to "Closed."

Some habits die hard, even at the end of the world. And sometimes, Bart thought as he began wiping down the counter, those habits are the only thing keeping you sane when everything else has gone mad. The familiar motion was comforting. A small island of normalcy in a sea of chaos. If the world was ending, at least his counter would be clean when it went.

The Day Everyone Spoke Truth

By Adarsh Dwivedi

It was a quiet evening in a small town in India. The sun had set, and the only sound in the house was the ticking of an old wall clock. Maheshwari and Rambabu, a married couple, lay on their bed, facing away from each other. Years of fights, misunderstandings, and cold silences had filled the space between them.

“This marriage has become lifeless,” Maheshwari said, her voice tired.

Rambabu didn’t argue. “Let’s just get a divorce. We’re only hurting each other now.”

Their voices were low, but their son Mahesh heard everything from his room. Mahesh was quiet by nature, a boy of few words—but he had learned the art of lying well. He lied at school, lied to his parents, and even lied to himself. But what happened next would change his life forever.

At that very moment, something strange happened across the world. It was as if the universe flipped a switch. No one could lie anymore. Not a single human being. The ability to lie vanished completely. People spoke only the truth, without even realizing it. Even if they tried to lie, the truth came out. Scientists were confused. Governments panicked. Social media exploded. But no one could stop it.

This sudden "truth wave" hit Maheshwari and Rambabu too. They began speaking openly. Years of anger came pouring out. “You never supported me,” Maheshwari said. “You always made me feel alone.”

Rambabu fired back, “You never respected me. You were only with me for comfort.”

Their words cut like knives. There were no lies to protect each other now. Mahesh, listening from the next room, felt his heart break. He had never heard such truth from his parents before.

A few days later, the couple went to court. They explained their situation honestly, without hiding anything. The judge, after hearing them, granted a divorce. Mahesh was to stay with his father, as per the court’s judgment.

But Mahesh had heard too much. “I don’t want to stay with you,” he told his father in a flat voice. “I don’t want to live with either of you.” With that, he packed his bag and left, choosing a life of solitude.

His two sisters, Deepika and Sweta, also heard their father’s raw confessions. At first, they were shocked and angry. But slowly, they understood.

“I made many mistakes as a father,” Rambabu admitted to them one evening. “I failed in many ways.”

Deepika looked at him for a moment and said, “Maybe. But now we know the real you. And that means we can finally talk honestly.”

Sweta added, “Truth hurts. But it also clears the path to rebuild.”

The world outside continued to change. With no one able to lie, friendships broke, relationships ended, businesses collapsed—but at the same time, new bonds were forming based on real trust.

After seven days, the strange force disappeared. Slowly, people began lying again. Politicians, students, lovers—some returned to their old ways. But many didn’t. Some people, especially those who had once lived through lies, made promises to themselves: to speak the truth from now on, no matter what.

Mahesh, alone in a different city, chose silence over lies. He no longer felt the need to hide behind fake smiles or fake words. He didn’t return home. But he started writing. Stories, thoughts, truth. Somewhere, in that quiet space, he began healing.

Maheshwari, now living alone, also changed. She started helping women in troubled marriages, sharing her own story as a warning and a lesson.

Rambabu became a more present father to Deepika and Sweta. They argued, talked, laughed—but now, with honesty. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

The day everyone spoke truth had shaken the world—but in its aftermath, it gave people a choice: to go back to lies or move forward with honesty.

Moral: Truth can start a war if spoken with anger and pride. But if shared with love and understanding, it can build stronger, unbreakable bonds.

Bölüm Başlangıcı: BÖLüM MÜZİĞİMİZ: Dedublüman x Can Kazaz - Bunca Yıl

"Hassas olmak, zayıflık değil; insan kalabilmenin son kanıtıdır."

İçimde kırık dökük bir dünya var,Kimse bakmaz, kimse anlamaz.Ama ben hâlâ sessizce savaşırım,Yalnız olsam da...

Ben kendimi çoğu zaman hüzünlü ve çoğu zaman yorgun buluyorum. Çünkü bir günüm sabahtan akşama kadar beni çıldırtan kaygılar, beni yoran düşüncelerle geçiyor. Kalbimizin kırıklığı yüzümüze yansımasın diye çok uğraşmak nasıl bir histir?

Ben çok saf bir insanım. İnsanlar benim saflığımı, iyiliğimi mallık olarak anlamayı çok iyi başarıyor. Ben hayatımda hep ikinci plana atılan peçete gibi kullanılıp fırlatıldım. Kimse benim ne hissettiğimi, nasıl bir durumda olduğumu sormadan vurdu geçti.

Sonra küçücük bir olay olsun mutsuzluğum belli olursa bana ''Sen çok hassassın'' diyip geçtiler. Şimdi soruyorum: ''Ben mi çok hassasım, yoksa siz mi çok kabasınız?''

Bir olay olduğunda hiç arkanda biri durdu mu? Seni sonuna kadar savunan, seni avutan, kalbindeki kırıklığı azaltmak için çaba gösteren biri oldu mu hayatınızda?

Ben kendi cevabımı vereyim. OLMADI...

Ben bu hayatla savaş vermekten, bu lanet dünyada mutsuz olmaktan o kadar sıkıldım ki... Arkamda hiç kimse yok benim. Ben sevgisizlik ve buna ihtiyaç duyan paramparça kalbi olan biriyim.

Beni çok kolay kırabilirsiniz. Çünkü her şeyden önce ben kendimi kırmayı çok kolay başarıyorum. Nasıl mı? Çok basit. İnsanlar ne der, insanlar bunu der şunu demez diye her gün içimde olan gerçek beni ezerek sürekli kırıyorum.

