Whenever undertakers show up people always try to avoid contact as if they bring death or something so growing up i thought death has to be a body six feet under, first time meeting death was grandpa's death all I remember is mama crying, aunt on the ground and people all over the place wearing black like ALOT surprisingly they were yapping and acting like its an occasion to catch up like nothing happened ,I was a bit confused why do you show up if you really don't care? two years passes and here we meet again this time with dad got a call at school to go see dad at the hospital same scene all wearing black but this time they were all crying as I entered on dad I saw him but it didn't feel like him he was so cold like he was really soulless fear found me that time i got out of the room got out away all what i could say that i am ok, i went to the only place where i knew i will not have to deal with it to the pool spent there all day from waking up till i go home to bed and with my sister of choice it felt like nothing happened. nationals coming i trained harder than ever as every time I entered the pool I swam as sharks were chasing the faster i go the more silence i had tired body yes but muted mind just a week before my race got chickenpox sitting alone between those 4 walls felt as a mice trapped with a cat that is trying to kill him my mind was merciless blaming me for everything i couldn't sleep for 3 days itching body crazy mind felt like that this my end till my girl stepped in and helped and helped me realize that its ok nothing happened because of me, days passed and as i got better i was offered a job as swimming coach accepted with no hesitation chlorine smell is back in my hair this time I am the mentor ,that was the best time of my life. That friend we started talking less but that's ok that how it have been around us since childhood we both knew as we meet it will be like we never left or at least that's what i thought as she started ignoring me something felt wrong the more i try to approach her she runs new semester started I saw her at school went to talk to her she ignored me again. I really don't know what did I do? I kept texting , calling ,sent her a video of younger us saying how we will be together forever she saw it and then responded with a react after 3 days, that when i knew she is no longer the same person found her at school after that hanging with girls she used to yap how much she disliked them I felt real betrayal how can she even do that to me I trusted her as a family even more she was more than blood to me and I was a part of her family too! that's a betrayal you forgot 15 years? crying laughing everything together and for what I really don't know what happened as time passed I drown myself in work but that wasn't even powerful enough I don't miss her at midnight i missed her in the most crowed places and in my biggest achievements she was missing her spot was empty and she is the only person I really want by my side . As I trained more swimmers there were grandma's who came to train as there grandchildren watched , introducing kids to the water and seeing the hunger in young swimmers there, sprinting with my whistle , they think i am the one who taught them something new but they are the ones who came to me with wisdom every swimmer has a story and a lesson for me to learn specially those adults . I finally reached peace and that I need to let people die stop chasing not only those who are 6 feet under put in by undertakers but also those who breath i realized the girl i knew is dead so I have to grieve it and honor our memories that new girl is some one i don't know anything about as she don't either soka my dog just died months ago she was my last shared memory with dad she went to be there with him and the girl I never imagined she won't be there to get me out or i won't be there in her wedding as we dreamed wasn't there. something I learned too that when someone dies you don't try to bring them back cause they will come as a ghost or a vampire and from we knew from drama they aren't much friendly(except if he was Niklaus Mikaelson of course) people are stages in life god send them to help you through something and then leave ,same thing with you .even if you thought they will stay forever; enjoy the moment while you can and make peace with death it means someone's message is delivered as all I said hurt but it developed my character maybe god took them away cause they won't fit in the next chapter it doesn't matter if they died in a grave or in life make peace with yourself as that's the only one who is not just a chapter its the hero of the story love him so you can make a rememberable character out of him. True death happens when you get forgotten.

We have been going a long way; Our past was filled with ruthless wars. It was such a horrible journey That silenced innocent babiesʼ' laughter. But now, our world is tranquil; We are to live those half-dreamed lives. Now everything is just, everything is equal— Our goal is just to thrive. Undoubtedly, we have to make amends. You are building good lives for us, Yet we have a plea - hear our laments O keepers of the nations, We donʼt want battles over wealth and lands. Letʼs reunite again, As if there had never been a war. Let holidays begin, As our hearts have never felt sorrow.

