Chapter 1: The Golden Arrival The road to Harsinghpur was narrow and snaked like a forgotten scar through endless waves of wheat fields swaying under a late summer sun. Simran Kaur sat in the back of the dusty jeep, her duffel bag squeezed between her knees, eyes fixed on the undulating gold outside the window. The driver, a quiet man with a thick mustache and a radio playing crackly folk songs, hadn’t spoken since they’d passed the broken milestone that read: “Harsinghpur – 3 km.” As they entered the village, Simran’s first impression was of silence—not the peaceful, countryside kind,…
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Part 1: The Caption That Shouldn’t Exist The bell rang for the last time that Friday afternoon, and the hallways of Lakemount High flooded with bodies—seniors hollering, juniors buzzing, lockers slamming shut like punctuation marks on a chaotic sentence. Avani Kapoor walked slower than most, her earbuds in, her playlist whispering solace. She didn’t need to rush. No one was waiting for her at the front gate. No one ever was. She stopped by the main office to pick up her copy of the senior yearbook, sliding her name onto the clipboard with practiced awkwardness. “One copy left, Kapoor,” said…
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Aditi Roy Sharma 1 Samar Ghosh stared blankly at the glowing screen of his laptop, its harsh blue light reflecting off his glasses as the world outside his hostel window drifted into silence. The ceiling fan above creaked lazily, slicing through the thick summer night air of the campus. Around him, the room was cluttered with open textbooks, crumpled notes, and half-finished instant noodles—a portrait of academic exhaustion. But it wasn’t the unfinished code on his terminal or the pending assignments that held his attention tonight. It was the crushing weight of falling behind. Once hailed as a prodigy from…
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1 The day began like most Mondays in Gurgaon—grey towers cutting into a hazy sky, the hum of elevators, the staccato rhythm of heels on marble. Ira Mallick stepped into the 24th floor of SysCore Solutions, coffee in hand, her ID badge swinging against her chest. The HR bay was as sterile as ever—white partitions, motivational posters, the faint scent of lemon disinfectant. She took her usual corner seat, adjusted her ergonomically-assigned chair, and opened her laptop. Outlook pinged to life. Buried among the calendar invites and onboarding queries was an unread email titled simply: “If I’m Gone – Read…
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Supriya Mishra Chapter 1: Clash of Codes Ayesha Mehra stood in the middle of the buzzing tech office, staring at the whiteboard covered in complicated diagrams, code snippets, and post-it notes with deadlines scribbled in frantic handwriting. The pressure of the launch date loomed over her like a storm cloud. She had always been the type of person to thrive in a high-pressure environment, but the recent series of miscommunications between her team and the higher-ups had pushed her to the edge. The startup was at a critical juncture, and Ayesha, one of the lead developers, knew that everything depended…
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Niharika Sen 1 The sky over Delhi had been sulking since morning, draped in heavy grey clouds that threatened to spill at any moment. Connaught Place bustled beneath it, the circular heart of the capital moving in its usual rhythm—cars honking in chorus, office-goers pacing down colonnades, street vendors shouting their evening rates, and college students lazing on the central park’s damp benches. It was somewhere between four and five in the afternoon when the skies gave in. First, a misty drizzle, then sheets of warm rain fell, catching the crowd mid-stride. People ducked under awnings, ducked into cafés, and…
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Armaan Lahiri The rain came early that year. Not the lazy monsoon drizzle that made the city dreamy—but a sharp, relentless downpour that beat against the windowpanes of hostel room 3C like an accusation. Rishi Banerjee sat cross-legged on his metal cot, headphones dangling around his neck, eyes scanning a half-scribbled cheat sheet for his thermodynamics viva. The fluorescent tube above flickered in protest, then stabilized, bathing the cracked walls in pale blue. It was past midnight, and the corridor was quiet—eerily so. Even the usual hum of snoring from room 3B had gone still. That’s when he noticed it.…
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Aarushi Sen 1 The air in Lucknow smelt of jasmine and rust. Under the domes of the Chota Imambara, where chandeliers from Belgium sparkled even on cloudy days, Zohra Begum walked barefoot through the marbled corridors, anklets jingling like restrained laughter. She was not born into the kotha, not raised with kohl-rimmed dreams, but life had turned a schoolteacher’s daughter into the most sought-after courtesan of the Awadh court. Her ghazals melted into the air like perfumed smoke, and men with titles heavier than their hearts begged to be named in her verses. But Zohra only sang for silence. She…
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Meher Ahuja Filter Wala Drama When Tanya clicked “Post” on her innocuous Sunday breakfast photo—croissants, coffee, sunshine streaming in—she had no idea that five minutes later, she’d be receiving a flurry of heart reacts, a cryptic “God bless you beta #StayPure” comment, and a DM from her mother-in-law asking why she wasn’t wearing sindoor. It had begun. The war for her social media. Just two months into marriage, Tanya had learned to live with many things: Rohan’s obsession with buying houseplants he’d forget to water, his weird nighttime playlist that included whale sounds, and the fact that his socks…
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Sreeparna Dutta Part 1: The Clock that Shouldn’t Tick The villa stood like a forgotten promise—wrapped in fog, choked by ivy, and hunched at the edge of the cliff like it wanted to leap off. Priya Kapoor stood before the iron gate of “Whispering Pines,” a name that now seemed laughably poetic. The trees didn’t whisper. They watched. She adjusted her scarf as the wind cut sharper than she remembered. This wasn’t the Himachal of pretty postcards or Instagram reels. This was old Darchand—the abandoned hill station locals said was cursed by time itself. The driver who brought her up…