Bir de güzellik takıntısı var tabi. O aynada ne yapsan bile kendini güzel bulamayıp, kendinden bir gram bile memnun olmadan sürekli söylenmek tüm günümüzü yıpratıyor.

Ne anlatsam bile insanların bizi ciddiye almayıp ve dinlememesi, olmayan hevesimizi gerisingeriye içeriye kapatıyor. Neden mi? Biz çok ''Hassasız''.

Ya ben hassas değilim sadece bir gram ya bir gram düşünce istiyorum. Bizi ne olarak görüyor bu insanlar? Taş? Çöp? Oyuncak? Ne! Ben bunu sorgulamaktan o kadar sıkıldım ki hala adını koyamadığım, hala benim canımı acıtan o kadar çok şey var ki hayatımda...

Kendimi aşıp yaptığım her şeyin sonunda gelen pişmanlık hissi ve oluşan kaygı kalbimi ve vücudumu titreşime alıp korkmama sebep oluyor. Şimdi tekrardan soruyorum bu kadar kaygı, bu kadar hassaslık neden?

Merak etme arkadaşım bu durumları yaşayan tek sen değilsin. Sana şunu yap bunu yap demeyeceğim. Çünkü ben biliyorum bu düşünceler öyle yok olmuyor. Git terapi al demeyeceğim. Gerek duyuyorsan al ama ilk önce her şeyden daha önemli püf noktayı söyleyeceğim.

''KENDİNİ SEVMEK'' var ya bu varsa merak etme çok yakında kendin için yeni şeyler yapıp bu durumdan kurtulursun ama bu yoksa benim gibi uzun yıllar bu düşüncelerle başa çıkamayıp artık depresyonun dibini sıyırmaktan bıkarsın.

Aynanın karşısına geçtiğinde kendi suratına odaklanmanı istiyorum. Kendine kimsenin yapmadığı şevkati göstererek tebrik etmeni istiyorum.

''Çok iyi savaştın, Sen çok güçlüsün.'' demeni ve ardından akan o gözyaşlarını silip gülümseye çalışmanı istiyorum.

Çünkü kendin için bir şey yap dostum. Bak kimse seni umursamıyor, sevmiyor. Bu beden ve bu ruh bu kadar acıyı ve yalnızlığı nasıl kaldırsın? Yok kaldıramaz. O yüzden sen kendine iyi ol en azından...

Bölüm Sonu Kapanış Cümlesi:

"Ve hatırla: Sen kırılınca dünya durmaz, ama kendin için iyileşirsen dünya yeniden yeşerir."

I'min my heart where love is always present. It's in the start where the dove isalways a blessing. God has had enough of the stuff. The world operating on theego. The Word is combinated with the free throw. One shot. The sun can't rot. Xmarks the spot.

Iknow the history. I glow like a mystery. I ain't faking. The world is pagan.The Word isn't aging. I'm like a dove no raging. My love heaven is paging. Godon speed dial. Our heart need to smile. The devil ain't playing. Every levelI'm praying.

Beanxious for nothing. See the matrix and stop fronting. They want you to snoozebiblically so you can lose spiritually. People want the last say. Evil gon behere til the last day. Stay sober in the Word cause it's over the World.

Thatlukewarm love and the hatred is the worst. You been warned that when you'renatured there's no curse. Bible starter working out with that holy water.America is ruled by the Magna Carta. The Gospel is the Good News for that I'mmamartyr.

Let'sstop with the nonsense. All you need is a drop of that conscience. The biblicalpeople was enlightened. The spiritual evil I ain't invited. Cause they heardfrom the grapevine. Love's The Word to escape the mind. Return to the heart.Discern the dark.

TheBible on tell me the world is Babylon. Why can't we all get along. Disciplineis needed. Medicine is seeded. Grains of barley. The pain of love said I'msorry. The world hate the holy spirit. The Word said they only fear it.

IfGod didn't step in, the world I'd be repping. When you naive they even trackyour walk on the leaves. I had the light but I surrounded myself with thenight. Now I'm shining cause ain't no deal I'm signing. What I'm finding istiming.

Thelight is shining already. The night is blinding and deadly. We're in darktimes. Folk swear by heart crimes. I see why the world is alluring. I see whythe Word washes you of the chlorine. I rather stay lowkey with my soul free.

Besincere with no fear. Life is crystal clear. When I awakened in the Word that'swhen I was forsakened by the world. They don't feel me cause I'm the real me.They can't deal with me cause I heal the gift in me. Fake ideology. You can'ttake this reality.

Staysober. Game over. The plot on everyone is to take you in the sound of everygram. Not everyone is down with the program. The spirit of Christ lets it beknown. They fear it cause the price is in front of the throne. We must love. Nolust of the dove.

Onmy travels I see the world unravel. Folk act like they don't hear you but justknow they fear you. The way you acting I know the devil is attacking. If youdon't have the venom that mean the wolves they gon send them. On my journeythey can't burn me.

Theheart is where it start. Keep the Sabbath and stop celebrating all the paganholidays. Folk reap havoc so stop hesitating to destroy the folly ways. 20/25will be the year of you reap what you sow. Plenty of vibe will bring in fear topeep how you know.

Thelook ain't important. The Book is according. What you really recording. Who youreally reporting. See how folk distorting. They still extorting. I do theLord's will. That's why they want my blood spill. Know it's hard to deal. Godsaid your love real.

Remainpresent in your heart. Abstain from the session in the dark. Been there donethat. Seen where it gon flat. If that's the case then why don't you have grace.You better stop judging off the face. I don't care about your race. Check yoursoul space.

Ifeel good in the Lord, O'God. Got to be real cause life is hard. I don't wantto be rude I ain't scared of the dark. They want to cause you harm. On thecross Jesus opened up his arms. Currently in psalms. We all got to give ouralms. My love is calm.

