• Crime - English

    The Last Local

    Arjun Mehta Chapter 1 – The Final Departure The storm came in without warning, the kind of Mumbai monsoon that split the city into islands of survival. Streets drowned, taxis stalled like dying fish, and yet the lifeline of the city—the suburban trains—kept moving, dragging weary commuters through sheets of rain. At Churchgate station, the loudspeaker was already crackling about delays, though no one really listened. People had learned to treat delays like background noise, like the endless vendors selling umbrellas at triple their price. But on that night, when the rain lashed glass windows and lightning turned the platforms…

  • Crime - English

    No Place to Whisper

    Arvind Kashyap Part 1 – The Case Begins The rain had been coming down on Kolkata for three days straight, the kind that didn’t wash the city clean but left it sticky and smelling of wet dust, fish, and petrol. Arjun Sen sat in his office above a shuttered sweet shop on Bentinck Street, nursing his fourth cup of watery tea and wondering whether he should pawn his old Nikon camera. Once, he had been the man behind front-page scoops, the journalist who broke the stories others were too scared to touch. Now he chased cheating husbands through dimly lit…

  • English - Suspense

    NIGHT WITHOUT EXITS

    Aarav Mehta At 02:17 a.m., my phone rang with the same number that had stopped calling me eight years ago, a ghost of ten digits branded into the inside of my skull, and by the second ring my ribs felt like a locked drawer someone was rummaging through; I swiped, whispered “hello,” and heard only the soft clicking of a line held slightly open, air carrying the distant hum of traffic and a faint three-note whistle that I recognized from a forgotten Kolkata monsoon when an informant named R—had told me you could train a bird to return home but…

  • Crime - English

    The Locked Room in Mumbai

    Devraj Sinha The monsoon had not yet broken, but the clouds over Mumbai were swollen with a menace that seemed to mirror the city’s mood. At Marine Drive, waves pounded against the seawall as if the Arabian Sea was impatient with human stubbornness. Detective Arvind Rao, sitting in the back of a police jeep, felt the salt spray coat his face as they sped past the stretch of neon-lit hotels that fronted the coast. His phone buzzed again; Commissioner Kulkarni’s voice had been sharp and hurried. “Bollywood producer, big name, dead in a penthouse. Locked room. Media will have a…