Short Story

By Hrishit Pandey The sky shared its palette with yellow which has now completely engulfed it. There existed no other colour in sight. It was the complete dominance of yellow as it enshrined the sky into an endless sea of itself. The horizon can be seen diffused between the shades of light yellow and a hue of dark yellow. Together they still upheld the homogeneity of the sky to match as it appeared closer to the observer. It was a very vast expanse. But it was not throughout.

By Hrishit Pandey I opened the door and entered the aisle of urinals. I turned right in an air tight room, locked with ventilation suffocating around the narrow window as I passed it to find myself facing the urinals. Six beautiful, shiny and clean urinals - hanging down the wall were beside me at both my sides. Corporate - urinals are employed heavily round the day, even nights sometimes. With those naphthalene balls and caffeine powder at work, they take in both the load an

By Hrishit Pandey It was a dark night. Cold. Bleak. Dead night. But here I am - by nature a lively and energetic rooster. Running down the street. Like a mad animal. Where is my boy? I wondered as I traced down the restricted pathways. My son - he has not been home today. His mother is stressed about her boy. I am not stressed. The night and its attributes tried their best to reflect into me their effects. But I won’t be affected as an excess of liveliness is contained within

By Hrishit Pandey <SHOE> Ivory; natural as if the paint was sucked out of the grandest archaeological marvel - to dress me. My majestic vamp - the shiny matte of white; smart and striking. Just as expected. My long lushy laces with an undertone of white precisely analogous to my clothing. My sharp body was without a single mark, single-handedly redeeming the ground from the other lousy bodies that put dirt on its inanimate surface. There is life in my color, my every step pro

By Hrishit Pandey I was lying in a dark room. Dark space - on a ground. Cemented ground. Marbled. Tiled in places too. Ever since I became aware of the fact that I have awareness - I have been lying here. There is no concept of time for me - only space. I have always existed here. I am a mattress. An uncovered one. Still lacking an active mahogany suitor of four legs. To take me off where I am. To change my space. To maybe change me? I was the kind which accommodates for the

By Hrishit Pandey In the break of the night and at the brim of morning this night unfolds. This involves a wife and a husband who have been living together for some time now. With time dependencies change, responsibilities change, interests change, desires change, aims change, hopes change and people change. It is one such change that drives the exposition of this tale. The husband lay down quietly on the bed. His body felt stiff, with every change of side the bitterness that

By Hrishit Pandey I happened to be alive. I happened to be aware and hoped to be conscious and in control of myself when I decided to visit D2. What is D2? Where is D2? It’s nowhere. Nowhere can be anywhere; anywhere with no name attached to it, anywhere that’s not anticipating to be noticed, anywhere that is desperate for your attention, anywhere may be beyond within or within beyond, or it may just be no where. What I did was – give a stage to my imagination and let it crea

By Kalika Kochhar I walked home from my ballet class and all I could think about was that Tuesday night two months ago. My eyes were on the road ahead but my mind was stuck in a loop. It was supposed to be one of the most exciting days at that time. Dad had gone on a business trip to Dubai for his upcoming restaurant and was going to be home that day. My thirteen-year-old self didn’t understand much about how business worked, but, from my limited knowledge, getting investors

By Kalika Kochhar I woke up to the sound of my husband having a shower. The constant flow of water, the sound of the shampoo bottle being put down, and, the soft syllables of his favourite song that he uttered. I sat up in bed, and cried. I cried for two minutes at the fact that I didn’t feel like joining him in the shower anymore. I cried at the fact that we had been together for twelve years and we were great roommates who worked like clockwork together, and yet, we had gro

By Sweta Mishra Chapter One: The Photograph The city outside my window never sleeps. But tonight, it feels like even the lights of Bangalore can’t reach the corners of my heart. I sit on the floor of my apartment, back against the bed, a cup of tea gone cold beside me. The hum of distant traffic fills the silence I’ve grown used to. Papers from today’s audit files lie scattered across the table, but my mind isn’t there. My eyes rest on a photograph that slipped out of an old

By Shwetha V I ran to the washroom, locked it, and leaned against the wall. I had a different feeling this time. A feeling that I had never experienced before, a feeling of deep satisfaction and happiness. I went near the wash basin and kept staring at the mirror placed, just above it. Lots of memories flashed before my eyes. I felt a sudden chill, and in the next moment, I was back in the past. I heard my mother calling me out in a loud voice, “What are you doing inside for