Powerforward. The hour is getting poorer. That flower make you a sower. We're in thelast days like Noah. We don't ask for their ways we just see the aura. You haveto play on their team when you're in their dream. Stop signing oaths. I'mminding my notes.

Beobedient in the holy spirit. Free the ingredient cause they only fear it. I'mtalking in love. I'm walking in the dove. The game need to repent cause theydoing evil with ill intent. They try to downplay cause folk know on the groundyou pray.

Thisis off the spiritual muscle. Can't scoff the miracle hustle. With the devilsit's a biblical tussle. So much wickedness is invested in the world. Folk outof touch with the vividness ingested in the Word. God told me keep the love.Deep in the dove.

Everylevel don't you dare give your heart to Illuminati. The devil don't care aboutanybody. I ain't scared of you I got that karate. I don't stare when I see aCybertruck or Bugatti. The wealth I share cause I know life ain't a party.

Feellike a quarterback. I healed when I could've got that heart attack. Like adefensive back the events are back. I'm like a wide receiver. I almost diedcause of the deceiver. Industry play dirty. The illest street ain't flirty. Theministry of a birdie.

Likea thief in the night. On a bike with the leaf of light. Everywhere you go isgrief in sight. My heart verified got them terrified. They hating cause God'sway is not fading. I live in the now Lord's salvation I'm waiting. No vacationmy soul ancient.

Theway to prosper is to make sure you playing for heaven's roster. Don't come upby evil. Where I'm from we all equal. If you ain't feeling the light then thatmean you ain't healing right. Cosmic forces of darkness. Atomic sources of theheartless.

Mydreams coming true even when the schemes running through. See them peering thruthe window. They be fearing the way the wind blow. God hearing when you pray ifyou in that flow. You can't be a top dog and you tryna cop a hog. The game isin the fog.

Masteryour silence and you will be a pastor of science. Energy is already free so youcan't create that. The enemy already got the key to try to deflate your stat.My soul got them scattered. The cold I won't flatter. Only salvation matters.

Alot of peace talks. In the parking lot the beast walks. Hope you praying inthis war. Don't be playing with the Lord. Everything in this world is turned toa score. Everything in the Word discerned the core. Stay in love. Pray for thedove.

Biblicalverses break the spiritual curses. I ain't blind to no note. I won't sign to nogoat. They say money talks. I say that honey sparks. There's always a secretagenda. Where's the hallways of the regrets of the vendor. Don't do return tosender.

Theworld united cause all religions are invited. Cut the titles out. But the idolsare clout. Focus on the Lord. The lotus is in the war. Don't resonate with thewicked. Folk can't designate cause they don't have the ticket. A penny formany.

I'mmamighty champion. They nightly scamming. I'm from the city of the industry. Shebeautiful and pretty got her own ministry. Set the example of love. Don't getthe sample of puff. Stay sober spiritually. Pray the game is over biblically.

I'mblessed and I'm saved. God testing my faith. What's the point of you hexing thegrave. She texting scriptures her love is what I crave. In a healthy way. To makeher wealthy I pray. I love you is what God say. The devil out to slay. Pleasedon't play.

I'mlocked in on that version. I'm detoxing and purging. I'm boxing the devils Iain't merging. The Word of God is not an invent. The devil won't relent untilyou repent. I'm talking biblically. I'm walking spiritually. From dreamers towaking up in Jesus.

Where'sthe evidence that you heaven sent. Abstain from the corrupt manner. You can'tact the same when God disrupts the banner. Folk trying to verify the holyspirit thru the scanner. What's the production. That's the obstruction . Weunder construction.

Raceand gender wars. Grace is the vendor of scores. They look at you weird causeyou're name is written in the book of fear. If they ain't talking in the holyspirit what they talking. If they ain't walking in the holy spirit where theywalking.

Myheart belong to God. I almost died in the dark but I was strong against theodds. Life like poker you better play your cards. Chosen ones are the stars.Folks working on closing the sun to press pause. The moment is always now. Theopponent is like how.

Ipray for all cause I don't play ball. Holy spirit filled believer of JesusChrist. Folk only fear it cause they walk with the deceiver of in the dreamer'snights. God let your will be done. The heart gets the real one. They try stealthe sun. Don't run.

There'ssigns all over. Where's the blind cabal cobra. Hollywood your days arenumbered. If they could folk would slay my jumper. Jordan River. They recordingThe Giver. All you gon hear is atomic silence. I don't fear no demonicviolence.

Howcan say you love God but you out of pocket. They made a vow to slay the dovebut ain't no power in the socket. The fruit of her lips. The roots of the tips.Work hard to be God's star. The war is ending with a bang. I'm repenting fromthe gang.

Biblicallytryna be perfect. Spiritually what's the verdict. More crashouts. More flashouts. More clash outs. Radical I ain't with the norm. This ain't magical and Istill transform. No pot of gold for the storm. Are you hot or cold no lukewarm.

Livegodly cause the world live oddly. You not above or under no one. Do you havelove even in front of thunder or the sun. Take them shades off. Lot of folk gotpaid off. Mario and Luigi. Cardio and the Fugees. Guard your heart cause theworld is dark.

Theworld is secrecy of the forbidden. The Word is frequency of the forgiven. Thetensions are boiling. The pensions are coiling. Once somebody does somethingit's available in the conscience sphere. They fronting and capping cause theythe Pontius of fear.

Igot a spiritual mind with a biblical grind. God knows if you truly real. Theheart shows if you truly sealed. The dark is unruly when you're healed. We'respiritual souls. Do you care what you're biblically told. Be prepared for themiracle gold.

