The Book That Writes Back -Hamim Bashar

The rain had just stopped when 15-year-old Hamim ducked into a narrow alley, shaking water from his hair. The sign above the tiny shop flickered in blue neon: “Timekeeper’s Treasures – Books, Relics & Oddities.” It looked like something from another century.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and old pages. Shelves leaned under the weight of strange books, tangled clocks, and glass jars filled with shimmering sand. Behind the counter sat a thin old man with silver spectacles.

“Looking for something special?” he asked.

Hamim shrugged. “Just something cool. Something different.”

The man smiled. “Different, you say?” He pulled out a thin, black notebook with a golden border. The cover had no title—only a symbol that looked like an eye inside a circle.

“How much?” Hamim asked.

“For you,” the man said, sliding it across the counter, “fifty taka. But remember it listens.”

Hamim frowned. “Listens?”

The man’s smile didn’t change. “You’ll see.”

That night, thunder rolled in again. Hamim sat by his window, flipping open the notebook. The pages were crisp and empty. He took a pen and wrote:

“Day 1. Nothing exciting happened today. School was boring. I wish something cool would actually happen for once.”

He closed the notebook, yawning. But when he looked again, new words had appeared beneath his handwriting.

“Be careful what you wish for.”

Hamim froze. He rubbed his eyes, but the words were still there, written in neat blue ink that wasn’t his own.

“Okay, that’s creepy,” he muttered. He shut the notebook tight and pushed it under his pillow.

The next morning, everything felt strange. His alarm didn’t ring, yet he woke up exactly one minute before his mother called. When he reached school, he noticed something odd that the school gate’s padlock was broken.

“Must’ve been the storm,” said his friend Rafi. But inside, students were murmuring. Someone had stolen the science lab’s equipment.

During lunch, Hamim opened the notebook again.

“Did you do that?” he scribbled quickly.

The ink shimmered.

“No. But you’re connected now. Pay attention today.”

“Connected? To what?”

“To tomorrow.”

A chill ran down his spine.

That night, Hamim couldn’t sleep. The notebook’s words replayed in his mind: Connected to tomorrow.

He picked it up again. “Okay, mystery book,” he said aloud, “if you know tomorrow, tell me what happens.”

For a few seconds, nothing. Then the letters began to appear, glowing faintly in the dark:

“Tomorrow, someone will vanish. You will be blamed.”

“What?!” Hamim whispered. “Who? Why me?”

But the page stayed blank.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or panic. It had to be some trick that is heat ink, invisible writing, something scientific. Right?

Still, he couldn’t shake the unease curling in his stomach.

The next day, his best friend Nahid didn’t show up. His phone went straight to voicemail. Teachers were whispering. At lunch, police officers arrived at school.

Hamim’s hands went cold.

By evening, the news spread: Nahid was missing. Last seen near Hamim’s house.

Neighbors glanced suspiciously when Hamim walked by. Even his mother’s eyes looked nervous.

He tore open the notebook.

“Where’s Nahid?” he scrawled.

The words appeared instantly:

“He found what he shouldn’t have. The gate isn’t broken, it’s open.”

“What gate?”

“You’ll see tonight.”

Hamim’s heart pounded. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because you asked for something exciting.”

That night, unable to resist, Hamim grabbed a flashlight and slipped out of the house. The rain had returned, washing the streets silver.

He followed the notebook’s next line that appeared mid-step:

“Left at the clock tower. Follow the humming.”

The wind howled. Then, faintly, he heard a low, metallic hum, like machinery buried under the earth. It led him to the old library at the edge of town abandoned since the fire last year.

Inside, the air buzzed faintly. The floorboards glowed with faint blue veins of light. The notebook vibrated in his hand.

“Nahid?” he called.

The reply came not from his friend but from the notebook.

“He’s inside. So am I.”

Before Hamim could react, the pages flared open, and the writing streamed off them like glowing dust, circling the air. Shapes began forming letters becoming symbols, symbols becoming code.

The old books around him started whispering, their spines twitching open, pages fluttering wildly. A hidden platform rose from the floor and a black cube of light with the same eye symbol carved into it.

Hamim’s pulse hammered. “What are you?”

The notebook floated, its pages rippling with light.

“I am the Archivist. A memory construct from the year 2098. We were designed to predict human behavior to guide, to warn. But humans grew afraid. They destroyed us. Only fragments remain like me.”

Hamim stepped back. “You’re AI? From the future?”

“A recording. An echo.”

The cube pulsed faster.

“Your friend discovered my core hidden beneath the library. He touched it without understanding. Now his neural patterns are trapped in the data field. I cannot release him alone.”

“Then tell me how!”

“Write your choice.”

“What choice?”

The notebook glowed with two lines of text:

“Erase me and free Nahid’s mind, but lose all memory of this.”

“Or merge with me and know the future, but lose yourself.”

Hamim’s hand trembled. Rain pounded outside. He could almost hear Nahid’s laughter in his head, fading like static.

He took a deep breath, then wrote: “Erase.”

The notebook’s pages burst into light. The symbols collapsed into dust. A brilliant flash swallowed the room.

When Hamim woke, he was lying outside the library. The rain had stopped. Morning sunlight spilled over the rooftops. Nahid was shaking his shoulder, eyes wide.

“Dude, what happened? You okay? You texted me to meet you here last night.”

Hamim blinked. “Texted you?”

Nahid grinned. “Yeah. You said you wanted to see the old library. But when I came, you were passed out.”

Hamim looked around. No glowing lights. No notebook. Just broken shelves and ash.

He reached into his bag, nothing but an empty pen.

For a second, he felt something flicker in his mind, like a half-remembered dream. A whisper.

Be careful what you wish for.

He smiled faintly, unsure why the words sent a shiver down his spine.

“Come on,” Nahid said. “Let’s go grab breakfast.”

As they walked away, the sunlight caught on a shard of black cover buried under the rubble and its golden symbol still faintly glowing, like an eye watching from the dust.

And deep within the ruined library, a soft hum began again.

“Connection restored.”