By Sameeha Badar Tick.Tock. The steady rhythm of the clock lulls me into quiet paralysis while the shackles on my wrists tighten, pulling me further into the warmth of my bed. My eyes threaten to give out, caught in a constant battle against the allure of sleep. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to feel the last bits of reality fall through my fingers. Reality keeps me here, keeps me sane.  But the fatigue wins, my eyes close, and mayhem ensues. I am transported to a world

By Saloni Duggal The house had been waiting for them. It stood at the edge of town, wrapped in mist and ivy, its windows boarded yet somehow watchful. For years, locals whispered about it — the old Hawthorne Mansion — built in 1892, abandoned after the family vanished without a trace. They said you could still hear laughter at night, footsteps in empty halls, and sometimes, your own name being called from somewhere deep inside. Most people stayed away. But not Aurora. For her

By Saloni Duggal Rohan didn’t remember when he’d last used that old email. It belonged to a version of him that still believed in beginnings — when he measured happiness by guitar strings, counted time in friendship bracelets, and thought heartbreaks were the worst thing that could happen to a person. He discovered the ID scribbled on the back of a torn notebook while cleaning his study on a quiet Sunday. It was one of those nostalgic, half-sunny afternoons when even the dust

By Saloni Duggal Aarohi loved music the way lungs love air. It wasn’t a hobby, nor a career. It was the only way she knew how to feel. When words failed her — as they often did — her fingers would find the strings, her eyes would close, and her soul would begin to speak. Her notebook was a landscape of heartbeats: scribbled lyrics, half-formed lines, arrows linking thoughts, and stains of coffee that looked like tiny planets. Music was her heartbeat. Her confession. Her praye

By Saloni Duggal Anamika had always been a storm in silence. People mistook her stillness for peace, but it was only the calm of a sea that had learned to hide its waves. She lived in her small apartment with walls the color of monsoon skies, her shelves filled with books she never read twice, and her head crowded with thoughts that never slept. Once, she believed kindness was a currency everyone valued. She shared her lunch in school, wrote apology letters even when she wasn

By Saloni Duggal When Anamika was little, she believed that kindness was enough to make friends. She shared her lunch, helped with homework, laughed at others’ jokes — even when they weren’t funny — just to belong. But as she grew older, she realized that not everyone valued goodness the same way. Her innocence was mistaken for weakness. Her loyalty, taken for granted. One by one, the people she called friends drifted away, leaving her alone in corridors filled with laughter

By Sneha Dhuppe एक मुलगी होती. साधी भोळी थोडीशी बुळी. बुळी म्हणजे कोणात लगेच न मिसळणारी. थोडीशी वेंधळी वाटणारी,हुशार होती ती पण थोडा कमी आत्मविश्वास असलेली. कुठलीही गोष्ट आपण करू शकू की नाही ह्याबाबत सुरूवातीला बिचकणारी पण एकदा काहीही हाती घेतलं की तडक पुर्ततेला नेणारी.सावळी काया पण नाकी डोळी नीटस. डोळ्यात एक चमक होती तिच्या काहीतरी मिळवायची. जगाला काहीतरी करून दाखवायची. पण पुढे जाणार कशी.. जणू अबोली होती ती, एकदम गुलाबाच्या कळीसारखी न फ़ुललेली. पण फ़ुलण्याची स्वप्ने डोळ्यात घे

By Prakash Dubey नवंबर 2017 की वो रात थी जब एक स्कूल की  बस में सवार होकर 30 बच्चे कुछ अध्यापकों के साथ रांची के एक स्कूल में विभिन्न प्रतियोगिताओं में शामिल होने के लिए निकले थे….घने जंगलों ऊंची पहाड़ों से होते हुए वो बस मानों अंधेरे में भागी जा रही थी.  बाहर कोहरे की चादर में लिपटा घना अंधेरा था , विरान सी सड़कें थी और ठंड मानो जैसे कि जमा दे  और इधर  सब टोली नए अनुभव का लुफ्त उठा रही थी. मिलों दूरी तय करके रात करीब 2 बजे उनकी बस रांची के उस स्कूल में प्रवेश करती है जहां पह

By Aashish Wagh We had been married for three years, and today we were waiting for the final ruling. The judge was taking longer than expected. My lawyer looked at me and gave a reassuring nod, as if to say everything would be alright. Then came the moment everyone was waiting for. The judge announced that the divorce was finalised, and my husband would have to pay alimony to me. I looked at him. His head was lowered, his face heavy with frustration. I could not tell whether