Popular belief has it that the universe is comprised of atoms. In reality, the universe is actually made up of…

Technology had finally advanced to the point where dermal holographic emitters showcased prefaces above everyone’s heads—bullet points of the highs, lows, and turning points in a person’s life—and society had become a library of human experience. Couples formed with a glance, prejudices shattered, and crime rates dropped, all because everyone was an open book.

Except Samuel.

An author who had lived a life meticulously crafted for the perfect preface, he found himself a book gathering dust on a neglected shelf. He watched enviously as people engaged in instant connections, their eyes scanning the floating words above heads. His own preface, filled with layers of subtext and metaphors, resonated only with his fellow authors, none of whom took the extra step to genuinely know him.

Frustrated, he thought, “If only I could rewrite my preface to appeal to them, to make them see.” So, he studied, analyzed, and crafted tales aimed at resonating with the hearts of others. But despite his efforts, his works—and his life—remained tragically unread.

In a cruel twist of fate, Samuel was involved in a car accident. As he lay on the asphalt, gasping for air, he noticed something: people gathering around him were reading his preface, now flashing the words “Tragic End” in bold letters. For a brief, heartbreaking moment, Samuel had an audience.

And then, his preface faded away, the last lines unwritten, unshared, and unread.