Tanya Mirza Aarohi Banerjee stepped out of the Yellow Line metro at Chawri Bazaar, her DSLR slung across her shoulder, and the scent of old Delhi wrapped around her like a memory. The alleys of Chandni Chowk felt alive — bursting with honking rickshaws, the cry of vendors, and the timeless aroma of parathas sizzling in ghee. To her, this was Delhi at its rawest, its most beautiful. A photography student from Kolkata, Aarohi had arrived in Delhi a month ago. She found the city’s chaos oddly comforting. Her current college project was titled “The Soul of Delhi,” and today,…

Bina Basu 1 Rain drummed steadily on the windows of the small coastal hotel, a rhythm that seemed both ancient and intimate. Sahana felt its pulse in her bones as she stepped off the worn bus that had carried her from the city, her travel bag heavy in her hand. The monsoon had arrived early that year, draping the sea in a silvery mist that blurred the horizon. It was as though the ocean itself was cloaked in memory, a mirror reflecting every unspoken ache and longing that had lain dormant within her for years. Widowed five years ago, Sahana…

Ranya Farooqi Whispers Among Books The Sunday air in Daryaganj always carried the scent of ink and rust. Mixed with dust, sweat, and chai, it was a perfume uniquely Delhi — heady, stubborn, and lingering. Arjun knew this scent like an old lover. It had clung to his college years, to mornings spent flipping through yellowing books and the poetry of forgotten names. He was here again, like every other Sunday, weaving through the chaos of the book market. His fingers brushed spines like skin — soft leather, brittle paper, some creased with life. Thirty-eight and teaching literature at a…

Rohini Joshi   Chapter 1: Roots and Promises The sun dipped low over the village of Devgaon, painting the fields in shades of gold and rust. A warm breeze rustled through the sugarcane, carrying with it the scent of ripe earth and distant cooking fires. Birds chirped their way home, and somewhere near the temple pond, a cow mooed lazily. Life here was as steady and grounded as the banyan trees that marked the village borders. It was in this quiet, timeless corner of Maharashtra that Aanya and Kabir’s story began—beneath the sheltering branches of an old mango tree. The…