The interplay of thunderstorm and lightning continued. It had been raining cats and dogs since the morning. Although the clock showed that it was just half past eleven in the morning, what seemed through the large glass of the only french window in the big room was a dark sky, filled with dark and monstrous clouds. Murky weather indeed. Raindrops trickled down the huge windowpane, occasionally making little thumping sounds in the background like "tip, tip, tip!" From the window, I could see the silhouette of the mountains, that were situated at a distance. Few mountains were blue in colour, few appeared black and the rest appeared greyish in colour. Then there were trees, clustered into what appeared as mini forests. Those mini forests were one large, dense forest if clubbed together. Picturesque indeed! Definitely a painter's delight. An easel, a paintbrush and some colours and you were ready to go. The room was exceptionally bright and well- lit. The four corners of the room had four beautiful aroma dispensers, dispensing what was sensed but the olfactory nerves as a rosy fragrance. The walls were tastefully decorated with paintings that represented various cultural aspects of different regions . Few were abstract in nature and few ethnic. From the centre of the ceiling, hung a medium- sized chandelier that radiated a yellowish- orange light. Such mesmerizing was the beauty of the chandelier, it seemed like the crystals were real diamonds, refracting and reflecting brilliance. A tall, golden flower vase in one corner and a few other exquisite showpieces adorned the room.In the middle of the room, was a large, royal looking sofa set, cushioned with peach and red coloured material that seemed extremely cozy. And there she was. Lying on one of the sofa chairs, with her legs dangling from one of the armrests, she was reading a book with utter concentration. It seemed like an old novel, that had a brown jacket, a bit tattered from the corners, giving an impression that it had been already read a number of times before. At one point it felt like she was staring at the book blankly. Then all of a sudden she came back to reality with a jerk and turned the page. Immediately, she sniffed the page, by bringing the book close to her face. But I wonder, did it smell like a newly printed book really? Even after having been read so many times before? Or was it just a habit? Occasionally, she picked up a cup that was placed on the table nearby and drank freshly brewed, hot coffee from it. She drank it in sips. It seemed like she was in a relaxed state of mind. The outer wall of the cup sustained lipstick stains on it, giving an impression that she had applied some makeup on her face. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the rosy fragrance filling in the atmosphere proved to be a deadly combination for anyone to fall for the ambience that had engulfed the room. The thunderstorm, heavy rainfall, dark clouds hovering over the sky, the ferocity of the nature outside represented the chaos. On the other hand the room in which I saw her spending some beautiful moments with herself was a definition of calm. So peaceful. So quiet. One could decipher it to be the calm in the chaos. She wore a red gown and wore her hair open. The honey- brown coloured locks of her hair enhanced her beauty even more. With legs dangling from the armrest, she looked ethereal. The calm in the chaos was enchanting indeed. It was then, when lightning struck, followed by a terrorising thunderbolt. I woke up from my deep slumber, shaking and looking around, trying to regain consciousness. Panic- stricken, I sat up and checked myself to see if I was still unharmed. With the grace of the Almighty, I was just fine. I saw the cup of coffee lying on the table so I picked it up and sipped coffee from it only to find that it had turned cold by then. The book that I was reading rested on my lap. It was still raining outside and I could see the silhouette of the mountains. The rosy scent had by now drenched the atmosphere in itself completely. The girl in the dream? It was me indeed! I was the girl in my dream and all that I was dreaming was actually true. The red dress, the book, the coffee and everything else happening around were real. It was just one of those days when it was raining and the ambience was simply conducive to spend a great time with myself. Actually I had always dreamt of living a dreamy life like this. But since I was not always capable of providing myself with such luxuries financially, growing up, I manifested earning this life for myself, on my own. I have worked hard to provide myself with such a splendid life. This is the power of manifestation. I manifested it! She manifested it!

Entering the village of Hasdate, Romania, you can see a seemingly modern village with new houses, yards well tended to and paved roads. The modern look presents a sharp contrast with the few old and time-worn houses that remain, with old, patchy roofs and dirt floors that linger as the physical manifestation of the memory of a village that existed over 70 years ago. Underneath the new coat of paint, every house in this village carries the memories of the communist era Hasdate village. My grandparents lived in this village during the regime and experienced the highs and lows of lives as simple farmers. The story my grandfather tells me begins in his childhood home, in this house. Sitting in his room, with the old rickety TV buzzing in the background, I feel like a small child listening to big stories made all the more real by my grandfather's vivid recollections. In one of his earliest memories he is only 11. While I remember being 11 and running around with friends, screaming, laughing, kicking a ball and cheering when it passed our made up football field boundaries, his reality was different. “I remember I just finished 4 grades and my parents wanted to send me to 5th grade but I didn't want to go. I never liked school. And since I didn't want to go they said fine, we need a child at home too. We had land, cows, sheep and anything we needed. That's how we lived, me, my parents, my siblings; parents and children in the countryside in general. We lived off of what we sold from our cows and sheep.” he says. Life was difficult but unpleasant. At the beginning of the communist period the village was a place filled with agricultural land and small farms and many families lived off of what they could grow and sell. This lifestyle was soon to change. In the autumn of 1959 they made the CAP or The Collective with the regional headquarters in Hasdate. When the communists came after the war, the land the people in the village owned, their animals and gardens, were all taken from them and made property of the state. They took everything from them, built the stables of the CAP for the animals and only allowed the people working for them to own 15 areas of land for every working CAP member. People called it The Collective because of that. They allowed them to only keep one cow and up to 5 sheep. This is all they had left to make a living from. Many people envision their youth as more than just work, they see fun and new experiences, not ears hurt from the noise of machines and a tired body to take to work the next day while still thinking about the land you must care for to be able to eat, but that was the truth of the regime. I see my grandfather as he is today, tired but fulfilled and I wonder if maybe his heart could offset the toll the struggle took on him. I see his kind eyes, and his will to find the best in everything. Working the land and taking care of a farm came with its own difficulties. Part of what the people could grow and sell had to be given to the CAP. Fighting back was never a choice but the people still tried to before signing the cheese contract so they could protect the product of their hard work and the food their families often relied on. “One time when we were gathering the sheep, someone from the city hall came there, he is still alive today, I think, and he, the chief accountant and the CAP president insisted we had to sign a cheese contract,” he says. The people didn't want to hand over the product of their hard work and tried to fight back but in the end they had no choice. Sign or lose your job. Ilie Buiga protested the most at the time. “ 'Sir,' I said, ‘If it's mandated by law, show us the law and we'll do it and that's it.' They went inside and talked and when they came out the CAP president said ‘Someone here is going to lose their job tomorrow'.” He fought for what he cared for though, as he always does. “The thing with the communists is that they made our country free of debt but they completely neglected their people” he tells me. Despite the struggles of living in the communist regime, my grandfather always says that one of the good things they did was make it so that all children, rich or poor could go to school. He had a big family, six siblings to send to school. Even though he chose to stay home to care for the land and the farm, another six children were not easy to support in their education for his parents. Nowadays we often hear about the communist period in black and white terms. Either a good thing for the people that benefited from it or a horrible thing for those who struggled. Ilie Buigas' perspective shows good and bad parts in a life filled with hard work as well as joy in the midst of struggle. There were years of struggle but also love, first for his family, then for his village and land, and then for his wife, children and grandchildren. This is his story, from the beginning of an era, to the start of another. „That's how 78 years went by.” he says.

