Aaryan Dastur The Breaking Point The newsroom of Global Pulse buzzed like a swarm of hornets, monitors flashing with real-time footage, phones ringing off their hooks, and the giant ticker on the far wall counting down the minutes to prime time. Rhea Sen stood at the heart of it all, arms folded, eyes fixed on the wall screen where rival network The Daily Eye was airing a bombshell report. Her jaw clenched slightly as Kabir Mathur’s voice boomed from the broadcast — sharp, confident, manipulative. “Sources inside the Ministry confirm that the leaked budget documents came directly from the Finance…
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Arundhuti Basu Chapter 1: It was the kind of cold that crept under your skin and settled in the bones—a Lucknow winter that made the air brittle and the silence of Baraf Bagh Street even more unnerving. Saswata Mehta arrived at dusk, his suitcase in one hand and a stack of crumpled manuscript pages in the other. The mansion stood like a forgotten relic—its yellowing façade blotched with moss, tall arched windows sealed shut, and wooden eaves sagging under decades of neglect. The gate creaked in protest as he pushed it open, a cry so human it made him pause.…
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Zoya Mirza Chapter 1: The Clocktower and the Chaos The air in Old Delhi is not something you breathe—it’s something you step into, like a dense fog of memory, spice, and relentless sound. I surfaced from the depths of the Chawri Bazar metro station like a diver breaching the past. The escalator groaned under the weight of a hundred lives and then spat me out into a world that felt more alive than anything I had known in years. The street outside buzzed like an old radio dialed between frequencies. Rickshaws honked as if they were in competition. Men with…
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Mohit Khanna The Lift Between Floors The first time Tara met Armaan, it was in the lift of the Raaga Residency complex. She lived on the ninth floor with her investment-banker husband. He lived on the fifth, newly moved in, unmarried—or so she thought. The air was heavy that evening, monsoon rain clinging to the glass doors, the scent of damp earth clashing with his cologne. Woody, expensive, dangerous. She pressed 9. He pressed 7. She noticed. “You’re new here,” she said, not looking directly at him. “And you’ve noticed already?” His smile was lazy, the kind that made you…
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Riya Chowdhury 1 The desert had its own kind of silence—thick, stretched thin across salt plains like an invisible cloth drawn over the earth, humming just below the level of human hearing. In the small town of Khavda, where every house was painted with fading lime and the wind carried more memory than sand, seventeen-year-old Payel Deshmukh sat cross-legged on her rooftop, her telescope tilted toward the night. She knew the names of the stars like old friends—Betelgeuse, Rigel, Vega, and Altair—and she whispered them under her breath like prayers. The townspeople called her “Tārāwali Ladki,” the star girl who…
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Ashutosh Roy Chapter 1: The Book and the Bench It had just rained in Delhi. Not the torrential kind that makes the streets flood and autos stall in mid-traffic tantrums. This was the soft drizzle that left the air smelling like soaked earth and wild chameli. The Yamuna River, still and quiet, flowed beside the narrow walkway behind the old college canteen—forgotten by most, except for those who loved the quiet. Ayaan didn’t particularly love the quiet. But he had begun showing up here on Sundays, almost ritualistically, like someone trying to form a habit out of peace. He was…
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Pranit Biswas Chapter 1: The train to Shimla groaned like an old man remembering youth, dragging itself along curved mountain tracks as fog pressed against its windows. Dr. Amit Roy sat alone near the back, a well-worn leather satchel tucked beside him and a battered paperback of The Old Man and the Sea unopened in his lap. The book had been his travel companion through many stations of life—marriage, fatherhood, heartbreak—but today he couldn’t bring himself to read. His fingers traced the creases on its cover absently as snow flurried outside in brief gusts. After eighteen years of teaching literature…
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Rhea Solace Part 1 There was nothing extraordinary about the small writing desk by the window—except perhaps, how it held hundreds of lives within it. Neatly stacked ivory paper, a brass fountain pen with fading gold initials, and a mug forever stained with tea. This was where Aanya wrote love stories… not hers, but everyone else’s. Every day, she sat with requests. A line from a shy lover, a paragraph from an apologetic husband, a mother trying to bridge years of silence with her daughter. Aanya wrote letters for them all. Anonymous, elegant, and filled with emotions she had never…
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Debdeep Banerjee 1 The bell rang like a verdict, harsh and metallic, echoing across the sterile halls of Vidya Central Institute-93. Pratik Sen remained seated, hunched over a tablet that had just blinked red, displaying the same damning notification he had seen every day since he was old enough to read: “Rank: 1000000 – Terminal Track.” Around him, the classroom buzzed with muted chatter as other students filed out, their faces glowing with quiet pride or sullen resignation, depending on where their numbers fell. Rank was everything here. From seat placements to lunch portions, from air-conditioned exam halls to future…
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Anirudh Shenoy Part 1: The First Page It was a quiet Sunday evening when she first walked into the Indigo Reads Café on Church Street, the new venue for Bangalore’s freshly launched Silent Book Club. Outside, the sky threatened rain but held itself back, as if not to disturb the pages yet to be turned. Inside, the café smelled of roasted Arabica and old wood, its corners filled with tall green plants and even taller bookshelves. The event board near the counter read “Silent Book Club – 5 PM Onwards,” written in neat, cursive chalk. She glanced around, her tote…