Stories

Mai Linh’s feet pounded the cracked pavement as she wove through the chaotic streets of Saigon. The air hung heavy with exhaust fumes and the pungent aroma of fish sauce from nearby food stalls. A cacophony of honking horns and shouting vendors assaulted her ears as she dodged between sputtering scooters and precariously balanced bicycles. “Coi chừng!” she called out, narrowly avoiding collision with an elderly woman balancing twin baskets of mangoes on a shoulder pole. The woman scowled but Mai Linh was already gone, darting around the corner onto Đồng Khởi Street. ...

The fluorescent lights flickered as Zara Chen hunched over her notebook, scribbling furiously. Around her, other students chatted and laughed, their voices a dull roar that faded into background noise. Zara barely noticed them. Her mind was consumed by the equation sprawled across the page, an intricate dance of variables and constants that seemed to pulse with potential. “Zara? Earth to Zara!” A hand waved in front of her face, breaking her concentration. Zara blinked, looking up to see her best friend Mira grinning at her. ...

The ice groaned beneath New Valerian like a living thing. Dr. Maya Chen had never quite gotten used to that sound in her three years on Europa, the way Jupiter’s gravitational pull stretched and compressed the moon’s frozen surface. From her laboratory window, she could see the massive drilling platforms piercing the ice sheet, extracting the rare lanthanides that made this remote outpost the jewel in Quantum Dynamics Corporation’s crown. ...

Lady Amelia Blackwood stepped out of her carriage onto the cobblestone streets of London, her emerald eyes scanning the bustling scene before her. The spring air carried the mingled scents of horse manure, freshly baked bread, and perfumed nobility—an oddly intoxicating blend that signaled her arrival in the heart of Georgian society. As she gathered her skirts and made her way towards the grand townhouse that would serve as her temporary residence, Amelia couldn’t help but notice the curious glances and hushed whispers that followed in her wake. She was used to drawing attention, of course—her striking beauty and air of mystery had always turned heads. But there was something different about these looks, a hint of recognition mixed with confusion that she couldn’t quite place. ...

The shimmering heat rose from the desert sands, distorting the horizon into a wavering mirage. Naia squinted against the glare, her eyes scanning the endless dunes for any sign of shelter. The caravan had been traveling for days, their water supplies dwindling dangerously low. She could feel the tension mounting among the tribe members, their usual chatter replaced by terse silence. Naia’s fingers twitched at her sides, longing to weave the air into cool oases and lush palm groves. But she clenched her hands into fists, forcing down the urge. No one could know about her gift. Her curse. ...

Zara Chen stood before the blank wall, her breath catching in her throat. Where her mural had been just yesterday—a vibrant phoenix rising from swirling ashes—there was nothing but a flat expanse of beige paint. She reached out, running her fingers over the surface. It was smooth, as if her artwork had never existed. “What the hell?” she muttered, glancing up and down the alley. A few early morning commuters hurried past the entrance, but no one paid her any attention. Zara pulled out her phone, scrolling through her gallery until she found the photo she’d taken upon completing the mural three days ago. There it was in all its glory—twelve feet of color and life. ...

Zara Kouri stared at the brain scan on her computer screen, brow furrowed in concentration. The neural pathways flickered and pulsed, a dazzling light show of human consciousness. But something wasn’t right. She zoomed in, enhancing a cluster of neurons near the hippocampus. “Impossible,” she muttered. The lab around her was silent and dim, lit only by the glow of monitors. It was well past midnight, but Zara had lost track of time hours ago. She often worked late into the night, preferring the quiet solitude to the bustle of daytime activity. ...

Margo Saguaro squinted against the harsh desert sun as she checked her watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. The cracked asphalt of the resort parking lot shimmered with heat, and sweat beaded on her forehead despite the oversized sunhat she’d donned for the occasion. “Where is everyone?” she muttered, tapping her foot impatiently. “I specifically said check-in was at 2 PM sharp.” As if on cue, a plume of dust appeared on the horizon, growing larger by the second. Margo’s eyes widened as she made out the unmistakable shape of a dune buggy hurtling towards her at breakneck speed. The vehicle screeched to a halt mere inches from her sensible khaki shorts, kicking up a cloud of sand and pebbles. ...

Evelyn Marsh stood at her kitchen window, gazing out at the overgrown garden she’d once tended with care. The weeds had taken over now, choking out the flowers and vegetables her late husband Jack had loved so much. She sighed, running a hand through her graying hair. At forty-two, she felt decades older, worn down by grief and the monotony of small-town life. The sharp ring of the telephone cut through the silence, making her jump. Evelyn hesitated before answering, steeling herself for whatever fresh misery awaited on the other end of the line. ...

Eliza Reeves gripped the climbing wall, her muscles straining as she reached for the next hold. Sweat trickled down her temple, but her focus never wavered. The bustling sounds of the gym faded away, replaced by the howling wind and biting cold of her imagination. In her mind’s eye, she wasn’t scaling an indoor wall in her hometown of Boulder, Colorado. She was thousands of feet up, tackling the merciless face of Annapurna I. ...