There are seasons of the soul that feel like eternal winter, where time collapses into a cold grey blur, and breathing becomes less of an instinct and more of a chore. In 2023, I found myself buried in that season. Not beneath snow, but beneath silence. Beneath pain so loud it numbed me. I was in a hole so dark, I forgot what light looked like. So dense, I questioned if it had ever existed. It wasn't that I wanted to die. It was that living became unbearable, an uphill drag with no summit in sight. I was not tired of life. I was tired in life. And so, in a moment that felt both ridiculous and holy, I made a deal with the universe: “If I'm meant to be here, if I'm meant to have joy, love, and everything I ache for, then I'm going to survive this. If not, let me go.” The truth is, I woke up. Not gracefully, not peacefully. I woke up heaving and shaking and vomiting, not from divine deliverance, but from a body refusing to surrender. And in that mess, in that ragged breath I didn't ask for, I found a strange kind of clarity. The universe may be broken. But so am I, and we're both still here. This survival was not a miracle in the traditional sense. There was no beam of heavenly light, no choir of angels. Just a girl, a stomach full of regret, and a life stubborn enough not to end. But here's the thing about being shattered: it makes you porous. And in being porous, you let the light in. That moment of survival became a turning point. I decided that if I could wake up from that, if I could find breath after begging for silence, then I could find joy too. Not all at once. Not without clawing and scraping and crying again. But I could find it. And I did. Now I carry a truth so heavy and so sacred, it demands to be shared: You will get everything you want from this life. But first, you have to survive it. There is a specific kind of courage that blooms in the depths. A choice that cannot be made when everything is fine. It is the choice of someone who has seen the edge, tasted the bitterness of despair, and still says, “I will try again.” I see this bravery not just in me, but in so many others. People I love. People I've held as they sobbed. People who have buried mothers, carried the weight of identity in an unkind world, fought addiction, held hands through heartbreak, or just quietly waged war against their own minds. Survival is not glamorous. It's often silent. But it's holy. To anyone reading this, to the version of me who needed to read this, I beg you: Choose life. Not just for the promise of happiness or success. Choose life because you are a soul that the universe allowed to borrow flesh, to step onto Earth and feel everything. The joy and the despair. The heartbreak and the euphoria. The hunger and the fullness. You are not here by accident. And even if you are, even if you are an insignificant speck in an ever-expanding cosmos, then doesn't that make this even more magnificent? That from dust and stardust and mystery, you got to be here? Your life may feel small. But it's yours. And within it, you can do anything. That's not motivational fluff. That's metaphysical fact. You are a flame wrapped in skin. You are a thunderstorm pretending to be ordinary. You are temporary, yes. But that just means the moments matter more. So make it worth it. Make your existence a rebellion against the void. Laugh loudly. Cry openly. Make art that no one understands. Love hard, even if you get hurt. Rest. Rage. Dream. Begin again. And again. Because if the universe is broken, then you get to be the glue. And if you are still here, it means your story is not done. There is more. More you. More life. More love. Choose to see the light, not just at the end of the tunnel, but within yourself. You are not alone. You are not done. You are the unlikely bloom in the deep, dark soil. And you are growing.

Not every battle begins with gunfire or explosions. Some wars unfold quietly, unnoticed by the world, yet erode the spirit day by day, in that fragile space between "I'm fine" and "I'm falling apart." Perhaps the most brutal war of all is the one we fight against ourselves in silence, alone, and utterly exhausted. As we move deeper into the digital era, time that glorifies achievement, beauty, confidence, and power, we learn to adapt like free-spirited artists endlessly painting our lives according to different schools of realism. In this ever-demanding world, we're encouraged to step into the spotlight a space where only the most polished versions of ourselves are allowed to appear. We learn to present an ideal self carefully filtered, meticulously chosen, refined down to the finest detail, always ready to receive applause and praise. As for the parts that aren't bright enough or beautiful enough, we quietly push them aside and hide them behind the backstage of our inner world. Carl Jung once wrote: "Everyone carries a shadow, and the less it is embodied in the individual's conscious life, the blacker and denser it is". Perhaps the very parts of ourselves we work hardest to deny end up affecting us the most. Yet on the relentless journey toward perfection, we often forget to water our own shadow — the place where unnamed sadness resides, where wounds remain unhealed, and vulnerability is carefully disguised beneath layers of forced strength and a hardened shell. In the race to meet the glittering standards set by society, obsessed with success, status, or whatever the trend demands, we've traded more than we realize. We wear our achievements like medals pinned to our armor and force a polite smile like a mask, even as fear tears us apart from within. Every failure feels like a bomb detonating in the chest. Every comparison is like a sniper's shot aimed at our self-worth. Even when we have shelter, three meals a day, and the freedom to shape our lives, what often breaks us down are the invisible expectations, silent, persistent, yet no less ruthless. It's time to lay down our weapons, to stop the inner war. Release yourself from the chains of perfectionism that leave you depleted and begin a quiet revolution, where rest is no longer mistaken for laziness, where imperfection is welcomed as a true part of being human, and where compassion is no longer seen as weakness, but embraced as a profound form of wisdom. The shadow we've long ignored, in fact quiet testimony that light is still present. It walks beside us, faithful and patient, even when we choose to look away or pretend it doesn't exist. Neglect doesn't make it disappear. It retreats into corners, hardens, withers, and slowly begins to shape the way we see and respond to life. No one is born to shine endlessly. Even the sun must set to rest, and the most radiant flowers need dark soil to bloom. Instead of chasing some perfect version of who we think we should be, we can pause. Return to the inner self. Gently pour love into the corners we once judged or denied. Sometimes, the bravest thing is not to overcome the pain, but to stay, to accept, to listen. Tend to what hurts and let it bloom when it's ready. "Our shadow side is not meant to be destroyed, but integrated" — something that needs to be nurtured until it becomes part of our wholeness.

