FAMILY PROBLEM

I immediately grabbed my phone and kissed it, my heart racing with excitement. This wasn't just a gadget anymore; it was the key to solving the impossible question that had consumed me for weeks. The answer lay in the waves of radiation and signals that moved faster than the speed of light, weightless and untouched by gravity.

Radiation. Networks. These were the tools of the future.

I dialed a number on my phone, and in the blink of an eye, it rang in America. A journey that would take days in the physical world happened in a fraction of a second. My mind buzzed with possibilities. Could this technology be harnessed to bend time itself? Could we not only communicate instantly but also exist simultaneously across different moments in time?

From that moment, I was consumed by my mission. I stopped seeing the world as it was and started seeing it as it could be. Every piece of technology, every scientific discovery, became a stepping stone in my quest for time travel.

School became a mere formality. My teachers' lectures drifted over me like white noise. My classmates' chatter about sports and movies felt trivial compared to the monumental task I had taken upon myself. As soon as I returned home, I locked myself in my room, surrounded by books, notebooks, and the faint glow of my laptop screen.

I read everything I could find about radiation, satellite networks, and the speed of light. I devoured articles about Einstein's theory of relativity and Hawking's work on black holes. I didn't understand everything, but the pieces I did grasp fueled my determination.

However, my new habits didn't go unnoticed. My mother became suspicious. She saw me skipping meals, staying up late, and staring at my laptop for hours. She started asking questions.

"What are you doing all day on that laptop?" she asked one morning as I barely touched my breakfast.

"Just studying," I mumbled, not looking up.

"You're always studying, but your school marks don't show it," she said, narrowing her eyes. "What are you really up to?"

"I'm working on something important," I said vaguely, hoping she'd drop the subject.

But she didn't. That evening, she called my uncles—both schoolteachers and the family's self-appointed disciplinarians.

The next afternoon, they arrived unannounced.

"Where is he?" one uncle asked as he stepped into the house.

"In his room," my mother said, shaking her head. "He's always in there."

They marched straight to my room. I was so engrossed in my research that I didn't notice them until they snatched my laptop and phone from the desk.

"What are you doing?" I shouted, jumping to my feet.

"You tell us," one uncle retorted. "What do you do all night with this laptop and phone? Your mother says you barely eat, you don't sleep. Is this about some girl?"

"No!" I exclaimed, my face flushing. "Just sit down and let me explain."

Reluctantly, they sat in the living room. My mother joined them, folding her arms and glaring at me.

"Don't listen to him," she said. "He's always full of stories."

I took a deep breath. "Uncle, what I'm about to say might sound crazy, but please hear me out."

"Go on," one uncle said, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm working on time travel," I said, my voice steady.

They burst into laughter. My mother shook her head in exasperation.

"You've lost it," one uncle said. "Your mother's right; we should take you to a doctor."

"Uncle, please," I pleaded. "Newton and Galileo were ordinary people, just like us. They didn't have modern science, yet they made groundbreaking discoveries. Why can't I think like them?"

One uncle smirked. "Fine. Prove it."

I grabbed my phone and made a video call to my uncle. Then I went into another room and continued the call. A moment later, I returned to the living room, phone still in hand.

"Look at the time," I said. "How long did it take me to come here?"

"About a minute," my uncle replied, unimpressed. "What's so special about that?"

"Exactly," I said, excitement bubbling in my voice. "When you saw me on the video call, I was both in another room and in front of you, almost instantaneously. The journey I made was real, but the connection defied normal time.

"Now imagine scaling this up. A person in America takes three days to travel here physically, but I can see them in real-time through a video call. If we enhance this technology, maybe we could split time itself—look into the past or future. Astrology predicts the future; what if science could refine it to make time travel a reality?"

The room fell silent. My uncles exchanged glances, their skepticism wavering.

"You're talking about something that could change the world," one uncle said slowly. "But do you realize how dangerous and complex this is?"

"I do," I said. "That's why I'm not giving up. Every great discovery starts as an impossible idea."

My other uncle leaned forward. "You're not wrong," he admitted. "But where do you even begin? Do you have a plan?"

"I'm building one," I said. "Step by step. For now, I'm gathering knowledge and testing small ideas. It's like assembling a puzzle—each piece brings me closer to the whole picture."

My mother, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "You've always been different, but this... this is madness. What if you fail?"

"Then I'll learn from it," I said. "But I'd rather fail trying than never try at all."

One uncle sighed. "Your father used to call you a lame horse. Don't let his words come true."

"I won't," I said firmly.

After a long pause, my uncle handed back my phone and laptop. "Do what you need to do," he said. "But remember, ideas are easy; execution is hard. Stay grounded."

That night, as I lay in bed, new ideas filled my mind. What if I could create a network so fast, it bridged the gap between moments? What if time wasn't a straight line, but a web we could navigate with the right tools?

The possibilities were endless, and for the first time, I felt like I wasn't chasing a dream—I was building one.