They said grief had stages. Dineth skipped them all and went straight to obsession.

Ever since his grandfather died, Dineth couldn’t stop digging through what was left of him, his inventions, journals, and endless scribbled dreams in ink that had started to fade with time. The lab in the back of the house, now quiet and dust-covered, became Dineth’s second home. It was the only place that still smelled like his grandfather: old paper, soldered wires, and the scent of peppermint tea.

He thought he’d seen everything, read everything, studied every bolt and spark until that day.

A small metal box, a single switch and a folded note taped to the side: “Project Z, Not to be tested. Not ready.”

Three lines, that was it.
But it was enough to light a fire in Dineth’s chest.

He took the box to his room, locking the door as though it carried national secrets. Days passed. Then weeks. He read every logbook and every dusty journal his grandfather had left behind, but none mentioned Project Z. And the box just sat there, quiet and silent. Until the night it didn’t.

It was raining hard. Thunder rattled the windows. His fingers hovered over the switch. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He was feeling. Feeling everything that had been bottled up since his grandfather’s funeral.

Click.

Nothing.

Disappointment hit like a slap. He turned to leave, but then it happened.

A soft hum.
A sudden glow.
A voice, mechanical but strangely human:
“Access granted. Beginning transport in 10... 9... 8...”

The room began to shake. Blue light flooded the space, and before Dineth could run or scream, the world disappeared.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in his room. The sky above him shimmered like liquid silver. The trees were transparent, their leaves humming like wind chimes. In the distance, tall structures floated mid-air, held up by nothing. It wasn’t Earth. At least, not any Earth he’d ever known.

A soft chime sounded behind him.

“Welcome to Phase Zero, Dineth,” the voice from the box said again.

And then, out of the light, someone stepped forward.

Dineth’s breath caught in his throat.

It was his grandfather.

But younger. Healthier. Standing tall. Smiling.

“Grandpa?” Dineth whispered.

His grandfather nodded. “I was hoping the box would find you.”

Tears welled up in Dineth’s eyes. “But… how? You’re... dead.”

“Not here,” his grandfather said gently. “Project Z was never meant to take me forward or backwards in time. It was built to preserve a moment. A space. A version of reality frozen right before I left the world you knew.”

Dineth couldn’t breathe. “You created this?”

“Yes. I knew my time was coming. But I didn’t want to say goodbye like that. I didn’t want to leave you without something to hold on to.”

Dineth ran into his arms, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he felt safe again. They talked for what felt like hours. About science. About life. About loss. His grandfather told him stories he never got the chance to. Dineth showed him blueprints he’d been working on.

It was everything Dineth had prayed for in the dark: just one more day.

But all beautiful things ask to be released eventually.

As the silver sky darkened, his grandfather grew quiet.

“Dineth… I need to tell you something important.”

Dineth looked up.

“This place won’t hold forever. It was never meant to. And you... you have to go back.”

“No,” Dineth said, tears already falling. “Not yet. Please.”

“You’ve been holding on too tightly, my boy. Letting grief become your purpose. But your life... it’s still ahead of you. You’ve got ideas that the world needs. You’ve got a heart that still wants to love.”

Dineth clutched his hand. “But how do I live in a world without you?”

His grandfather smiled. “By remembering that I never truly left. Everything you need is already inside you. You came looking for a goodbye... but what you really needed was permission to move forward.”

The light began to return.

“Remember what I always told you, science only explains how. Love reminds us why.”

Dineth woke up in his room. No shaking walls. No glowing box. Just silence, and a soaked pillow.
He sat up slowly. The box was still on his desk. Cold. Still. A single line now blinking on the display:

“Transport complete. Goodbye, Dineth.”

He never told anyone what happened, but he no longer cried when he walked into the lab. He no longer clung to the past with clenched fists, instead, he built.

He created.

He lived.

Because some goodbyes don’t end a chapter.
Some goodbyes hand you the pen and remind you to keep writing.

THE END

I would like to invite @mophebe @charis20 @patience90 to join this challenge.

All image generated using Dalle Ai