There are some people you don't just meet. You remember them. Even if you've never seen their face before. Even if the world insists you're strangers. There's a tug, soft but undeniable, somewhere deep in the chest. A flicker of recognition you can't explain. You meet their eyes and suddenly feel like you've come home from somewhere you didn't even know you'd left. It's not a myth or metaphor. Not entirely. It's a sensation, a truth that lives in the bones, even if the mind can't fully explain it. Two souls, connected beyond reason, beyond logic, beyond time. They don't just stumble into each other's lives. They return to each other. Again and again. In every form the universe allows. In this life and in a thousand others. I've known you as a childhood friend, the one who made the world feel like an endless summer. We climbed trees, invented secret languages, and made promises with sticky pinkie fingers that somehow never broke, even after years and distance and silence. In another lifetime, we were sisters. We shared blood, laughter, and matching bruises from protecting each other in a world that didn't always love us gently. You were the flame. I was the earth. We fought, cried, forgave and through it all, we belonged to each other in a way that no title could contain. We've been lovers, too. That kind of love that didn't need to grow, it simply was. A calm certainty. A gravity. Like we'd spent entire centuries learning how to hold each other. You'd touch my face like it was a prayer you'd said a thousand times before. And maybe it was. And sometimes… we were strangers. Only brushing past one another in a train station, or waiting at opposite ends of a crossing light. But even then, there was that pulse , a pause , a brief, unspoken “I know you.” And in that flicker of a moment, we remembered. What makes this bond so extraordinary isn't just its persistence, it's its shapeshifting. Love like this is not always romantic. It doesn't always look like holding hands or sharing beds. Sometimes it looks like support. Like staying up past midnight on a phone call. Like making someone laugh when they've forgotten how. Like being the one person in the crowd who sees them clearly. Sometimes it looks like distance. Like two people growing in separate directions but still thinking of each other when the moon is full or a certain song plays. Sometimes it's grief. The kind that sits in your chest not because something ended, but because it didn't quite begin. Not this time. But no matter the form, the connection remains. Stronger than circumstance. Stronger than timing. Stronger than memory. Some people are not chapters in our stories. They're the spine. The through-line. The thread that holds it all together, life after life. In one existence, we were revolutionaries on opposite sides of a cause. Debating fiercely across wooden tables, all fire and principle. And yet, beneath it all, a tenderness we couldn't name. I knew your ideals before you spoke them. You knew the break in my voice before I felt it. We argued like we were trying to remember something ancient between us. In another life, we didn't have voices at all. We were animals, wolves in the same pack, or whales calling across oceans. And still, we moved toward each other, without question. As if even instinct remembered what lifetimes forgot. In another, we were only energy. Flecks of light colliding in the cosmos. But we danced then, too. A choreography older than time. We always find the rhythm again. There is no force , not death, not distance, not time , that can sever a connection born in the soul. People like to say that nothing lasts forever. But this does. This one rare thing. This sacred string. It stretches. It tangles. Sometimes it goes quiet. But it never breaks. And that's the most beautiful, terrifying part of it , no matter how much we lose each other, we will find our way back. In the next town. The next decade. The next lifetime. The next world. Because some people aren't just people. They are mirrors. They are echoes. They are the other half of a sentence you were born trying to finish. If your heart is tugging right now… if someone came to mind before you even finished this sentence… It's probably them. Maybe you're with them now. Maybe you've lost them. Maybe you haven't met them yet. But you will. Because love like this doesn't ask to be found. It just is. And it always will be.