Cryptocurrency.They try to rip thru the emergency. That tea I sip slow cause I'm purging outthe sea. We're in the last days so much we gon see. Better get in the Word.Weather is set in the world. Keep your soul pure. It's deep that gold cure.

Makeit out cause you can't fake it out. The world is everywhere on the planet. TheWord will be everywhere as a standard. I'm biblically correct not politicallycorrect. Get your heart right cause you can't let the dark trap you in thenight

You heard it here first. Ibroke that fear curse. Every year it's a hearse. All them tears for that verse.Christ is calling. What's the price of balling. I ain't hooping. The matrix islooping. Society is grouping. All nations need salvation.

The light exposes thedarkness. The night has the best roses of the harvest. I'm not holding on tothe world. I ain't gon rot while they folding in the Word. Their first layer isbusiness. My first prayer is the witness. The worst vapor is sickness.

It all makes sense. Weliving in the past tense. The world is shifting can't be on the fence. The Wordis different when you see with the lens. We've been lied to on all levels. Theglobe been died by the hands of devils. Stay in the now. Only God know how.

I apply the pressure. Icried to the lecture. You can bring your pandemic. We just gon condemn it.Don't open up a can of worms. They hoping my plans ain't long term. Take thescales off your eyes. Can't fake like folk won't sell the skies.

The movie clip ain'tfaking. Only Jesus drip is ancient. Ain't no sip if you laking. Don't trip onthe bacon. The chip I ain't taking. I ain't been forsakened. The Lord is mymotivation. God deserve a standing ovation. Salt of the earth on heavy rotation.

Baptized in the river.That's why I been delivered. Born into the sanctuary. Are we gon mourn inJanuary. We're in for a rude awakening. The world is lewd by faking the things.The earth is indebted to the protocol. The Word ain't edited only one Gospel.

Just silence your mind.Balance the line. Violence got the world blind. Science says the Word issigned. Once you challenge the status quo they want you to vanish cause theydon't want the world to know. The spirit of God is on all flesh. Life is atest.

I done seen things happen.When I got my wings they thought that I was capping. What I bring they ain'tsmiling. How I sing the angels I'm dialing. Who's really in the light. I ain'treally feeling the night. They tight cause my heart right.

I can't stay where it'slow. I just pray that I know. Deep within I don't keep no sin. Confess mytransgressions. I'm blessed with the sands of testing. Moving in love thru thematrix. I'm proving the dove ain't with the six.

So much hidden in thedark. I know it's written in my heart. I ain't quitting when the bulletssparks. They forgetting we all got to be on our own Noah's Arks. Ain't nobetting on salvation God knows our hearts. The settings for souls are thedarts.

I'm in the worship. Mysoul can't be purchased. Worldwide we in them churches. We don't hide even whenthey tryna search us. God is in control not the devil. They act odd cause theycan't blonde your soul on the level. Rather have petals than medals.

Tears flowing down. YearsI been knowing now. Fears been slowing down. It's clear where I'm going now.The seed of God in my heart. We all need God so we don't die in the dark. Thelight got to surround us. The night try to ground us.

I'm in the right state. Inthe night I skate. To win you got to be able to wait. Don't let sin beavailable to your fate. You need the holy spirit. They plead the 6 cause yourtruth they only fear it. Use the discernment. Don't lose faith in the internment.

My heart resonate withsouls in the holy spirit. They start messing with fate of souls cause they onlyfear it. Do you have the imperishable seed. The staff is surgical when youbleed. Jesus as Lord is what I plead. We're not in peace but war take heed.

One question is JesusChrist your Lord and Savior. Ain't no guessing cause God won't leave us in theprice of the war don't let your faith waiver. Been graced with salvation'sfavor. I was always in prayer. They can't stand it cause I emerged out thevapor.

Promises is for God.Common sense has become odd. I'm not gon fake that I love Christ no matter whoaround. Jesus was on the stake like a dove who opened to the lost now we'refound. Sad to see the world's conditions. Glad the Word is the Lord's decision.

I don't argue. I just stayon cue. What would Jesus do. God wouldn't leave us in the view. Innocent peopledying off a lie. Be disciplined cause evil is trying to make you die. I knowyou intrigued but my soul ain't fatigued. The world is under siege.

I don't care what thecrowd say. I just share what my heart pray. Our redemption is at hand. My onlyexemption is God's plan. Be thankful then you will see your bank full. Don'trun cause folk tryna grab your ankle. They stun cause my heart like a angel.

Please get baptized. Thestreets got rap ties. I'm tired of the lies. I got the fire of the wise. If younot born again technically you the walking dead. The truth won't mourn againcause poetically it's talking cause only God I dread.

Put your faith in Jesusalone. When you're saved God won't leave us to be cloned. You must defeat thegrave. Take the heat cause your soul folk crave. You want to do evil andcomplain. The truth has no ego do I have to explain. My love can't be contained.

All you need to do is bekind. Don't ball off your seed to be signed. No deal. They know I'm real. Iunderstand the masonic language. I got the upperhand on the demonic my namerich. Not saying I'mma luciferian. I'm praying even when they burying.

If you claim Christ thename is the price. I'm like a war cruiser. I ain't no sore loser. Everybody hasa past. Illuminati won't last. Governments acting crazy now but don't forgetpoliticians took a vow. God will protect you from the demolition like wow.

If I could bridge the gap.Hollywood tryna fridge the map. They probably could and it ain't cap. Keep itgood I don't need to take a nap. God is one hundred. It's hard but I know loveis my bread. I'm wanted alive or dead. I survive cause what Jesus said.

The truth is aestheticallyGod's med. Fruits is fresh to repent theoretically the holy star of bread. Myroots is blessed again no wedding ring only heart instead. See the lights ofthought to shock the ego. Free in Christ not to walk in evil.

