Short Story

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

By Subasree You know that saying, “Not all men are the same”?  Yeah, well, I’ve hated that line my entire life. It all started back in twelfth grade. My so-called “first love” was the dark-skinned, devilishly athletic cricket star every girl in school drooled over. He wasn’t a genius and barely passed his exams, but when he ran, the world stopped. Or at least, that’s what his fan club of hormonal admirers believed. And me? I was the quiet one. The one who should’ve known bett

By Subasree Society never tires of speaking about women’s safety. Yet, when the night grows quiet, that safety is nowhere to be found.  Anjana Murali was a team lead at one of the city’s top MNCs. On paper, she was doing well—earning enough to live like a princess. But the job came at a cost. The endless night shifts gnawed at her health, leaving her exhausted. Still, money had its own grip, and she couldn’t let go.  That night, like every other, she was on her way home at 3

By Sia Mishra कई सौ सालों पहले, कुंडनपुर नामक गाँव में एक धनवान और ऐश्वर्यवान व्यापारी रहते थे, जिनका नाम था धन्ना सेठ। उनके पास इतनी अधिक मात्रा में धन इकट्ठा हो गया था कि उन्होंने निश्चय लिया कि वे किसी भी ऐसे आदमी को एक सहस्त्र स्वर्ण मुद्राएँ देंगे, जो उन्हें लेने के लिए अगले जन्म में लौटाने का वचन देगा।  उन दिनों, लोगों का मानना था कि जो भी कर्म वे करेंगे, वह भविष्य में लौटकर उनके पास अवश्य आएगा। इसलिए सेठ के गाँव में से कोई व्यक्ति इस धन-राशि को उसकी शर्त के साथ स्वीकार

By Sia Mishra आज से कई वर्षों पहले, सात समुंदर पार, एक पर्वत-श्रृंख्ला के उस पार, एक छोटी नदी के किनारे एक छोटा-सा प्रदेश था। वहाँ के राजा बहुत दयालु थे और अपनी प्रजा से बहुत लगाव रखते थे। बस वे एक ही बात से चिंतित रहते थे कि उनकी कोई बेटी नहीं थी।  सात, सुंदर, रेशमी बालों वाले बेटों के बाद जब राजपरिवार में एक बेटी जन्मी तो राजन खिल उठे। बेटी सुंदर थी, पिता की आँखों की परी थी। परंतु किसे पता था कि  वह इंसान का रूप धारण किए हुए एक डायन थी। यह बात तब तक छिपी रही जब तक सात बेटों

By Sia Mishra  गर्मी  का मौसम, शरीर को जला देने वाली कड़ाके की धूप, ऐसा लगता था किसी से भयंकर बदला लेना चाहती है। तिलतिलाती धूप में पेड़ भी थोड़ी सी छाया प्रदान करते हुए संकोच कर रहे थे। वैसे इस मौसम ने छाया प्रदान करने के लिए छोड़ा ही क्या था उनमें- केवल सूखे डंठल। इस हृदय-भेदी गर्मी में ये सूखे पेड़ फिर भी आराम दायक होते हैं। लेकिन उस भयानक लंबे-चौड़े ऊसर में तो मुझे कोई पेड़ दिखाई नहीं पड़ रहा था, जिसके नीचे थोड़ी साँस ले सकूँ।  कॉलेज जाने में देरी हो रही थी। मैं जल्दी-जल्दी दौड़ रह

By Ayushi Before you, the reader, step into these pages, know that this is a story not of heroes or villains, but of echoes and fragments. This narrative is a journey into the quiet, unsettling corners of a place where sanity is a fleeting guest and memory a cruel trick.  This tale is told through a lens of profound psychological distress. It speaks in the language of buried secrets, the frantic hum of a mind under siege, and the chilling finality of violence. The path ahead

By Syed Imaduddin Khilji On the early hours of one morning, A Poor Single Mother along with her Twins, Her 2 Sons about aged 10 years wake up at their tempory makeshift shelter, They are residing in a Refugee camp set up at a Slum Dwellings located in a place adjacent to a hustling market. The entire camp is also located very near to the area with High Class Societies having High End Apartments residing Diplomats and their families, As one end of the Apartments face the Slum