Soma Sen Chapter 1: The Ink That Blurs Souvik Khurana hated the sound of pens scratching against paper. To most people, it was nothing more than a background noise—a classroom lullaby of sorts—but to him, it was a cruel reminder of how far behind he always was. The letters on the page swam before his eyes, shifting, twisting, smudging themselves into shapes that looked like words but refused to be read. The old classroom in North Campus smelled of musty books, spilled coffee, and ambition. Dust danced in the afternoon light pouring in through the broken blinds of the Arts…
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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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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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Pulak Mitra 1 The light in Tripti Sethi’s room wasn’t sunlight—it was ring light. The walls weren’t pink by default; they were painted with PR-sent pastel samples from a sustainable decor brand that wanted to look “soft but aspirational.” At 17, Tripti had mastered the art of the illusion: flawless hair curled with a borrowed straightener, DIY eyelash extensions she stuck on with half a prayer, and an Instagram grid so coordinated it looked like a magazine. Her followers—75,208 and counting—believed she was living the dream. But just behind her tripod, her bed was piled with chemistry worksheets, her brother’s…
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Aria D’Souza The Letter in the Library Ayush wasn’t looking for anything that day—not really. It was the kind of Tuesday that smelled of old paper and felt like chalk dust on your skin. The school library was nearly empty, just as he liked it. A few juniors whispered near the computer terminals, someone yawned into a reference book, and the librarian dozed with a magazine on her lap. Ayush wandered between the shelves like a ghost with no one to haunt. He didn’t have many friends, not the kind who waited for him at lunch or texted him stupid…
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Advika Nair Chapter 1: The morning bell rang with the familiar sharp clang that echoed across the corridors of St. Mary’s High School, announcing the beginning of another Wednesday, another series of classes, and another chance for students to shuffle into their assigned seats like the pieces of a living, breathing jigsaw puzzle. In Class 10-B, the usual rush was on—bags thudding onto desks, notebooks flipping open, and voices rising in a soft chaos of teenage chatter. Amid it all, Riya Sen hurried into the room, her hair tied in a slightly crooked ponytail, her blue-and-white uniform neatly ironed, and…
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Ira Chatterjee Chapter 1: The Summer Arrival The train pulled into Windmere Station with a long metallic sigh, as if reluctant to stop in a town so still it barely seemed to breathe. Sophie McAllister pressed her nose to the smudged glass of the window, trying to catch a glimpse of the place she’d be calling home for the next eight weeks. All she saw were pine trees, cloaked in mist, standing like silent watchers on the hills. She didn’t want to be here. Not in this forgotten town with no cinemas, no internet, and certainly no friends. London was…
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Shreya Gupta The attic was a treasure trove of memories. Dust particles danced in the sunlight filtering through the small window. Emma opened an old box labeled “Summer 2010” and smiled as she sifted through its contents. Amidst the photographs and trinkets, a familiar shape caught her eye. A paper plane, slightly crumpled but intact. Unfolding it carefully, she read the faded words: “No matter where we go, we’ll always have this.” Her heart skipped a beat. Memories of lazy summer days, laughter, and whispered secrets under the old oak tree flooded back. “Jake,” she whispered. — Willow Creek was…