There is no fear of God intheir eyes. There's gon be a lot of tears of God in their eyes. I'm talking tothe world. I'm walking in the Word. Everything has become absurd. The cauldronis stirred. I ain't dodging the blurred. Take caution been confirmed.

We gon be free like onetwo three. Every psalm is key like the dawn we see. This is for all believers.Where's your faith God won't leave us. I can't deny Jesus. Be holy andblameless. I'm not hungry to be famous. Perfection is to be stainless.

I mastered clarity. I toldher I'mma pastor she want to marry me. It's gon be a disaster if they bury me.Read every chapter thoroughly. Don't care how they scourge me. It ain't fairbut they tryna torch me. I refuse to do evil. I got the juice no ego.

Critical thinking isessential. Biblical thinking is the potential. How much it cost to build yourtemple to perfection. I was lost but God made me an example of resurrection. Ifeel like Lazarus. I heal no hazardous. Heart of flesh. Start with the best.

You heard it here first. Ibroke that fear curse. Every year it's a hearse. All them tears for that verse.Christ is calling. What's the price of balling. I ain't hooping. The matrix islooping. Society is grouping. All nations need salvation.

I stay motivated. I praymy soul made it. For my debts Jesus paid it. Every breath God won't leave uscause life is faded. I hope you know the Lord is all knowing. It ain't dope toignore truth cause it's all showing. Fix the inner. Can't six a winner.

The power of my roots gotthem sour in their fruits. I stand on business with boots. You can't stop love.Folk blank cause they can't drop the dove. Renew your mind. I ain't new to thegrind. God saved me when they played me. Spiritual and biblical.

The only way to be real isthe holy array to heal. The love of many is waxing cold. The dove for a pennyis taxing the gold. Not even a sparrow falls without God knowing. Folk gon begrieving not walking narrow cause they want to ball before they going.

Your heart is the rock ofthe church. At the core God shock those who search. Master your silence causethe faster the science. God is closer to you than your heartbeat. It's hardcause folk ain't kosher in truth, they make plans where the dark meet.

Just hold on for a littlelonger. It's a must to be on cause the brittle is conquered. God formed you inthe womb. It's hard when you transform in the tomb. Alive and well. You can'tsurvive in hell. Judgement Day. Keep it a hundred do you pray.

Who created love. Whodebated the dove. We're not promised any breath. The world is not honest of anydeath. Jesus has the keys. God won't leave us on our knees. Stand up and walkwith God. Put your hands up and talk with God. The curse about to burst.

All praises to my God. Allraces in my heart. I love you regardless. If you got the dove life is thehardest. Just stay in peace. We don't pray for the beast. Hollywood is notentertainment. They probably could but I'm centered in the statement.

It's gon take place onFriday. God's Son grace is here so I pray. Bride of Christ. You can't hide inrights. You can't always flirt with the devil and marry God. You get hurt onany level when you bury your heart. Stay strong. Are you right or wrong.

Love is the atomic energyof truth. The dove sees the demonic enemy of bluetooth. Let it marinate. Idon't bet I know I ain't scared of the hate. I don't do no parade. I'm not withthe charade. I don't bite my tongue. Shone my light thru my lungs.

I was made free so theycan't grade me. Where were you when I was blind. Now the world act rude causeI'm kind. They thought I was a fool now I'm on my grind. My soul ain't boughtby the rule no vow to sign. Repent or perish. My intent is to not switch.

Just cause you ain'trocking with me doesn't mean you stopping the gift in me. I'm not here to playgames. No fear I don't pray in those names. Jesus is the one with the power.God won't leave us in the flame in any hour. Lamb's Book. They all shook.

I got a differentstrategy. The world shifting cause of tragedy. Represent for Jesus. Heaven sentknow God won't leave us. Nothing can separate me from the love of our Creatorin Christ. Ain't fronting I meditate on the thoughts above of our Savior's price.

I was saved by the cross.I got faith I need no sauce. So many in the world lost. If you don't get in theWord it's gon cost. I'm talking biblical. Any day I'm walking is a miracle.Ain't no way you locking the spiritual. I'm rocking the fire gold.

It was December, and it was the season of snow. Out of those waiting for snow, one of the people eagerly waiting for the snow was Charlie, a 21-year-old introverted boy living on the ground floor of Cyber Colony Society. He was in his final year of college. He didn’t have any friends in college or society with whom he could chat or play. Like every winter, this was also a boring winter vacation for him. He would stand outside his home waiting for the snow to fall so that he could kill time playing with snow. He opened his mobile and checked the notification, and a smile appeared on his face. The notification read: Prediction of snowfall tonight in your location.

He looked at the sky and smiled. At night, he couldn’t sleep as he waited for snowfall. As a child, he lived in an area where the temperature and topography were unsuitable for snowfall. It was always his dream to see snowfall, and this year would be his first snowfall. He shifted to this new location this year due to his parents' transfer. He looked at the sky, and suddenly the weather changed. As he stretched his hands, the snow fell gently on them. The sky hung low, grey and heavy, while delicate flakes drifted from the clouds. They landed silently, covering rooftops, trees, and empty streets in a glistening blanket that shimmered in the pale light. Charlie grabbed some snow from the ground and started making a snowball. He threw it toward the sky and laughed as the pieces of the ball fell on him. He started making another ball when he heard a laugh when his eyes got stuck on the balcony of the first floor opposite his block. A girl of the same age as him was standing on the balcony and looking at the sky. Her long, chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders with a grief expression on her face. Wrapped in a cozy sweater and a scarf, she looked at the snowflakes falling from the sky. Her cheeks flushed pink from both the cold and the exhilaration of the moment. Snow fell softly around her, and her presence lit up the dim evening like it was made of sunlight.

