• English - Romance

    Monsoon Letters

    Neel Arora Chapter 1. The rain came early that morning, the kind that thudded against the glass panes like soft drumbeats played by invisible fingers, and the Mumbai skyline, always blurred by smog, looked gentler beneath the wash of monsoon grey. Inside the sleek glass-and-concrete confines of the Bandra Reclamation office, the world was dry, clinical, fluorescent-lit, and buzzing with the soft hum of deadlines. Aarav Mehta didn’t notice the rain at first. He barely noticed anything outside the four walls of his office anymore. At thirty-two, he had earned the corner space with the sea view, the massive teak…

  • English - Horror

    Lantern Keeper

    R. A. Mirza  1 The narrow winding roads of Himachal twisted like ancient serpents through the towering pine forests as the jeep rolled into the remote village of Kharota, nestled quietly on the edge of forgotten maps. The air was thinner here, tinged with the sharp scent of resin and mystery, as if each gust carried whispers of old gods and unshed secrets. The group of four researchers—Dr. Kavya Sen, a cultural anthropologist from Delhi University; Raghav Mehta, a young videographer with an eye for the eerie; Tanya Verma, a mythologist obsessed with Himalayan folklore; and Arjun Das, a skeptical…

  • English - Suspense

    The Dockside Cipher

    Rohan Mehta Part 1  The rains had returned to Mumbai like an old enemy. Not with the promise of relief, but the murky stench of trouble. It was just past midnight when Inspector Alisha Ranade pulled up in her rain-splashed black Bolero outside the abandoned Crawford Mills compound. Her phone buzzed again—a message from headquarters: “Body found. Possibly political.” She hated those two words. In her experience, “possibly political” meant either someone too powerful was involved or someone too disposable had been silenced. The scene was taped off by a lone constable who looked more scared than soaked. “Inside,” he…

  • English - Suspense

    The Final Frequency

    Karan Dev Chapter 1: The Last Broadcast The rain tapped steadily on the windowpane of Arya Thomas’s seventh-floor apartment, a constant rhythm that sounded like code—dots and dashes tapping out some forgotten message. The city of Solace—ironically named—was still half-awake beyond the misted glass, skyscrapers glowing in haze and neon, while below, the hum of wet tires and distant sirens filled the night. Arya sat hunched over her desk, a condenser mic tilted toward her, headphones wrapped tightly around her ears, her voice low and smooth as she whispered into the night. “This is Arya Thomas, and you’re listening to…

  • Crime - English

    The Last Case of Inspector Rao

    Rajiv Deshmukh Chapter 1: Thirteen Days Inspector Devendra Rao stared at the brass nameplate on his desk as if it were a stranger. The letters gleamed in the late afternoon sun—bold, authoritative, and now irrelevant. “Inspector D. Rao – Crime Branch.” Thirteen days. That’s all that remained before this title would be reduced to a fading memory and a dusty plaque on the wall of a two-bedroom apartment in Dadar. His colleagues were already taking bets on how long he’d last before boredom pulled him back in—if not officially, then at least as a “consultant.” The only paperwork on his…

  • English - Horror

    The Black Thread

    Aaryan Sen Amaan Khan believed in facts. As a forensic journalist, he had covered everything from organ trafficking in Jaipur to political assassinations in Bihar. His articles were precise, unflinching, and deeply respected—because Amaan believed there was always a logical explanation behind every mystery. That belief began to crack the day he arrived in Bhimtara, a forgotten village cradled in the Satpura foothills. It started with a death—officially recorded as cardiac arrest. The deceased: District Magistrate Nalin Jadhav, age 41, no prior medical conditions, found slumped over his desk in the government guest house. But it wasn’t the death that…

  • English - Travel

    The Forgotten Tribes of the Northeast

    Prithvi Mukhopadhyay Chapter 1: The aircraft trembled slightly as it descended through dense rainclouds. From the tiny window, Armaan Roy caught fleeting glimpses of green — endless forests, swollen rivers, and distant ridgelines lost in mist. The runway came into view like a wet ribbon stretched across the wild earth. With a final lurch, the wheels kissed the ground, water spraying out in silver arcs beneath them. Armaan inhaled deeply, as if trying to drink in the unfamiliar air through the tiny vent. Even inside the cabin, he could smell the monsoon — wet earth, woodsmoke from distant fires, and…

  • Crime - English

    The Last Witness

    Aditya Nandan. Part 1: The Opening Argument The judge’s gavel landed with a thud, cutting through the low murmur of the packed Delhi courtroom. Justice Arunabh Sen, silver-haired and unsmiling, adjusted his glasses and surveyed the room with the calm of a man who had seen too much and believed too little. “This court is now in session for the State versus Aryan Khanna,” he said. “Charged under IPC Section 302—murder. Let us proceed.” At the prosecution bench, Senior Public Prosecutor Asha Gautam stood up. She was in her early forties, sharply dressed in a black silk saree and an…

  • Comedy - English

    Flatmates and Other Natural Disasters

    Aarav Malik The Flatmate Interview from Hell Neil Patel had never considered himself particularly unlucky. He had a stable job, a reliable (if slightly moldy) flat in West London, and a wardrobe that was ninety percent navy blue. But when his longtime flatmate Raj moved out—citing “creative differences” after one too many passive-aggressive notes about unwashed dishes—Neil found himself diving headfirst into a living nightmare: interviewing strangers from the internet. It began on a Tuesday. Neil had placed a straightforward ad on a flatmate website. No smokers, no party animals, no pets that bark, bite, or recite Sanskrit. Just a…

  • English - Fiction

    Ashes of Tomorrow

    Rani Westwood Part 1 The sky had not been blue in seventeen years. People still talked about the last clear morning in whispers, like it was a folk tale passed down through ash-coated generations. They said the light used to feel warm, not searing. That clouds were once white and fluffy, not permanent smears of smoke stretching from one side of the horizon to the other. But I was born three years after the Last Sky, so to me, the world had always been grey. I adjusted the oxygen mask over my face and tightened the seals of my jacket.…