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…