Charlie’s breath caught somewhere between his chest and the winter air. For a second, he forgot about the cold biting at his hands. Forgot the chill in his sweater. Forgot the rest of the world.

He couldn't help but smile. Watching her in that moment, he felt something shift. Like time slowed just enough for him to memorise the way the snow clung to her hair and the pink on her cheeks. And in that silence, he realised he was falling for her.

The next morning, Charlie woke up and ran toward the door to look at the balcony opposite his flat. There was no one on the balcony, and he looked at it for more than an hour with no results. He came inside the room and thought about what he had seen the previous night. The snow, the warmth and the softness. He looked at the watch and waited for it to be night so that he could see the girl. As it turned dark, he got outside, but there was no snow and no girl on the balcony. He kept waiting, but all in vain. He slept on his doorstep while waiting, and his sleep was interrupted by his mother waking him up. He looked around, it was already six in the morning. He went inside with a disappointed mood.

Charlie’s mother came to him and asked, “Is everything alright? You don’t feel yourself today.”

Charlie thought for a second and said, “Do you know who the new owners of the flat on the first floor, opposite our block are?”

His mother looked at him and said, “Yes, they are Mr. and Mrs. Evans, but why do you ask?”

“I saw a girl on the balcony of that flat one night before, but didn’t see her after that night.”

“So, my boy has a crush,” his mother chuckled.

Charlie blushed, “There is nothing like that. I am just asking out of curiosity.”

His mother laughed, “I know what curiosity you are talking about,” his mother left the room.

Charlie looked at the balcony from his window and thought, “Tonight it’s predicted that there will be snowfall. Hope you will be there too.”

At night, the snowfall started, and Charlie went outside to the compound area and lay in the snow and looked at the snow falling from the sky. He moved his hands and legs in the snow to make a snow butterfly. Suddenly, he looked at the balcony and saw the girl standing on the balcony but with a grief-stricken look on her face. Charlie kept looking at her in awe, but was curious to know why the girl looked grieved. He waved his hands, but the girl kept looking toward the sky. Charlie stopped waving and could feel his heart pumping faster. His breathing fastened, and he softly said, “Hello?”

The girl didn’t respond.

“I think she didn't hear it. Should I say it out loud? It’s late at night, it will be awkward,” Charlie thought, “Should I make a snowball and throw it towards her? No, that will be rude. What should I do to talk to her?”

As Charlie thought, he noticed that the girl wasn’t there anymore. He thought, “I think she would have seen me and got inside.”

He kept looking at the balcony for the next ten minutes, but no one came out. He got back to his flat and lay on the bed. He kept looking at the ceiling and thought, “Why did she go inside? Even if she had noticed me, she could have called me or waved at me. I think she’s an introvert like me.”

The next morning, Charlie’s mother woke him up and smiled, “I have got some news for you. Regarding Evan’s child.”

“What is it?” Charlie asked while stretching his body.

“They had a daughter, but she died some months ago.”

Charlie went into thinking, “How is this possible? That girl looked in the same age range as mine. Is she Mrs. Evans whom I see? I don’t think so. That girl was so young and beautiful.”

That night, Charlie looked at the balcony through his window. The snow started falling, and he went outside. As he left his flat and entered the compound, his eyes got stuck on the balcony where the girl was standing. This time, she was not looking at the sky as she always does. She felt lost in something. She seemed to be in deep thought. Charlie waved at her, but in vain. He looked around, thinking about calling her, when he noticed that she was not on the balcony anymore. He walked backwards to get a wide view of the balcony and was amazed to see an empty balcony. He got frustrated and thought, “I will go to their flat in the morning.”

The next morning, Charlie went to the opposite block and stood in front of the flat door. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door. After a few minutes, Mrs. Evans opened the door.

“Yes?” Mrs. Evans asked.

“She doesn’t look like that girl. Thank God,” Charlie thought before saying, “Good morning, Mrs. Evans.”

“Yes, how can I help you?” Mrs. Evans asked.

“I am Charlie, I live across the compound on the ground floor, Flat number 1-A. You can see it directly from your balcony. My mother told me that you are new here. If you want any help, you can ask me, I will be happy to help.”

Mrs. Evan gave a slight smile, “That’s so sweet of you. Thanks for asking.”

“If you and Mr. Evans and your child need any help, I am one call away.”

“It is only me and my husband, Mr. Evans. We don’t have any children. We used to have, but she’s not with us anymore,” Mrs. Evans said in a depressing tone.

“I am sorry to hear that. I will be leaving now, you take care,” Charlie left the block with several thoughts in his mind.

He was confused and thought, “If there is no one except Mr. and Mrs. Evans living here, then who am I seeing on the balcony when snow falls?”

He sat on the sofa and was in deep thought when his mother noticed Charlie, “Are you fine?”

Charlie was upset and confused. He said in a low voice, “Mother, I don’t know what is happening. Whenever there is snowfall at night, I have started seeing a girl of my age on the balcony of  Evans, but they don’t have any children. Then who am I seeing?”

Mother grabbed Charlie’s hands and said, “Oh my dear Charlie, it looks like your loneliness has overwhelmed you. I think you are just imagining a girl. You should go to your grandma’s home for the rest of the vacation, otherwise, you will get depressed here.”

“Wait, in the weather app, it is predicted that today there will be snowfall. Please come with me to the compound at night. I will be sure if the girl is real or just my imagination,” Charlie requested.

His mother thought for a second and nodded.

At night, it started snowing at around eleven. Charlie rushed to the drawing room where his mother was already waiting. They went to the compound area and looked at the sky, it was snowing. They looked at the balcony, but there was no one. They waited for an hour and then went inside.

The mother locked the door and said, “Charlie, I think it is just your imagination.”