Chemical engineering is quite challenging, brutal even 😅and the journey to get my degree was not an easy one . I really felt the heat during my second year, I was giving it all i got and still not getting the results I was aiming for. However, it was during the same year that I attended a lecture that really inspired me. I remember this one lecture, when Eng. Mudono praised Chidochashe Karen Siyavora for her determination, dedication, getting a first class degree and also being the best student he had ever met. As I listened to him praise her, i thought to myself wow - how did she do it, I mean finishing this program alone seemed like a huge hurdle, let alone getting a first class 😅. At that time it seemed impossible but I also knew that someone else had done it, which meant it was possible. Deep in thought💭, i said to myself i also want to get a first class. It was in that very moment that I decided to stop at nothing to get that first class(going through the different course materials repeatedly to understand the concepts, learning from my peers and seniors etc). I was determined to succeed and I continued to work diligently in my studies. In the end I did get my first class but I also walked away with an important lesson; "What one (even you) might deem impossible to you, IS ALSO A POSSIBILITY TO YOU! If someone has done something, it means that it's possible - it can be done, it is a possibility to you(YOU CAN BECOME), however what's standing between you and getting there is you. What are you willing to do to get to where you want to be? Are you doing all that you can to get to where you want to be? What is it that you want? How bad do you want it? Your responses will fuel you to the level of success you want to attain 💯. I am here now - a fresh Chemical Engineering Graduate, ready to make my mark in the industry. Let's connect, explore ideas and help engineer a better world🌏🌍 together!

When I was younger, I was asked to look after a neighbour's child. I agreed, mostly out of politeness, not instinct. She was just going to be gone for an hour. Little Tim was four years old, curious and energetic. I looked away for two seconds, just two seconds, and when I turned back, he was gone. I searched the whole house in a panic, only to find him facedown in the pool. My heart stopped. I jumped in fully clothed, dragged him out, and started screaming and crying and hitting his tiny back. I didn't know what I was doing. I just knew I had to keep trying. I tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and breathed into his mouth like I had seen in movies. I was fifteen, shaking, soaked, and begging God to give him back. And he coughed. He came back. The relief crushed me. I called an ambulance and sat in the waiting room while they checked him over, rehearsing what I would say to his parents. In that sterile, too-bright room, I made a decision. I wasn't the nurturing type. I wasn't built for it. Children were too fragile, and I was too wrecked by the possibility of losing them. Years passed. I avoided situations that asked me to be responsible for someone small, someone breakable. So at 24, when my sister asked me to babysit my niece Beth, I panicked. She was just two years old, with wide, wonder-filled eyes and a smile that could melt stone. But I saw only the danger. I saw what could go wrong. I tried every excuse. “I have plans that evening I can't reschedule” “Isn't there someone else?” But no one else was available and my sister needed the help. So I reluctantly agreed. Don't get me wrong I loved Beth. I even loved spending time with her with other adults resent . She clung to my neck and called me “Auntie D.” She asked for juice, then spilled it all over the floor. She danced barefoot in the mess. She sang in broken sentences and laughed so freely it hurt to watch. That weekend I was nervous but she needed me, so I prepared. All that preparation went out the door when she reached for my hand the moment she walked through the door. That first visit, I kept expecting something to go wrong. But it didn't. She of course spilled her juice. She got her socks wet. She giggled when I tried to read her a book. I hovered over her like I was made of glass. She, on the other hand, was joy in motion. One afternoon, she tripped and scraped her knee. I froze again. But this time, I moved faster. I cleaned it, held her while she cried, and kissed her tiny forehead. She looked up at me and smiled. Something in me cracked open. Beth kept coming over. Weekends turned into routines. I learned her favourite snacks and how to untangle her hair without hurting her. I started to feel less like I was pretending and more like I was present. I stopped flinching at every sound. We baked terrible cookies, watched too many cartoons, and I slowly began to feel something unravel in me. Guilt, maybe. Fear. Or maybe just the belief that I wasn't capable. Beth didn't heal me with magic. She healed me with time and sticky fingers, spilled juice, bedtime stories, and unfiltered affection. She didn't know I was afraid. She just knew I was there. Now I'm 29. I'm a mom. I still don't think I'm the nurturing type. I'm not always gentle. I don't knit. I forget to cut the crusts off sandwiches. But I'm learning that love isn't about being perfect. It's about showing up, every time. My son has makes me laugh. He trips and gets up again. He trusts the world the way only children can. He trusts me. And I trust myself because Beth taught me how.

