Mystery

Glass Winter | Chapter VIII
Under torchlight Palina could see all the layered veins of blue and green beneath the thin pearly skin of her hand. She brushed snow kernels off the surface of the ground surrounding the grease cradle, one of the many burning in the commune, and collected the powder into a tusk, which she handed to a builder making his way to the edge of the camp. The others remained to pocket the rest while Palina donned a mitten and proceeded to the cold corner, far from any flame.
By Andrei Babanin6 days ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 19
Chapter 19 In the months since the Oceanic disaster, the group took Max Shepherd, Jensen Shaw, and Shelly Hammers into custody. The rest of the crew and Oceanic staff were treated, paid, and forced to sign non-disclosure agreements. The area was cordoned off for further investigation, and access to the Oceanic was only allowed by special permission.
By The Man Behind The Mask7 days ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter 18
Chapter 18 The fast attack sub was preparing to detach when Jensen, Han, Max, and the rest of them brought Jane Doe back on board the submarine. As the sub shook, echoes of impacts against the station’s undersea levels reverberating through everything attached, Jensen yelled at his men to detach the vessel. One of his men asked for a heading and he replied in his loudest command voice, “Anywhere but here!”
By The Man Behind The Mask8 days ago in Chapters
The Conduit: Chapter I7
Chapter 17 Jonas and Anu were exhausted. They searched through the mountain structure from one end to the other as they looked for another way into the prison area. The two were getting ready to stop when Anu noticed something along the wall. She stopped Jonas and let out a sigh of frustration. Standing there, staring at the white smudge on the stone carved wall, she took a seat on the ground and started going through her bag.
By The Man Behind The Mask8 days ago in Chapters
The Love I Had to Leave Behind
I never imagined that loving someone could feel so right and yet be so impossible at the same time. BY: Ubaid When I first met Daniel, life felt simple. It was a rainy afternoon in a small café where the windows were fogged with steam and the smell of coffee filled the air. I had gone there to escape the chaos of my day, but instead, I found something I never expected—him. Daniel was sitting at the table beside mine, quietly reading a book. At some point, our eyes met, and he smiled in a way that felt warm and genuine, like we had already known each other for years. That was how it started. Our conversations began with small things—books, music, and the strange weather that never seemed to make up its mind. But slowly, those conversations turned into something deeper. We talked about dreams, fears, and the kind of future we both hoped to build one day. For the first time in my life, I felt understood. Daniel had a calmness about him that made the world feel less heavy. When I was with him, everything made sense. My worries faded, and the constant noise in my mind finally went quiet. Weeks turned into months, and somewhere between late-night phone calls and long walks through quiet streets, I realized something. I had fallen in love. But life rarely lets things stay perfect for long. One evening, as the sun was setting and the sky was painted in soft shades of orange and purple, Daniel told me something that changed everything. He had received a job offer in another country. It was the kind of opportunity people wait their whole lives for. A chance to build the career he had always dreamed of. A chance to start a new chapter. And yet, as he spoke about it, I could see the hesitation in his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you,” he said quietly. Those words stayed with me long after that conversation ended. The truth was, I wanted him to stay. Every part of me wanted to ask him to choose us instead of the opportunity waiting for him across the world. But love isn’t always about holding on. Sometimes, it’s about letting go. For days, I thought about what to say. I replayed every possible conversation in my head. I imagined the life we could have if he stayed, and the regret he might carry if he didn’t follow his dream. Eventually, I realized something difficult. If I truly loved him, I couldn’t be the reason he gave up his future. The night before his flight, we met at the same café where we had first seen each other. The rain was falling again, almost like the universe had decided to repeat the beginning of our story. We sat across from each other, surrounded by the familiar sounds of clinking cups and quiet conversations. Neither of us spoke for a while. Finally, Daniel looked at me and asked the question I had been dreading. “Should I stay?” My heart wanted to scream yes. But instead, I took a deep breath and smiled, even though it felt like my chest was breaking. “You should go,” I said softly. “You deserve the life you’ve been working for.” He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to understand how I could say those words so calmly. But the truth was, I wasn’t calm at all. Inside, I was saying goodbye to the person who had changed my life in ways I could never explain. Daniel reached across the table and held my hand. “I’ll never forget you,” he said. I didn’t reply right away. Instead, I held his hand a little tighter, memorizing the moment, knowing it wouldn’t last. The next morning, I watched him walk through the airport gate, disappearing into the crowd of travelers and distant destinations. And just like that, the love that had once filled my world became something I had to leave behind. Years have passed since that day. Life moved forward the way it always does. New experiences, new people, new chapters. But sometimes, on quiet evenings when the rain taps softly against the window, I think about that café and the boy with the gentle smile who once sat beside me. Some loves stay with us forever—not because they lasted, but because they changed us. Daniel was that kind of love for me. The love I had to leave behind.
