• Crime - English - Suspense

    Crimson Monsoon

    August 16, 2025 - By 

    Ayan Mehta 1 The rains had not stopped for three days, and in the heart of Kochi’s old port area, the swollen waters had turned every lane into a stream. On the fourth morning, as the sky remained heavy with dark monsoon clouds, police were called to a derelict warehouse by the shore. Inside, half-submerged in knee-deep water, floated the body of a middle-aged man. His face was bloated, his shirt clung to his chest, and his trousers bore muddy stains. A faint smell of oil and damp wood filled the air, mixing with the pungent odour of decay beginning…

  • English - Suspense

    72 Hours in Bhopal

    August 10, 2025 - By 

    Kabir Anand 1 The old ceiling fan in Detective Inspector Meenal Rathore’s apartment made a dry, rhythmic creak as it turned in the summer night heat. She sat at her desk in a sleeveless kurta, case files spread open, a mug of cold tea forgotten at her elbow. The city outside was quieter than usual, its usual honking and scooter rumbles dulled at this hour. Her phone buzzed sharply at exactly midnight, the screen flashing an unknown number. She answered out of habit, expecting a drunken domestic complaint or a false alarm. Instead, a low, carefully measured voice came through…

  • English - Fiction - Suspense

    The Ledger of Ghosts

    August 9, 2025 - By 

    Kiran Vale Part 1: The Night Market I never wanted to be seen—not by cameras, not by shareholders, not by the people who carry their hunger like a country on their backs. If you’re looking for villains, you expect a face. I prefer vectors: numbers that travel when no one is watching. Call me what the blogs do—crypt billionaire, ghost tycoon, a rumor with a balance sheet. The words don’t matter. Only the ledgers do. Mumbai had just finished raining the sea back onto itself. From the penthouse window in BKC, the city looked like a pulsing circuit. My phone…

  • English - Suspense

    THE LAST MANUSCRIPT

    August 8, 2025 - By 

    Sanjana Iyer 1 The rain had settled into a soft, rhythmic patter against the windowpanes of Vidya Ranganathan’s rented flat in Bandra when the doorbell rang—a sound far too sudden for a Sunday morning steeped in the smell of filter coffee and undone to-do lists. She opened the door to find no one, only a brown-paper-wrapped parcel resting on the doormat, slightly damp, addressed in old-fashioned cursive to “Vidya Ranganathan, Editor (Retired), Mumbai.” No sender, no postage. Inside was a manuscript—pages browned and curling at the edges, parts of it scorched as if rescued from a fire. The title etched…

  • English - Suspense - Young Adult

    The Echo Between Seconds

    August 6, 2025 - By 

    Kael R. Nakamura The Man Who Didn’t Blink They say the moment you begin to lose time, the rest of you follows quietly. Elias Shin first noticed the distortion on a Thursday, when his breath no longer misted the mirror. It wasn’t a trick of light—he leaned closer, rubbed the glass, even switched rooms—but his reflection stared back unbothered, lips parting, chest rising, yet no fog, no condensation, no presence. Just a face suspended in permanence. He didn’t tell anyone. Not his father who still texted him riddles in Sanskrit, not his friend Jun who managed a Zen café near…

  • English - Suspense

    The Last Breath of Kalimpong

    August 6, 2025 - By 

    Aaryan Kaul Arrival in Mist The taxi wheezed up the winding hills like an asthmatic animal. Rain lashed against the glass. Ayesha Dhar sat in the backseat, her suitcase pressing against her knees, and stared out at the town rising through the fog. Kalimpong looked like it had never heard of sunlight. The trees bled mist. The road disappeared behind every bend. And everything smelled faintly of moss, burnt rubber, and regret. She hadn’t spoken much since leaving Siliguri. The driver didn’t press. He was like most people in the hills — weather-beaten, wary, and not particularly fond of questions.…

  • English - Suspense

    House Number 12

    August 2, 2025 - By 

    Part 1: The Welcome Plate The house was beige. The kind of beige that once meant hopeful whitewash but now wore the skin of resignation. Maya Joshi stood on the narrow cemented path that led to the cracked front door of House Number 12 in Samruddhi Bagh and wondered if resignation might actually be good for her. Her suitcase leaned against her calf, dusty from the auto ride. In her other hand, she held a brass key that had come wrapped in brown paper, handed by the landlord’s niece who spoke too softly and kept glancing over her shoulder, as…

  • English - Suspense

    Zero Hour at Shyamal Ghat

    July 27, 2025 - By 

    Achinta Guha 1 The last stretch of the journey into Shyamal Ghat was unnervingly silent. Rik Sen leaned forward in the jeep, squinting through the cracked windshield at the red dust road that seemed to curve endlessly between patches of dying sal trees and bamboo groves. The BSF checkpoint he had passed thirty minutes ago had been completely unmanned, its boom barrier half-lowered and swinging loosely in the wind. Even the guard dogs, usually the first to bark at a stranger, were absent. Overhead, a low grey sky hung like a lid, pressing down on the earth with a stagnant…

  • English - Suspense

    The Marble Lion of Bhowanipore

    July 26, 2025 - By 

    Shyamal Roy 1 The monsoon evening wrapped Bhowanipore in a damp silence, the kind that made the air feel heavy with memory. Trisha Dutta stood alone in her grandmother’s crumbling study, the scent of old paper and camphor oil curling into her nostrils. Dust motes floated like silent watchers in the fading light as she lifted the marble lion from the bookshelf, more out of habit than intention. Its weight surprised her—denser than it looked, colder too. Beneath it, tucked neatly in a groove in the wood, was a yellowed envelope sealed with wax that had long since cracked. Her…

  • English - Suspense

    A Silent Apartment in Andheri

    July 26, 2025 - By 

    Pranoy Kr. Shah 1 The rain had been falling since dawn, washing the dust off the skeletal towers of Andheri West as Vedant and Nayantara Chitnis entered their new home on the sixteenth floor. The apartment, 1604, was tastefully modern—a minimalistic shell waiting to be warmed by the presence of a newly married couple. The realtor had called it a “luxury compact,” but Naya thought it felt like a box floating in fog. White walls, dark wood paneling, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the blurred skyline of Mumbai gave it the illusion of space, though a strange emptiness clung to…