Sourav Moitra One Twilight always made Juhu Beach look like a painting someone had brushed in haste—the sky neither day nor night, streaked with orange fading into violet. The waves came and went with their tired rhythm, dragging along whispers of the city, mixing them with the smell of roasted corn and sea salt. Amid the children chasing plastic balls and the couples leaning into each other as if the world had shrunk into just two bodies, sixteen-year-old Viraj Mehta sat cross-legged, his toes buried in the sand, staring at the horizon. He often came here after school, not because…
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Sayantan Bramha One The evening air in Kolkata’s metro station carried its usual blend of dust, damp concrete, and faint echoes of hurried footsteps. Soumya’s heart pounded as he stood with a spray can hidden inside his backpack, waiting for the crowd to thin. Riya leaned against a pillar, eyes sharp and excited, tapping her phone screen nervously while pretending to scroll. Sam and Tanya were already whispering about colors, their hushed giggles bouncing off the walls. Imran, tall and quiet, kept scanning the platform with the kind of vigilance that made him look older than his years. For weeks…
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Mira Dutta Episode 1 – The First Bell The school bell rang with a shrill clang that sliced through the sleepy morning air of St. Paul’s Academy. It was the first day of the new academic session, and the classrooms smelled faintly of chalk dust, newly polished wooden desks, and the restless anticipation of students forced back into the rhythm of routine after a long summer. Arjun sat at the corner desk, last row, his head bent low as if the grain of the desk itself demanded his complete attention. He wasn’t shy in the ordinary sense, but silence came…
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Amrita Pandey 1 It was late evening in Karol Bagh, the streets buzzing with the usual chaos of cycle rickshaws, honking cars, and the smell of samosas frying at the corner shop. Ananya Sharma sat at her study table, biology notes spread across her desk, highlighter uncapped but idle. Her phone buzzed with the familiar chime of a WhatsApp message. Expecting it to be her best friend Neha, she unlocked the screen, only to find a text from an unknown number: “Bro, don’t forget tomorrow’s test.” She frowned. Her own mock test was scheduled two days later, so clearly this…
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Maya Kapoor First Bell of Summer The last day of school always felt like a door being slammed shut and another thrown wide open. The classrooms still smelled faintly of chalk dust and overheated computers, the air buzzing with the kind of restless energy that only came when you knew you wouldn’t be trapped here again for another three months. I shoved my history notebook deep into my bag, even though I’d never open it again. Around me, voices rose in a mixture of laughter and relief. “Freedom!” someone shouted from the back row, and it set off a chain…
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Kyra D’Souza Part 1 – The Rooftop Silence The city never really sleeps, but there are these odd hours when even the traffic feels like it’s breathing slow. Three in the morning, maybe four. You don’t check the clock because if you do, you’ll be reminded that life is running faster than you are, and you’re not ready to feel guilty again. So you let time blur, let the empty streets below hum like background music. On the rooftop of an old building where the paint has peeled into random maps, I sit with my knees pulled up, cigarette unlit…
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Neha Banerjee The Rooftop That Wasn’t There Aarav didn’t mean to miss the last train. It just happened, like most of his mistakes—small, accidental, and irreversible. One late night line of code at work turned into another, and another, until he looked up at the time glowing on his cracked phone screen and realized the metro gates would already be shuttering. He left the office anyway, stepping out into a city that was still awake but somehow lonelier for it, the neon lights buzzing like a swarm of mechanical fireflies. The streets of New Delhi after midnight weren’t empty; they…
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Rahul Malhotra One The summer sun was already high when Rohan, Anya, Kabir, and Tara found themselves assigned to the same group for their history project, a mundane school task about the “lost traditions of Himachal.” At first, they treated it with typical teenage indifference, expecting a few hours of research in the library and a quick, perfunctory presentation. Rohan, with his love for photography, suggested documenting old artifacts in the town; Kabir, always the skeptic, rolled his eyes at the thought of dusty legends; Tara, the organized one, insisted on interviews with the elders; and Anya, curious and restless,…
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Prafulla Joshi 1 Aniket pressed his forehead against the bus window as the vehicle rumbled into Kota, Rajasthan, the fabled city of toppers and broken dreams. The streets seemed to throb with urgency—rows of coaching institutes with massive billboards promising “AIR 1 in IIT-JEE,” hostels stacked like pigeonholes with nervous teenagers peering out, chai stalls overflowing with students drowning themselves in caffeine and formulas. To any outsider, Kota looked like a factory assembly line where only marks mattered, and Aniket, fresh from his small hometown, felt like the newest product placed on the conveyor belt. His parents had waved him…
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Mahesh Shukla The first chapter, The Chawl Conspiracy, plunges readers into the vibrant chaos of a typical Mumbai chawl, where the scent of street food mingles with the hum of everyday life. Ro, a lanky teenager with a sharp tongue and an eye for mischief, slumps against the railing of the narrow balcony, lamenting the exorbitant IPL ticket prices. “Who even has the money for these stadiums?” he grumbles, tossing a cricket ball absentmindedly into the air. Around him, the chawl pulses with life—neighbors shouting from adjacent windows, a distant honking of rickshaws, and the occasional clang of utensils from…