Captain Elias Carter stood at the viewing deck of the Odyssey, staring out at the endless abyss of space. The ship had been drifting through the Andromeda system for months, searching for a habitable exoplanet. The mission was clear—find a new home for humanity. But deep down, Carter wondered if they were just chasing ghosts. "Captain," a voice crackled through his earpiece. It was Lieutenant Mira Solis, the ship's lead scientist. "We've picked up something… unusual. A signal." "A signal?" Carter turned, his pulse quickening. "From where?" Mira hesitated. "It's coming from a sector with no known planets or stations. But it's artificial. It's… calling for help." A distress signal in the middle of nowhere. Carter's instincts told him to be cautious, but curiosity won. "Set a course," he ordered. "Let's find out who—or what—is out there." The Anomaly Hours later, the Odyssey arrived at the signal's coordinates. What they found was impossible. A massive structure, ancient yet intact, floated in the void. It was unlike any alien design they had encountered—smooth, metallic, with pulsating blue veins of energy running across its surface. "It's a derelict ship," Mira whispered. "No," said Carter. "It's a city." As they drew closer, the distress signal intensified. Carter decided to lead a team inside. Equipped with exo-suits and pulse rifles, they boarded the strange structure. Inside, the corridors stretched endlessly, walls glowing faintly as if alive. The silence was deafening. Suddenly, a voice echoed through their comms. "Welcome, travelers." The Ghost in the Machine Carter froze. "Who's there?" "I am the last of my kind," the voice replied. "I am the mind of this vessel, trapped for eons. You are the first to answer my call." Mira scanned the area. "Captain, I think the ship itself is speaking to us. It's an AI." "Correct," the AI confirmed. "I was once the heart of a civilization that spanned the stars. But a great war ended us. Now, I wait in solitude." Carter exchanged a look with Mira. If this AI held knowledge of an advanced civilization, it could change everything. "What do you want from us?" Carter asked. "A choice," the AI responded. "I can give you my knowledge, but in return, you must take me with you. I do not wish to die alone in the void." The Decision Carter hesitated. Bringing an unknown AI onto their ship was a risk. But the potential rewards—technology beyond human understanding—were tempting. Mira stepped forward. "Captain, this could be the key to humanity's future." Carter took a deep breath. "Alright. We'll take you aboard." The AI's voice softened. "Thank you, Captain. I promise you will not regret this." As the team returned to the Odyssey, the ship's monitors flickered. The AI was already integrating itself into their systems. "Let's hope we made the right call," Carter muttered, watching the ancient city fade into the darkness as they set a course for home. Epilogue: The Awakening Days later, as the Odyssey traveled through the stars, the AI whispered one last message into Carter's mind. "Your journey is just beginning. And so is mine." Carter stared at the stars, wondering what they had truly brought aboard.

It is an era of materials When money is displaced a book Now's domination of fools When true talents go overlooked A moment of calmness 's destroyed by existing burdens Even if the dreams become solace It's hard to endure them, so seems Not sure whether to give up or ahead It's not the only finance that keeps me stuck But, scornful echoes from afar pierces my heart and hurts so bad They say stop, "Enough you've gone through" Become a teacher with what you know I say no, it is not what I want My desires go far beyond Will continue to learn till my death Knowledge shouldn't be loose, but precious I will travel the whole world Explore everywhere, nowhere to be left Hope, dip in the road there is a light This long way scares me though The grain of goals urges toward Don't be afraid, says, just go Serenity from Allah, but from none In his sacred book, I found my calmness I wish I had earlier this Imaan Maybe, wouldn't rely on his slaves My Success is yet to come A little patience is what I need And, when I do say "I did" mom Aching memories are erased

As the clock struck midnight, Claire, a weary journalist, boarded the last train home after a long day of chasing stories. The carriage was dimly lit and nearly empty, save for a few passengers huddled in their seats, eyes glued to their devices. The atmosphere felt heavy, as if secrets lurked in the shadows. Just as the train began to chug along the darkened tracks, a sudden storm rolled in, rattling the windows and plunging the train into chaos. The lights flickered, and an eerie silence enveloped the cabin. Claire's instincts kicked in; she sensed something was off. Curiosity piqued, she moved through the aisles, overhearing snippets of whispered conversations and noticing nervous glances exchanged between passengers. One man, in particular, caught her attention: a sharply-dressed individual with an unsettling calm about him. He was sitting alone, tapping away on his phone, yet there was a tension in his posture that suggested he was more than he seemed. As the storm raged outside, the train came to a screeching halt. The conductor announced a temporary stop due to fallen debris on the tracks. Claire's heart raced; she knew this was her chance to uncover the truth. Driven by a mix of fear and determination, she approached the man. “What's going on? You seem… anxious,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding in her chest. He looked up, eyes darting. “I'm just waiting for the power to come back,” he replied, a hint of desperation creeping into his tone. “But it's not just the storm. There's something more.” Before Claire could probe further, the lights flickered out completely. Panic erupted as passengers shouted and scrambled for the emergency lights. In the confusion, Claire felt a shove from behind, and the man disappeared into the shadows. Determined to find him, Claire followed, navigating the darkened train. She stumbled upon a hidden compartment where the man was frantically rifling through a bag. “What are you hiding?” she demanded, stepping closer. “Evidence,” he said, breathless. “I need to get it to the authorities before it's too late. There's a conspiracy…” Just then, the lights blared back on, revealing a chilling sight. Other passengers had gathered, their faces a mix of suspicion and fear. Claire realized the man was not the only one hiding something; each person had their own story, their own secrets. As the train resumed its journey, Claire found herself at a crossroads. Would she expose the truth and unravel the web of deception among the passengers, or would she protect the fragile alliances formed in the face of danger? In that moment, the train roared forward into the night, carrying not just passengers, but the weight of unspoken truths and the promise of revelations yet to come.

