Historical
The Weight of the Golden Bough
"The clock has struck three, the coffee is cold, and the shadows are beginning to speak. Welcome back to the desk of The Night Writer. Tonight, we unspool the thread of a hero’s journey to find the person left holding the tangled mess at the end."
By The Night Writer 🌙 about 6 hours ago in Fiction
Cleopatra's Treasure Myth
Atlantis was the lost City in the sea. Ray was a dark-headed, tall, curvaceous lady with a reputation for discovering unusual things. She always gets her investors to finance her excursions. VIP was an investment company that only invested in elite projects from around the world.
By Mariann Carrollabout 11 hours ago in Fiction
A Single Mother & A Stranger Boy – An Unexpected Love Story
It was raining that evening—the kind of rain that makes everything feel heavier than usual. Ayaan stood under a small café shed, watching the droplets hit the ground like broken memories. He wasn’t waiting for anyone. He never was. Life had taught him to keep moving without expectations. That’s when he saw her. She rushed in, holding her child close to her chest, her hair slightly messy, her face tired—but still… beautiful in a way that didn’t try to impress anyone. “Can we sit here?” she asked softly, pointing to the empty chair beside him. Ayaan nodded. Her son, maybe five years old, clung to her arm. She smiled at him gently, brushing his hair back. “You’re safe, sweetheart.” There was something about her voice… warm, protective, yet hiding a quiet sadness. Minutes passed in silence. Rain poured harder. “You come here often?” Ayaan finally asked. She let out a small laugh. “No… life doesn’t really give me that luxury.” He smiled. “Yeah… I get that.” She looked at him for a moment, studying his face like she was trying to understand something deeper. “I’m Sara,” she said. “Ayaan.” And just like that, something shifted. The next few days, Ayaan kept coming back to that café. Not because he liked the coffee… but because somewhere deep inside, he hoped she would be there again. And she was. Same corner. Same quiet strength. But this time, she smiled first. “You again?” “Maybe I like the rain,” he said. “Or maybe you like coincidences.” “Or maybe… I like conversations that haven’t finished yet.” She looked away, hiding a small smile. Days turned into weeks. Their conversations grew longer. Deeper. He learned she was a single mother. Her husband had left years ago. No explanations. No support. Just silence. “I stopped waiting for him,” she said one evening. “But I think a part of me stopped waiting for everything else too.” Ayaan didn’t say anything. He just listened. Because sometimes, being heard is more powerful than being fixed. One night, the café was closing early. Rain had started again. “Let me drop you home,” Ayaan offered. She hesitated. “I don’t usually trust people easily.” “I’m not ‘people’ anymore, remember?” he smiled. She looked at him… and for the first time, she didn’t say no. Her house was simple. Quiet. Her son had already fallen asleep in the car, and Ayaan carried him inside carefully. “Thank you,” she whispered. Their eyes met. And for a moment… the world outside disappeared. There was something in the air. Something unspoken. She stepped back. “I should… go inside.” “Yeah… you should.” But neither of them moved. Weeks passed. The distance between them slowly faded. Late-night calls turned into long walks. Casual smiles turned into lingering glances. One evening, sitting on a bench under dim streetlights, she finally said it: “You know this isn’t simple, right?” “I never wanted simple.” “I have responsibilities. A child. A past…” “And I’m not scared of any of that.” She looked at him, almost searching for doubt. But there was none. “Why?” she asked softly. Ayaan took a deep breath. “Because when I’m with you… everything feels real. Not perfect. Not easy. But real.” Her eyes filled with emotion. “No one has said that to me in a long time.” That night, something changed. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. But deeply. They didn’t rush into anything. Their connection wasn’t built on just attraction—it was built on understanding. But yes… there was attraction. The kind that makes your heartbeat louder when they’re close. The kind that makes silence feel heavy. One evening, as they stood in her living room, just talking… she stepped closer. “You’re dangerous,” she whispered. “Why?” “Because you make me feel things I promised myself I’d never feel again.” Ayaan didn’t respond. He just looked at her. And that was enough. She didn’t step away this time. Their relationship wasn’t perfect. There were doubts. Fears. Moments when she pulled away, afraid of losing everything again. “People like me don’t get happy endings,” she said once. Ayaan smiled gently. “Then let’s not call it an ending. Let’s just call it… now.” Her son started calling him “Ayaan bhai” at first… then slowly, just “Ayaan.” And somehow, without forcing anything, they became something like a family. Not by name. But by feeling. One rainy evening, just like the first day they met, they sat together at the café. “You know,” she said, “I used to hate the rain.” “Why?” “Because it reminded me of everything I lost.” “And now?” She looked at him… smiling softly. “Now it reminds me of everything I found.” Ayaan leaned back, watching the rain fall. Life hadn’t become easier. But it had become meaningful. And sometimes… that’s more than enough.
By Umar Farooqa day ago in Fiction
China creates a 35.6 Tesla magnet that breaks records.
Using a magnet composed entirely of superconducting materials, China has created the greatest stable magnetic field ever recorded, 700,000 times stronger than Earth's. Extreme magnetism is transformed from a transient laboratory trick into a manageable force that scientists can rely on and plan for thanks to its persistent strength.
By Francis Dami2 days ago in Fiction
The Cairn Beside the Lake. Top Story - February 2026.
And so it came to pass that King Ertharion, Tenth King of Lombaia, stood beside the still lake below unrelenting and unassailable cliffs with the remainder of his harried host. In what was the tenth year of his reign and his forty-fourth upon this great green earth, Menigo the Betrayer, cousin of King Ertharion, pressed home his false claim.
By Matthew J. Fromm6 days ago in Fiction
Captain Willem Sterling George Braunbauer, IV
Willem Sterling George Braunbauer, IV wasn’t a Grandpa Bill or Billy. Grandfather Willem, the W pronounced like a V, was actually Captain Willem Sterling George Braunbauer, IV. The epaulettes of his drab green military uniform and piercing slate eyes sear from across the room, even after so many years. The oil painting, stark but beautiful, is accurate in its dismal precision: back, ramrod straight, strong jawline, blazing eyes with no hint of smile. Sterling could nearly smell the sweet acrid scent of the cigar aura that swirled around his father as he sat by the fire each evening, reading his papers.
By Cathy Schieffelin7 days ago in Fiction
