“They’re impossible,” Professor Chen declared, peering through his thick glasses at the peculiar batteries on his desk. “These simply cannot exist.”
Lin Mei shifted nervously from foot to foot in the physics lab. The afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows cast strange shadows across the mysterious objects she’d discovered in her dormitory drawer that morning.
“But they do work,” she insisted softly. “I tested them myself.”
The batteries looked ordinary enough - AA size, unremarkable gray - except for the subtle shimmer that seemed to ripple across their surface like heat waves on summer pavement. And the fact that they never ran out of power.
“Infinite energy violates fundamental laws of thermodynamics,” the professor muttered, more to himself than to Lin Mei. He picked up one of the batteries, turning it over in his weathered hands. “Where did you say you found these?”
“That’s the strangest part,” Lin Mei replied. “They just… appeared. In my drawer this morning. With a note.”
She pulled out a small piece of paper, covered in elegant handwriting that seemed to shift and change as they looked at it:
“For the dreamer who still believes in impossible things. Use them wisely.”
Professor Chen’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Fascinating. Simply fascinating.”
That evening, Lin Mei sat cross-legged on her bed, the impossible batteries arranged in front of her. Her roommate Wang Jie lounged nearby, watching with curious eyes.
“So what are you going to do with them?” Jie asked.
Lin Mei picked up one of the batteries, feeling its subtle warmth. “I’ve been thinking about that project for the robotics club - you know, the one to build small robots to help disabled students around campus?”
Jie sat up straighter. “But we could never figure out a reliable power source…”
“Exactly.” Lin Mei smiled. “Maybe impossible things happen for a reason.”
Over the next few weeks, Lin Mei and Jie worked late into the night in the engineering lab. The impossible batteries powered their prototypes perfectly, never failing, never weakening. Other students began to notice their project, offering help and suggestions.
What started as a simple idea grew into something bigger - a network of small helper robots throughout the campus, making life easier for students who struggled with mobility. The impossible batteries kept them running, day and night.
Professor Chen continued studying the batteries in his free time, but never managed to explain their existence. Sometimes, late at night in his lab, he would smile at their subtle shimmer and remember what it felt like to believe in magic.
At graduation the following year, Lin Mei received special recognition for the robotics project that had transformed campus life. As she stood at the podium, she caught a glimpse of something in the audience - a figure that seemed to shimmer like heat waves on summer pavement, who smiled and nodded before disappearing into the crowd.
That evening, she found a new note in her drawer:
“The truly impossible thing is not the batteries - it’s the belief that one person can’t change the world. Keep dreaming impossible dreams.”
The batteries continued working for years to come, powering robots that helped countless students. And while their existence could never be explained by science, they served as a reminder that sometimes the most important things in life don’t need explanation - they just need to be believed in.