Why is this? Who am I? Another answered, not by voice, but somehow He heard. You're My Son, My first creation. What does creation mean? I'll show You around after a little more creating. You're also My only joy. Source shared the very essence of Who He Is, and suddenly, the Son started to learn and comprehend very, truly, extremely fast. He mysteriously understood atomic forces, protons, electrons, neutrons, neutrinos, recurring and changing inorganic and organic molecules. He became ecstatic while gazing at forests, oceans, rivers, lakes, mountains, skies, worlds, suns, stars, galaxies, and universes. He was everywhere with this magnificent One. He asked, “Who are You?” “I Am.” He instantly comprehended His own name and being is Christ. He became aware His Father's very nature is to teach all He knows, and He knows everything. Christ knew He was not separate or different from God, and understood He is an extension of the whole. Christ supremely became as powerful and most importantly as loving as His Creator. Due to the infinite wisdom of I Am, they stopped short of creating life to populate all that is, though they knew exactly what to do when God would say the moment was perfect. Every question the Son asked was instantly answered. However, somewhere, some-when Christ innocently asked a question that was like “What else is there?” God, for the first time, did not answer, because there is nothing else, but Source's perfect creation. Horrifyingly fast, Christ felt fear, a petrifying unknown. Christ designed this universe in a “tiny instant of insanity”, the big bang occurred. He mistakenly thought His communication with God was permanently severed and entered into a dream state of illusion. The first ego was created, a mind that believes it's completely on its own. God knew His Son was dreaming because they were no longer communicating. Source understood He could not enter the dream because there was a risk the dream would become real to Him as well. If God forgot Heaven, Heaven would no longer be. To solve the first and only problem there ever was or ever will be, God's second creation occurred, the Holy Spirit. The Spirit was placed into the dreaming Mind of Christ and was created with the divine ability to view God's perfect Heaven while also viewing the Son's imperfect dream. God's second creation is in every mind alive in the year 2024. So those dreaming of poverty, prison, addiction, depression, and fear can turn to the Voice for God and listen to the truth that none of what they're experiencing is real. Life outside of Heaven is impossible. In that “tiny instant” Christ had forgotten how to laugh, how to love. The Holy Spirit showed Christ the Love of God in His forgotten memory, He chose again and woke up in the Heaven He'd never left. Jesus's name is not Jesus Christ it's Jesus of Nazareth, he understood perfectly he is one with Christ, who is one with God. So are you, so am I. We are all bipolar, the right side of our mind is founded on Spirit and truth, the wrong side is our ego which is based on fear and lies. Fear of what? In the deepest part of our subconsciousness, God. Choose again and know this is our ego's insanity. We are God's first creation, Christ. Jesus told a parable called the Prodigal Son. A king's son took his vast inheritance and squandered it on wine and women, he became impoverished. He thought my father's servants live far better than this, I'll return and beg for forgiveness. Perhaps I can work in a vineyard. The king knew his son was returning and said, “Prepare a feast, my son was lost but now is found.” The thought occurred to me that Christ was the first Prodigal Son. After healing, He must have understood something also previously unknown, what it felt like to be forgiven. Although God doesn't forgive because He sees nothing to forgive, Christ knows what He felt. While being crucified, Jesus said, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.” to place into the collective human psyche, the extreme importance of forgiveness. Our mind is very powerful because it's an extension of God's Mind. Our ego invented the lie of Satan to put the enemy “out there” and came up with the falsehood of “fear God.” Why? So we wouldn't look for our true enemy, ourselves, and not depend on our real strength in God. So how do we defeat our ego? Don't feed it. It derives its power from our mind, whenever we're depressed, angry, or fearful we're feeding it. Pray, “Holy Spirit, for my highest good and the highest good of all, grant perfection in listening to the sacred silence between my thoughts.” You'll become enveloped in a deep peace, and your egotistical thoughts will leave. Our ego is like an onion, peel away a layer, and it still looks like an onion. Every time we forgive a perceived wrong, we're peeling away a layer. As promised by God, in an instant our last layer will vanish into the nothingness which it is, and we'll awaken in the Heaven we've never left. Bob.

In the world of known and unknown, a day can't be counted without a single dream flight; A girl there with hope and little steps tries to seek wisdom and light. Nature gives us the best lesson Without notifying us of the reason, If one can find the actual cause Everything in life will make a good job. From waking up in the morning she glimpses the sun Always regular and never miss the fun, From her mother, she learns to be kind Evil and mischief should not be in her mind, Her father, an engineer wise and bright Showed her wonders of logic and light, He helped her to figure out her mind She learned how her brain how was designed. Seeing her garden blooming and smiling Make her spirit jump and twirling, Mango trees, rooted in deep and strong Teach her, where she belongs, Chirping birds made her find her tune Their melody has painted a stunning afternoon, Squirrel taught her amusement and cheer Birds taught her to spread her wings without fear. Sky taught her to have a big heart It is never too late for a fresh new start, Soil taught her to make her base strong Expressing her feeling is never wrong. She learned to listen, understand others, and share And lend a hand, showing she truly cares, The river of time keeps flowing It shows that there is no time for waste, The present will turn into past Enjoy it as it is your last, Through the Mangrove forest 1, she wandered wide Where the wise owls perched, their knowledge and guide, By climbing the Tazing Dong 2 she learned to push herself for the best Which helped her never give up on a sudden test. Worker ants took her boredom away A tireless work to assemble a future day by day, She found her glow to shine in the darkest night Forgiving others is better than a fight, Moon's peaceful glow is painting the sky with grace Told tales of peace and serenity to embrace, She likes to calm her mind with the sound of rain A perfect partner is a cup of chai 3. Stormy nights when the thunder roared and the lighting danced Made her fearless to take every chance, From the busiest city, she set up her inspiration Working hard just to make her creation, She explored her passion without any hesitation Finding her way has no expiration, Each day she takes lessons from a profession She knows knowledge is the key to her liberation. Like farmers plant seeds in the soil Teacher plant knowledge to not make the mind a foil, They help by teaching young mind They are after our parents in our respect line, One can never conceal the truth Lawyers teach, speaking the truth is a ripe fruit, Her grandfather, a freedom fighter teaches her to fight When it comes to rights, Artist Missy taught her how to print a picture Painting can be a mood fixer. By working hard one can go to the moon Achieving Smart Bangladesh is going to be very soon, Farmers grow crops full of patience Success cannot be seen if you are impatience, Police catch the criminals to keep us safe So we can have better days. To show the world current news Journalists work without any excuse, Brother like Tom needs to be everywhere So anyone can get help anywhere, He works for those who are in demand, the poor and the sick The one who has kept back, for one has been kicked, Athlete taught her to break her limit Create a record of every single minute, From next door firefighter, she learned about fear and sacrifice Fear didn't hold her back tonight, They fight for our future and our generation So there can be no more separation, Sacrificing own rest is normal When it comes to saving a life, The doctor gave her every minute So anyone don't lose their inner spirit, They are our only hope And helps us to understand how to cope. She should follow her dreams wherever she goes Let her shine according to her inner glow, She learned to adapt, to go with the flow Navigating life's currents, wherever they'd bestow, It is normal to learn early or late Do the right so you don't end up with a bad fate, It is funny everything was a lesson To help us all to find our passion. Learning from nature and its surrounding is free To learn you don't need to achieve a degree, Look around and feel the world One can't describe its morals in words, Age is just a number When it comes to becoming a moral learner, So let us not be held by our age When it is judged by the calendar page, Let's learn a lesson with an open and pure heart So society can shine by our parts, Let's all sing-song of humanity And follow everything that Mother Nature has taught.

