The algorithm of absence
Experimental Short Story Series #26
The Algorithm of Absence
By Faraz Parvez
Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal
Former Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)
The Algorithm of Absence
There was a time when mourning meant weeks of solitude, black clothes, the scent of rosewater and old memories. Now, it was a push of a button. The app—MendMind—automatically filtered grief into “manageable feelings.” No more chest-heaving sobs, no restless nights staring at ceilings, no more calls unanswered. It calculated your loss in seconds and calibrated your emotions accordingly.
Zara had followed the societal protocol when her husband died—scanned his death certificate, uploaded photos, and hit "process." Within thirty minutes, her anguish was repackaged into nostalgic melancholy. She could function. She smiled at coworkers. She ate her food. She even returned to her painting classes.
But something felt amputated.
The absence of her husband, Rauf, was now an absence of feeling. She couldn't hear his laugh echo in their old room anymore. She couldn’t feel the phantom weight of his arm around her. The house was clean, her calendar organized, and her neural mood score always a solid 7.5 out of 10.
And yet—she missed missing him.
One rainy evening, Zara opened the MendMind app and hovered over the forbidden feature: “Restore Unprocessed Grief.” It came with a warning:
“This action will unlock raw memory. Proceed only if emotionally equipped.”
She hesitated. Then tapped.
What followed was a tsunami.
The next morning she didn’t rise. She lay in bed weeping into his old sweater. She scrolled through their messages, each one a stab. The scent of his cologne in the closet undid her. She skipped work, burnt her tea, and let voicemail fill. Her friends called her irrational. Her AI therapist pleaded compliance.
But slowly, in the unfiltered pain, something pulsed—a heartbeat of truth. She began painting again. Not still lifes or ordered patterns, but wild, chaotic canvases—storms, flames, broken faces. Her gallery opened a new section titled “Absence with Memory,” and critics called it raw, rebellious, necessary.
People came, not just to see, but to feel. Zara had become a catalyst. A whisper. A warning.
Some began uninstalling MendMind. Quietly at first. Then in droves.
The Ministry of Emotional Welfare threatened penalties, but it was too late. A collective ache had been remembered. A revolution had begun—not one of war, but of weeping. A return to being fully, achingly alive.
Zara often stood alone in her studio, staring at her largest canvas—a swirl of black and red chaos she had named “Rauf.”
She would cry. And smile.
And nothing was processed.
It was real.
Why This Series Matters
With “The Algorithm of Absence,” our journey into the Experimental Short Story Series continues to redefine the borders of narrative. Story #26 challenges artificial emotional regulation and probes the ethics of engineered humanity.
Every story in this 60-part series is a curated experience—raw, thought-provoking, and unafraid to push literary norms. We are not just telling stories—we are testing them, bending them, allowing them to break and be reborn.
We invite our dedicated readers, critics, and new wanderers to keep returning to farazparvez1.blogspot.com, where storytelling refuses the ordinary. Soon, this evolving archive will shape into an eBook and eventually, a printed collector's edition—a tribute to this experimental odyssey.
Stay with us. Feel. Question. Remember.
By Faraz Parvez
Professor Dr. (Retired) Arshad Afzal
Former Faculty Member, Umm Al-Qura University, Makkah, KSA
(Pseudonym of Professor Dr. Arshad Afzal)
Comments
Post a Comment