“What if she didn’t come out? Or maybe she would have seen you from her window and decided not to come out?”

The mother yawned and said, “That doesn’t make any sense. If there is any girl, why would she not come out tonight? Just because I was with you? Charlie, I will be packing some clothes, and you will be leaving for your grandma’s home tomorrow morning. Your loneliness and isolation have made you fall for a girl who does not even exist.”

“Why do I see her?” his throat tightened with the question.

He gripped his hair, trying to squeeze sense into the chaos of his thoughts. No name. No past. Just moments, fleeting, vivid, impossible moments and yet he had feelings for her. Not in the way people say they love ideas or fantasies. This felt deeper. Like something lost and aching to be found again. He could feel her absence like a bruise beneath the ribs. He wanted to scream, to shake himself free, to forget her entirely, but every time he tried, she came back stronger. Like the memory of warmth after years of cold.

“What kind of madness is it to love someone who isn’t real?” he sat there for hours.

As these thoughts became stronger, he heard a girl’s voice, “Charlie.”

He looked behind through the window, and the girl was there and looking around. He stood up and went outside to the compound and looked at her.

Just then, a thought crossed his mind, “She isn’t real. It’s just your imagination.”

He took a deep breath and walked toward the girl’s block and stood beneath the balcony. The girl looked at him and smiled. Suddenly, Charlie’s phone screen began to flicker. Lines of static broke through the white background. The screen glitch and then blinked.

A message appeared: “Snow memory anomaly detected. Coordinates: Cyber Colony Sector 14. Subject: Emily Evans. Link status: Partially active.”

Charlie's breath hitched. “Emily Evans? What is this all about?”

Another message typed itself in real-time: “You are not hallucinating. She exists. But not in this timeline.”

Charlie’s chest tightened.

A third message appeared: “Memory threads between realities are rare. Snow enhances the tether. She’s trying to reach you.”

As Charlie was reading these messages, he looked at the girl, who was already looking at him. He raised a hand. She also raised her hand. The air around her flickered. The girl suddenly vanished from the balcony and appeared in front of him, “I have been trying to find you,” Emily whispered across the cold silence. Her voice wasn’t carried by air, but through his mind.

“You are not a ghost, are you?” Charlie asked with his heart racing.

“No,” she said, shaking her head gently. “I am from another layer of reality, caught in a loop of snow and memory. But your presence here is pulling me through.”

Charlie blinked, “Why me?”

She smiled, her voice echoing within him. “Because I died in your world and you died in mine. And somehow we are connected across the snow.”

The world around them grew quiet. The snow fell more heavily.

“I came so many times, but you always ignored me,” Charlie said with a heavy heart.

“I didn’t. This technology was in a testing phase. During the testing phase, you did not see the real me. It was just my projection. My projection couldn’t hear or say anything, or even move my body parts. I could only listen. Some days, the machine didn’t even work. But now, the technology is fully developed, and the first thing I did was to travel to this timeline.”

Emily reached out a hand. Charlie hesitated, but stepped forward. As he touched her hand, a pulse of warmth rushed through his body. Visions flooded his mind, her world, her life, himself in another version, walking beside her, laughing, loving.

“I don’t have much time,” she said, voice trembling. “But this window might close forever if I don’t anchor myself.”

Charlie looked into her eyes, “What can I give you?”

“A memory,” she said, “Something pure. Something strong enough to survive both worlds.”

The air pulsed, delicate and unreal, the world around them flickering with the fragile glow of two timelines brushing edges. The cold bit at Charlie’s skin, but he didn’t feel it with her standing just inches away.

“I have waited across nights and snowfalls, just to feel this,” Charlie whispered.

Their faces drew close. Snowflakes melted between their lips before they ever touched. The kiss was slow, trembling, unsure at first. Then deeper, more urgent, like memory clinging to flesh, like time holding its breath just for them. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was every silent night, every moment he had watched her from below and wondered if she was real. Tears slipped down her cheek and mingled with the snow on his. Charlie wrapped his arms around her like he could hold her in this world if he just held tight enough. Her hands curled into the fabric of his sweater, anchoring herself in his warmth, in him, in a moment that felt infinite and vanishing all at once.

When they finally pulled apart, her forehead rested gently against his, “I will remember this in every version of me,” she whispered.

The snow around them paused, just for a second. A silence so profound, even the wind dared not interrupt. Then, everything flickered. She began to dissolve.

“No!” Charlie whispered, “Emily!”

She reached out one last time, brushing his cheek with fingers made of stardust and memory. “You gave me enough, I will find a way back. Promise me, don’t forget.”

“I promise,” Charlie said with tears in his eyes.

And then she vanished.

The snow resumed, and Charlie stood alone in the compound, breathless, the wind howling in his ears. His phone was dead. The screen was blank.

Beside him, he saw a single snowflake-shaped pendant, glimmering faintly with a light not from this world. He picked it up. It was warm. As he held it close, a whisper echoed in the air, “One day, across the snow between worlds, we will meet again.”

Letter to Marcelo

11th of October, 2024

To Marcelo,

If you come to see me, bring your whip.

You went all out; I said, if you come to see me, bring your whip, and you didn’t fall short, you fully embraced the spirit of a rogue! In my writings, there’s no struggle to preserve your presence. Should I write about keeping the scent of your horse in my skin cells, or should I write about mourning the word "cry"? Neither, I won’t write about them. I only indulge in squeezing out a few missing measures of the unknown.

