The classroom hummed with faint chatter as Jason Welt, a thirty-something physics lecturer with a knack for self-deprecating humor, leaned against the desk at the front. The rows of students, slouched and scrolling through their phones, barely looked up when he clapped his hands to grab their attention.
"Alright, team," he said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Pop quiz time: Why does the lid on a boiling pot of water dance? Is it because it's happy to see you?"A few half-hearted chuckles emerged from the back row, but most of the class remained unamused.
Jason sighed, dragging his hand through his hair."Seriously? Physics is literally everywhere! You're telling me not one of you can think of a good reason?"
He held up a pen, tapping it rhythmically against the desk. "Is it the steam? The heat? The vibration?"
"Does it matter?" a voice drawled from the back. A student in a hoodie leaned back, smirking. "Nobody cares about this stuff anyway, Professor Welt."
Jason forced a grin, though the words stung.
"Right. Because the next viral TikTok will definitely teach you thermodynamics."The class laughed louder this time, and Jason decided to roll with it.
"Alright, fine. For your homework, I want you to use physics to figure out the perfect trajectory to throw a chip into a bin. Bonus points if you actually land it."The bell rang, and the students trickled out.
Jason stayed behind, staring at the blank whiteboard. It hadn't always been like this. Years ago, he'd been the passionate graduate student, ready to change the world with his theories. But academia had a way of grinding people down, and here he was, stuck in a mediocre job with students who didn't care.
His phone buzzed. A group chat with a few of his students popped up:
"Professor, why don't you do experiments on TikTok? You'd go viral for sure!"
"Yeah, you're funny enough. Might as well teach us something useful there."
Jason scoffed, tossing the phone onto his desk. TikTok? Him? It was ridiculous. Still, as he glanced at the small vibration device he'd been tinkering with, an idea formed. Why not try? If nothing else, it might be fun.
Jason Welt sat at his cluttered desk, surrounded by notebooks, textbooks, and a half-finished cup of coffee. The vibration device he had rigged together during a quiet evening hummed faintly on the desk, next to a glass of water that glinted under the dim light. His phone was precariously propped up with a stack of books, the camera pointed directly at the setup.
"Alright, internet," Jason began, his tone casual but tinged with the awkwardness of someone unused to performing for a camera. "Let's talk about water. You drink it, you bathe in it, you probably waste it brushing your teeth. But did you know it might also... remember?"
He glanced at the glass, then back at the camera, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Yeah, I know how it sounds. But some researchers out there think water can retain information from its environment. Like, I don't know... a natural hard drive or something."
Jason tapped a button on the vibration device, and it emitted a low-frequency hum. The water rippled gently, concentric circles expanding outward. He adjusted the frequency, and the ripples shifted, forming delicate, symmetrical patterns on the surface. Jason leaned closer, watching the wate
"This is just a simple vibration experiment," he explained, his voice softening as his curiosity overtook his nervousness. "We're sending sound waves through the water, and what you're seeing are the patterns those waves create. But here's the weird part—some people think water doesn't just react. They think it remembers. Kind of like... a witness."
He paused, the word hanging in the air as he glanced at the screen. "Now, is this pseudoscience? Probably. But what if it's not? What if water isn't just a building block of life, but a witness to it?"
Jason tapped the device again, shutting it off. The ripples stilled, the water returning to a tranquil surface. He looked into the camera, his tone a mix of sincerity and self-deprecation. "So, yeah. That's the question of the night. Is water just wet—or does it hold secrets? Leave your thoughts in the comments, and maybe, just maybe, I'll do another one of these."
Satisfied, Jason hit "upload" and leaned back in his chair. He didn't expect much—maybe a handful of views, a chuckle or two from his students. Still, the experiment had been fun, a small reprieve from the monotony of his teaching routine. He shut off his phone and went to bed.
Jason woke to the relentless buzz of his phone. Groaning, he fumbled for it on the nightstand. When he finally managed to unlock it, his bleary eyes widened at the flood of notifications.
The video had gone viral overnight.
Comments poured in faster than he could read:
"This is mind-blowing!""Wait, are you saying my water bottle knows all my secrets?"
"Bro, do more experiments! We need answers!"
Jason scrolled through the comments, his pulse quickening. Many were lighthearted jokes, but some showed genuine intrigue:
"This is fascinating. Could water store environmental data? Please explore this further!"
"Is there a link between vibration patterns and molecular structure? What frequencies are you using?"
And then, one comment stood out from the rest. It was simple, but it sent a shiver down his spine:
"You're onto something big. Water remembers more than you think. Keep going."
The comment had no username, no profile picture—just a blank icon and an air of mystery. Jason sat up, his heart pounding as he reread the words. Was this a joke? A prank? Or... something else entirely?
He found himself staring at the water glass still sitting on his desk. The patterns it had formed last night were vivid in his mind, almost hypnotic. For the first time in years, Jason felt a spark of curiosity—the kind that had driven him to pursue physics in the first place.
"Alright," he muttered to himself, grabbing his phone and opening his notes app. "Let's see where this goes."