By Ubaid 8 days ago in Chapters
I Chose Myself This Time
For years, I believed love meant sacrifice. BY: Khan Not the beautiful kind you see in movies, where two people give a little to meet in the middle. I believed love meant giving everything—even the parts of yourself you desperately needed to survive. I gave my time, my energy, my patience, and slowly, without realizing it, I gave away my voice. It didn’t happen all at once. At first, it was small things. Cancelling plans with friends because they didn’t like them. Changing my opinions so arguments wouldn’t start. Apologizing for things that weren’t really my fault. “Relationships require compromise,” I told myself. So I compromised. Again and again. Until one day I realized I had compromised so much that I could barely recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. The strange part was that no single moment broke me. There wasn’t one dramatic fight or a single cruel sentence that ended everything. It was the quiet accumulation of moments. The times my feelings were dismissed with a shrug. The times my dreams were treated like childish fantasies. The times I felt completely alone even while sitting right beside them. Loneliness inside a relationship is a different kind of pain. It’s subtle. Confusing. You start wondering if maybe the problem is you. Maybe you’re too sensitive. Maybe you expect too much. Maybe you just need to try harder. So I tried harder. I loved more. I forgave faster. I stayed longer. But the harder I tried, the emptier I felt. One evening, after another exhausting argument that somehow ended with me apologizing again, I walked outside just to breathe. The air was cold and quiet, and the streetlights painted long shadows on the empty road. For the first time in a long while, everything was silent. No voices telling me I was wrong. No pressure to explain myself. No need to defend my feelings. Just me. And in that silence, a thought appeared—simple but powerful. What about you? I had spent so long thinking about how to fix the relationship that I had forgotten to ask a much more important question: Was I happy? The answer came immediately. No. Not sometimes. Not a little. Not “it could be worse.” Just no. Admitting that truth felt terrifying. Because once you admit it, you can’t pretend anymore. You can’t keep lying to yourself. That night I stayed outside for a long time, thinking about the person I used to be before everything became so complicated. I remembered the version of myself who laughed easily. Who had plans, dreams, and confidence. Who believed their feelings mattered. Somewhere along the way, that person had slowly faded. And suddenly I realized something painful but freeing at the same time: No one else had the responsibility to bring that person back. That was my job. The next morning, the decision still scared me. My heart raced and my hands shook as I spoke the words I had been avoiding for months. “I can’t keep doing this.” There were questions. Confusion. A few promises that things would change. But something inside me had already shifted. I had heard promises before. I had waited before. I had hoped before. This time was different. This time, I was listening to myself. Leaving wasn’t dramatic. There were no slammed doors or shouted goodbyes. Just a quiet ending to something that had slowly been breaking me. The days that followed were not easy. Doubt visited often. Some mornings I woke up wondering if I had made a mistake. But slowly, something else began to appear in the empty spaces that relationship left behind. Peace. I started reconnecting with friends I hadn’t seen in years. I began doing small things that once made me happy—reading late at night, walking without a destination, dreaming about the future again. Little by little, I felt something returning. Myself. I realized that choosing yourself doesn’t mean you never loved the other person. It simply means you finally love yourself enough to stop disappearing. And maybe that’s the hardest kind of courage there is—not staying, not fighting, not trying to fix something that keeps hurting you. But walking away with quiet strength and saying: “This time, I choose myself.”
By Khan 8 days ago in Chapters
Crystal Banaba - 3
After lunch, Jon pulled Rachel aside and said, “Laura asked me to take you to the shop. I also suspect you have a lot of questions that I may be able to answer.”
By Lana V Lynx8 days ago in Chapters
Crystal Banaba - 2
Rachel reluctantly got up and followed Laura. “I’ve radioed mainland to pass the message to your husband that you are alright,” Laura said casually.
By Lana V Lynx9 days ago in Chapters
The Last Heir Of The Van Declaoria Bloodline - Chapter 7. AI-Generated.
The night had grown unusually quiet. After days of relentless rain, Arlein finally rested under a sky scattered with faint stars. The city lights glowed softly across the river, reflecting on the wet streets that still smelled of storm.
By Luke Dreayry9 days ago in Chapters
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“Clouds look dark,” Martin said. “They do that sometimes,” Brandon laughed. “This could be bad,” Martin shuddered.
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The entire novel is available in both hard copy and kdp at https://www.amazon.com/gp/aw/d/B0DBC9J146/ My head hurts. My head is spinning. WAIT! STOP! Who am I? Where am I? I am a… ugh, I don’t even know how to define myself — chunks of personalities in a mental civil war, each wishing to kill the other and gain, most probably, nothing. But wait, who am I again ?
By LAMAANKACHE Oussama9 days ago in Chapters
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Across Italy, a quiet demographic crisis is unfolding. In many small towns and villages, the number of newborns has dropped so dramatically that schools are shutting down, businesses are struggling to survive, and communities that once thrived with families are slowly fading away. One such town has become a stark symbol of this national problem, where the absence of children is reshaping everyday life.
By Irshad Abbasi 10 days ago in Chapters