The liberarian of rewritten tomorrows

 


Experimental Short Story Series #31
Title: “The Librarian of Rewritten Tomorrows”
By Faraz Parvez (pen name of Prof. Dr. Arshad Afzal, former faculty member, Umm Al Qura University, Makkah, KSA)

When books bleed with the ink of what’s yet to happen, how much can you edit before destiny edits you back?

Welcome back, dear readers, to our 31st tale in the Experimental Short Story Series—a collection that dares to bend structure, challenge genre, and let emotion leak through the cracks of logic. This time, we guide you into a story that feels like a dream held between the covers of forgotten tomorrows—a tale for those who have ever wished to revise their fate with a single stroke of ink.

The Story

He was always just there—as constant as the rustle of old parchment or the whisper of a candle near its end.

They called him The Curator. No one in Miranor remembered when he arrived, only that the library appeared shortly after: a crumbling cathedral of a place that didn’t exist on any map.

And what did it hold? Not histories. Not novels.

But futures.

Shelves upon shelves of them. Books yet to be written, with titles like “Tuesday’s Mistake,” “The Letter She Never Sent,” or “The Day the Earth Forgot to Spin.”

Each volume was alive with words predicting—no, recording—events not yet lived. You could find your own life shelved under your name. And if you dared, you could read ahead. Some did. Most regretted it.

But the librarian—quiet, sharp-eyed, and delicate with every page—wasn’t interested in others’ futures. He only read one collection: a worn, ever-growing row titled simply "My Life."

Every time he opened a new volume, he took notes. He watched his tomorrows as others watched the weather. And on particularly lonely nights, he edited.

Just a word here. A sentence there.

Not because he wanted control—no. Because he feared chaos.

One night, a woman arrived. Soaking from the sudden rain. Her name wasn’t written in any of his books. She stood where no sentence had prepared him. She asked him the kind of questions only an unwritten soul would ask:

“What happens if I don’t want tomorrow?”

He poured her tea. She stayed for a chapter. Then another. Then many.

His volumes began changing. Unpredictable things appeared: laughter, burnt toast, arguments about poetry, stolen kisses in the Archives of Forgotten Endings. He stopped editing.

He started living.

But one morning, the books turned violent. Pages tore themselves. Fonts blurred. A volume burst into flames.

She was leaving.

He ran to her, a book clutched to his chest—a freshly inked edition. She turned once, smiled faintly, and disappeared into fog.

He opened the book. The last line read:

And for once, he let the future write itself.

Reflections from the Curator’s Desk

Dear readers, “The Librarian of Rewritten Tomorrows” isn’t just a story—it’s a metaphor carved in prose. How many of us rewrite our pasts in our minds, edit our conversations after they’re over, or wish to read ahead before making a leap?

In the ever-expanding library of human experience, sometimes it’s not about predicting the next page—but having the courage to not turn it early.

This story, our 31st in the Experimental Short Story Series, reminds us that even the most meticulous curators of control must, at times, surrender to the chaos of love, of life, of time itself.

Why This Series Matters

We are now halfway through our ambitious 60-part experimental short story series. Each post is an offering—crafted with emotion, daring in style, and rich in meaning. Together, we’re building a body of work that doesn't just entertain—it evolves the very form of storytelling.

One day, this collection will live as an eBook. One day, perhaps, as a hardcover on your shelf. But today, it lives here—with you.

Keep reading. Keep wondering. Keep unfolding the next page.

Visit farazparvez1.blogspot.com
Pen Name: Faraz Parvez
Author: Prof. Dr. Arshad Afzal
Former Faculty Member, Umm Al Qura University, Makkah, KSA


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