Short Story

By Nandini Laddha Beside me sits a young woman my age, who incites a somewhat nostalgic feeling inside me- the kind where you desperately try to retrieve the memory of the face in front of you. It looks oddly familiar, like I almost know the person beside me or used to know her at some point in my life. I had been pretending to look at the clouds outside the window and looked away, fearing it might get uncomfortable for the woman, if I stared for too long. But the itch in my

By Afshan Farheen It started with a chilly wind that made my nose scrunch up. I curled my body inward, afraid I might fall apart. I rubbed my arms as the sounds around me faded into white noise. I keep on following my family that is moving forward despite the stranger irritated glances and tough crowd, train is moving on an average pace but i was excited -- we would be exploring Barog. I moved my eyes around few seats that were left, one of them was beside two middle-aged man

By Ilina Udani I looked out of the window and ran in fear to close the door. The storm raged in a swirling mass of black clouds that seemed to have sucked in all the light from the air, completely blotting out the sun. The wind howled like a furious beast, rattling the shutters and lashing at the edges of the roof. I threw my weight against the ancient door, managing to force it shut and slide the heavy iron bolt into place- all while the old wood creaked and groaned.  The di

By Ridham Chaudhary चलो एक कहानी की शुरुवात करते हैं, आज से, अभी से, इसके पात्र भी तुम चुनो और कहानी भी, फिर जियो इसे तुम, कभी इसका नायक बन तो कभी नायिका, तो कभी वो ख्याल बन जिसने की शुरुवात इस पूरे सफर की। यह सब कितना सरल, कितना खूबसूरत लगता हैं ना। पर असल जिंदगी भी तो कुछ ऐसी ही है, तुम स्वयं अपनी कहानी बनाते हो, उसके नायक/नायिका का निर्माण करते हो। पर क्या कभी खुश हो पाते हो नायिका के उस चित्रण से है शायद हां पर शायद नहीं भी। यह सोचा कभी तुमने की ये ‘शायद नहीं‘ का होना क्य

By Sunandana Choudhury As I drove down the winding, familiar road to the garden of nostalgia, today it felt different.  I was hoping to come eye to eye with the rocks of remembrance that I always stumble upon, the potholes reeking of the stench of memories that I avoided feverishly and the lush green grasses that grew denser with my every visit. I took that as a comfortable sign that the grasses would soon outgrow the potholes and hide the rocks in them. And soon there would

By Advika Ojha I have never been one to pray, for I believe that destiny is in the hands of her makers rather than a power beyond comprehension. Never once have my prayers been answered either, perhaps it’s because I’m much too tainted, or perhaps I’ve never learnt to pray right. It doesn’t matter, it’s too late now anyways. Once upon a time, no more than 10 years ago, I had carved my heart out and given away the rotten thing for power and comfort. And now as I sit alone in m

By Arunya Sakthi “An espresso, please. Thank you.” I was sitting in the espresso bar and waiting for my coffee. After all, I spent a day doing nothing, a special kind of tiresome. The arms of my wristwatch showed six in the evening. As I sighed looking around at busy waiters and customers, happy couples and families sitting together and having their beverages, I felt the world had lost its inspiration. Clicking a pen restlessly in my hand, lost deeply in thoughts, I stared ai

By Ania Nongmaithem The man gasped; his slumber momentarily broken by the cacophonous ringing of his clock. A clock passed on from the earlier generations to the later ones, a symbol of familial and ancestral harmony within the Robertgraves bloodline. Or it seemed so to be. Afterall, it was the pitiful and sheepish scientist, Sebastian’s only trinket he owned that was of his family, a precious one that no one could take away from him. Maybe a burglar could enter his dingy and

By Riya Yadav They said the moon was fading. Night after night, her silver face dimmed, as if someone were gently erasing her from the sky. Lovers stopped meeting under her light. Tides lost their rhythm. Even poets fell silent — all except one. In a small attic by the sea, a blind man wrote beneath a single lamp. He was a poet once known for his verses to the moon. They said he could describe her glow better than anyone who had eyes. Now, he wrote from memory — tracing her l