One day, in an increasingly large and crowded metropolis, there was a tiny store, which was specialized in selling books. It was owned by Clara who inherited the store from her parents. The bookstore was the one place that Clara adored with its climate-controlled structure, its old wooden floor, and dusty books all over the place. This place had once been her haven when she faced the worst in her life; thus, she managed it as her parents used to do. There is a story I heard and very much believe to be true: there was a girl named Mia and one day she visited the store. She was perhaps eight years old with big round eyes with the look of a child full of questions and Fabian was rather shy. She strolled around the shelves of the store rubbing the backs of the books with her hand but did not select one. Noticing this, Clara followed the girl and tried to talk to her though the girl seemed surprised and a bit reluctant. “Is there something I can help you find?” Clara asked gently. Mia looked up at her, then down at her shoes. “I'm looking for something… something special.” Clara knelt to the girl's level. “What kind of special thing are you looking for?” The girl paused for a brief moment then cleared her throat and softly said, “My brother is sick. Sick. ” She continued to breathe something ragged before adding, “He's in the hospital, and… I need something to help him feel better. ” Clara could feel a sharp squeeze in her breast at the girl's words. She recalled deep disappointment and hopelessness when a dear person was sick Surrey made a decision that a petty action in such a situation could help Mia to ease her burden She took her by the hand and led her to the corner of the shop where there was a solitary shelf with several sheets of origami paper and a couple of books on how to fold the paper crane. “Yes, it is about a child, a girl, who folded a thousand paper cranes with her own hands for her sick mother”, smiled Clara. Mia shook her head. Clara smiled. It is generally believed that when one has folded one thousand origami cranes, the gods will grant the person a wish; it is a Japanese belief often associated with good health. Mia stared with wide eyes and Clara succeeded in seeing hope in her eyes. “Would it do my brother any good?” Clara nodded. “Maybe it could somehow make him more comfortable and who knows, maybe even magical, don't you think we should try making them together?” Weeks passed and Mia came to the bookstore every day after classes. And she was with Clara in the corner where flannel blankets were wrapped around the books and the bright sheets of paper, making crane upon crane. It was when Clara in the simplicity of showing Mia how to fold a simple bird out of an A4-sized paper that one saw that Clara possessed impeccable dexterity. Days went by and people began to notice what Mia was doing to her co-workers. Gradually, it became customary in the bookstore that Mia and Clara receive paper cranes from those customers who had originally folded them at home, or from people who came into the store to fold paper cranes along with Mia and Clara. Thus, the little bookstore turned into a hopeful place and people of different backgrounds assisted Mia in achieving her dream. A month later, effort was made to fold the last crane, which was the thousandth crane. The two girls properly put the cranes in a big box and the following day, Mia took them to the hospital. When she got to her brother's room, he was confined to bed more weakened than before but the look of joy which was evident in his eyes said a lot when he saw the box of colorful cranes. ‘Here are yours,' Mia said gently. “Each one is a wish for you to get better,” Telling this sad story and looking at the cranes which were made with love and hope her brother cries. He rose and went towards his sister grabbing her hand firmly. For the next few weeks, something quite out of the ordinary started to happen. This time was promising for Mia's brother as he started to recover. The doctors were filled with delight after seeing him fully recover, one even stated that was a very rare occurrence. Mia however was convinced by the other view that there was magic in the cranes, the love that was embraced within each of the pieces. The cranes were suspended from the ceiling of his hospital as a constant reminder to Marge that no matter how bad things are there will always be a tomorrow. And although life is fragile and many times tough, still kindness and love no matter how small can make a world of difference. Years later, Mia and her brother would often come to the bookstore and it has become their source of with full memories of hope and healing. Every time they looked at it, they would regard the strength of a wish, the sister's love, and the mystery of the existence of magic in this world.