22 years ago, on the second of October, I fell in love, and from the various stages of perhaps loving, I reached the peak. Every second of October, with the memory of that moment of our meeting, passed in such a way that it was immeasurable. Our wedding should have been on the second of October. Every autumn that came, we awaited a small celebration for the second of October. But in the years that followed, when he became a disciple of the oppressors, and the street-fighter spirit of his grabbed my throat, his betrayals left marks on my devotion, and his addiction drained my soul, even his subsequent marriages stripped my dignity. This date became the most bitter day of the calendar for me. Like a star that turns to powder and smoke, it had neither light nor love within. Later, I grew to despise this second of October. One day, in my refuge, I wished for the light of a man, a waking male, to break the curse of this second of October in my life. I wanted to sit and write of a sweeter second of October, more delightful than a new season’s fruit.

When, by chance, the time of our meeting was the second of October, I woke up at eight in the morning, opened the attic window, and let the light spill over my sheets and blanket. I burned incense and frankincense, and in the circular bathtub of my home, I sang loudly. Around the mirror screen partition in my attic room, colorful birds had gathered and were watching me. A gentle breeze passed under my arms, and I, being a woman awake at night, prepared myself for an embrace with you, even at this early hour, when most people were still asleep, and no sound of any carriage wheel could be heard in the cobbled streets.

So, I didn’t sit even for a moment in anticipation and walked the length and breadth of the room, counting every second. I walked for eight hours, continuously going to the mirror to look at the red gown with a long train and the 16th-century lace bodice. I wished that the sunlight wouldn’t shift and wouldn’t leave my window. I wanted time to stop, and the sun, like a coin, to stick at the same point in the sky, so you could come. For eight hours, I didn’t sit on a chair. All this was from eagerness, not from heartache or disappointment from your absence. You sent your messenger, telling me your carriage had broken down in your relatives' farm and that you couldn’t make it. Once again, I couldn't create a real second of October with a beautiful memory.

And then, on the 17th of October, when the man on horseback, who was you, wrapped in the noble scent of a horse, appeared before me, I couldn’t contain myself. I looked at your hands resting on the paper, ready to draw around them. I stared at the edges of your nails, and my eyes moved over the dryness of your skin. I connected the crayon as if crossing a border between this beloved part of you and the paper. If you had any taste, you would’ve taken the lines from my fingers as well. Just like I drew lines around your fingers, you would’ve traced mine.

I gather the remnants of my taste and put them in my closet to show you. I choose a fish-scaled dress and wear it. Hey! You! After you shot me in the eyes and saw me fall into your embrace, did the fish scales on my body flutter well?

On our drawing paper, you wrote a poem by Mehdi Akhavan Sales: "The breath that comes from the warmth of the chest, turns into a cloud, darkens..." and I was stunned by the beauty of your handwriting on the paper. I wished that this empty canal would fill forever. Even though you didn’t write that poem for me, seeing it felt like witnessing a naked body, both sexually thrilling and terrifyingly beautiful.

I had drunk a sip of wine, and I wasn’t so drunk that my mind wandered. Just like reaching the woman’s lips, igniting the flame of life after coupling, that heavenly orgasmic moment. When you picked up your phone to film me, did you see that I was playing coy? Did you see that you had to record our laughter with my phone? Now that same film, with the explosion of laughter set to the mournful music of " Ne me quitte pas " by Jacques Brel, accidentally stayed in my phone. How did you turn that beautiful moment of laughter into hell, you, the lion of courage? How did you strike me with your whip, after all the chatting, dancing, and laughter under the flashing blue lights of my house? I, like an innocent child, sat before you, wiping the wet laughter from my eyes with my palms, looked at you, and asked, "Don’t you love me?" And you, laughing, stared at my eyes, unblinking, clearly and transparently said, "No! I don’t love you." To write how I was destroyed in front of you, I’d need a lifetime, not a few hundred notebooks. Alas, being a writer is something one can never truly become. I had never felt more helpless than in that moment, and you, like a filmmaker playing the lead role, both whipped me and gave me, the fish, as a gift to the moon in your painting!

I’ve seen how in your circus stable, you embraced and kissed your horse, Sabita, in those restless moments to deliver a message to your former lover.

No! You are not the one who’s been kicked and rejected. What does it matter that I read your back with my wet eyes and broken heart? "Hero!" Ha! A hero who, with all his heroism, gifted autumn to its host, gave his rain and his twilight pains to it, turning the time when two people could seek refuge in each other’s souls and bodies in the aftermath of a war-ravaged period into hell.

I loved you, selflessly. I’m sending you this film so you know how I lived through it, like the anxiety of a condemned person waiting for the verdict at the gallows.

You said, "Why should we take the rented off-road car to travel? Don’t I have a car?" Which road were we going to visit? I saw you at a magnificent level because I wanted to become a horse for you, but you never allowed my soul and body to be part of yours. For me, just seeing the dry, multi-colored autumn road with its anklet and sinking into the branches of its trees was enough.

This letter is not for you, Marcelo. It’s for October, whose hell passed through me. For11th of October, for the "M" not the month. For the man whose animalistic nature I fell in love with, but who was enamored with his epaulettes and wept for the women who loved the gleam of their clothing, not the sharpness of his heart.

In all these letters, I praised you, but in this one, let me moan a little! Huh? "Why did I give you my heart, only for you to break it, or what did I do that you won’t look back at me?" Shajarian's voicesing this.

Sorry that I "exist."

Sorry that I left my heart in your eyes and the broken bones of your nose.

They said, "Don’t inform men about love, they’ll run away," and I thought you were a legend, not an ordinary man.

I thought you had anchored yourself in the shade of poetry. The virtue of companionship and the pleasure of it, not everyone understands.

For you, who gave me neither a single flower, nor ever hosted me, nor poured me a cup of tea because you didn’t have the conditions, my friend.

A poem byMehdi Akhavan Sales– "Winter"

Mohammadreza Shajarian – "The Song of the Meeting"

Sanaz seyed esfahani