By Riya Yadav Mira had stopped writing three years ago. Her notebooks slept under the bed, their pages blank and slightly yellowed — as if even paper had given up waiting for her words. Every time she sat to write, her fingers trembled. Not from lack of stories, but from the fear that none of them were worth telling. She worked at a quiet bookshop that smelled of rain and forgotten dreams. Customers came and went, leaving behind whispers, receipts, and sometimes — the smell o

By Riya Yadav They said the rain had no memory. But Kavi knew better. He had been collecting it for years — drop by drop, moment by moment — storing them in tiny glass vials labeled not by date, but by feeling: Regret. Joy. Goodbye. Hope. In his small, tin-roofed home on the edge of the old city, hundreds of bottles lined the shelves, each glowing faintly when the clouds grew heavy. When thunder rolled, they whispered — soft voices echoing through the room, like ghosts hummin

By Shaurya Khandelwal I ran through the alleyways, shoving around any obstacle that crossed my path. I felt my boot damp by snow that had established its empire on land throughout the country. I was panting and breathing heavily. I could see the gate of my only refuge in sight. I shoved the gate open of the church, but it did not budge. The gate was locked. I was sabotaged. This all started when a year and a half earlier my family migrated from Sao Paulo in Brazil to Chicago

By Sanjana Shome 5:30 AM The alarm cuts through my dream—or maybe it was just a thought, I can’t even remember the last time I had a real dream. My eyes burn. Sleep feels like a distant memory, though I can’t remember the last time I actually rested. Mumma knocks on my door. “Get up, beta. Don’t waste time.” I drag myself out of bed, splash water on my face, and stare at the mirror. The boy in front of me has dark circles under his eyes. He doesn’t look like me. Did I always

By Shrishti Bangera Kanekal ACT 1 I stood at the edge of the docks, the salt-stained boards creaking beneath my boots, watching as my crew filed one by one onto the vessel, my dagger being twirled between my fingers recklessly. I counted each face twice, making sure no one I needed had been left behind. The boat loomed larger than any I’d ever sailed, its deck stretching wide like a promise I wasn’t sure I could keep. When the President of Sterren’s letter first reached me, I

By Rashmi Sah By Rashmi Sah

By Seerat Sidhu Rani Laxmi Bai came into my dreams. She wanted me to serve our nation by being the intellect. I was an ordinary child, with my hands both in academics and sports. My ‘normal’ days were spent like and with the other normal kids. My parents were both surgeons, and I had a comfortable life. Until that dreadful day. I woke up, and the driver, Sharma Uncle, drove me to school like usual, but I never reached back home that day. On our way back, we had stopped by the

By Jahnavi అప్పుడే కరోనా తగ్గి ,అందరికి పరిసుభ్రత మీద అవగాహన పెరుగుతున్న రోజులవి. EAMCET ఫలితాలు కోసం అని విద్యార్థులు, వాళ్ల కుటుంబ సభ్యులు అంత  ఎదురుచూస్తున్నారు.వాళ్ళు ఎదురు చూస్తున్న ఆ సమయం రానే వచ్చింది.ఫలితాల రోజు,వాళ్లతో పాటు నేను, నా కన్నా ఎక్కువ గా నా కుటుంబ సభ్యులు అంత  ఎదురు చూస్తున్నారు. ఇప్పటికే  మీ  అందరికి అర్ధం అయ్యే ఉంటుంది..అవును,నేను కోడ ఎంసెట్ ఫలితాలు కోసం అనే వెయిట్ చేస్తున్నా.కానీ పాస్ అవుతానా?లేదా? అనే భయం నాలో లేదు.ఎ ర్యాంక్ వస్తుంది అని జస్ట్ క్యూరియస

By Kamalika Mazumder “Hey, you... BEEP… Get aside! The new consignment has arrived. Boss has said that everything should be perfect to the T…” The man in his Whitest white Suit held his words for a minute to pause and scanned his eyes throughout the huge working space of the factory that lay ahead. A large number of working benches are laid serially throughout the huge floor. In each bench, a craftsman is engrossed in his or her work. The atmosphere is buzzing with the hum of

By Apurv Anand By Apurv Anand

By Apurv Anand By Apurv Anand