Literary Fiction

Nadia’s fingers trembled as she traced the jagged cracks in the old stone wall. Dust and debris clung to her skin, a gritty reminder of all that had been lost. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Beneath the acrid smell of smoke, a faint hint of olives lingered—a ghost of what once was. Five years. Had it really been that long since she’d fled her beloved Aleppo? The city of her childhood now lay in ruins, its ancient streets and vibrant markets reduced to rubble. Yet here she stood, drawn back by an inexplicable pull she couldn’t quite name. ...

The ancient pickup truck rattled and groaned as Marcus Thorne guided it down the dusty country road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, his daughter Lily pressed her face against the window, her eyes wide with wonder at the unfamiliar landscape. “Daddy, look at all the trees!” Lily exclaimed, pointing at the rows of gnarled apple trees that stretched out beyond the cracked asphalt. “Are those Grandma’s?” ...

Zara’s fingers traced the embossed lettering on the leather-bound cover, savoring the tactile sensation as she carefully placed the book on the returns cart. The library was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the climate control system and the occasional rustle of pages. She glanced at her watch—an antique timepiece inherited from her grandmother—and noted it was nearly closing time. As she made her way through the stacks, straightening a misplaced volume here and there, Zara couldn’t help but feel a twinge of melancholy. The library, once a bustling hub of activity, now stood as a silent sentinel to a bygone era. Most patrons these days preferred the convenience of digital downloads and virtual reality reading rooms. But for Zara, nothing could replace the weight of a real book in her hands, the subtle scent of paper and ink, the satisfying crack of a fresh spine. ...

The moving truck rumbled away, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Mira Patel stood on the freshly mowed lawn, clutching a cardboard box labeled “FRAGILE” in her mother’s neat handwriting. The late August sun beat down on her neck as she surveyed the unfamiliar landscape of identical houses with manicured yards. “Mira! Don’t just stand there daydreaming. Bring that box inside now,” her mother called from the doorway of their new home. ...

The chalk screeched across the blackboard as Mr. Grayson wrote out the day’s assignment in his messy scrawl. Mira Chen winced at the sound, her shoulders tensing. She kept her eyes fixed on her desk, not daring to look up. “Alright class, listen up,” Mr. Grayson announced, his voice gravelly from years of projecting to uninterested teenagers. “Your next project is to speak without words.” A confused murmur rippled through the classroom. Zoe, sitting next to Mira, raised her hand. “What does that mean, Mr. G?” ...

Mira’s crampons crunched into the icy slope as she took another labored step upward. Her breath came in ragged gasps, visible in the frigid air. She paused to adjust her oxygen mask and glanced back at her climbing partner Kai, who was lagging about 20 meters behind. “You okay?” she called out, her voice muffled. Kai gave a weak thumbs-up, but Mira could see he was struggling. His movements were sluggish, and he seemed to be favoring his left leg. Still, they pressed on. The summit of Annapurna III loomed another 500 meters above them - so close, yet so far. ...

The crunch of gravel under Mara’s boots sent a shiver of familiarity through her as she stepped out of her dusty Jeep. Granite Peak loomed above, its jagged silhouette etched against the fading twilight sky. She inhaled deeply, the scent of pine and crisp mountain air flooding her senses with long-buried memories. Fifteen years. It had been fifteen years since she’d last set foot in this small mountain town she once called home. Now, at thirty-eight, Dr. Mara Holloway was back – not for a nostalgic homecoming, but as the lead geologist on a critical survey of the region’s changing landscape. ...

The moving truck rumbled away, leaving Mara Chen standing on the cracked sidewalk of Willow Lane. She squinted against the late afternoon sun, taking in the weathered clapboard houses with their sagging porches and overgrown yards. This quiet street on the outskirts of town wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured when dreaming of a fresh start, but it was all she could afford on a teacher’s aide salary. “What do you think, Liam?” Mara asked, glancing down at her son. “It’s not so bad, right?” ...

The fluorescent lights flickered to life, casting a harsh glow over the maze of gray cubicles. Mira Chen stifled a yawn as she settled into her chair, the familiar creak a reminder of another day trapped in corporate purgatory. She glanced at her monitor, the cursor blinking accusingly on a half-finished spreadsheet. “Morning, sunshine,” Denise Wong chirped, popping her head over the partition. “Ready for another thrilling day of data crunching?” ...

The scorching desert sun beat down mercilessly as Nadia stepped out of her dusty rental car. She squinted against the glare, surveying the ramshackle collection of buildings that comprised the remote town of Al-Safiya. A tumbleweed rolled lazily across the cracked pavement of the town’s lone main street. Nadia sighed, already regretting her decision to take on this assignment. As she hefted her luggage from the trunk, a voice called out, “You must be the geologist from the mining company!” ...