• English - Young Adult

    The Last Broadcast

    September 12, 2025 - By 

    Ayesha Malhotra Part 1 – Silence After the Flare The desert had always been quiet, but after the flare, silence was something else entirely. It pressed against the windows, settled on the roof tiles, thickened the air between words. Before, there had been the hum of ceiling fans, the tinny burst of radio jingles from the next-door grocer’s shop, the shriek of kids playing cricket on the dust-patched street. But the morning after the sky burned orange and green, none of that returned. The fans sat useless. The grocer closed his shutters. The cricket bat lay abandoned in the sand.…

  • English - Young Adult

    When the Bell Rings

    September 9, 2025 - By 

    Emily D’Souza I first noticed Mira on a Monday the way you notice something you’ve lost and then convince yourself it had been there all along. She was at the far end of the corridor, standing in a square of sunlight from the skylight, hair catching dust motes. I was fifteen, new to St. Augustine’s, and learning to walk like I’d always belonged. Mostly, it meant walking fast and looking at blue pinboards, not people’s faces. It was assembly day. The principal preached punctuality, the choir missed a high note, and the sports captain reminded everyone to return cricket balls.…

  • English - Young Adult

    The Last Locker

    August 27, 2025 - By 

    Maya Kapoor The Key in the Notebook The day it happened was one of those sticky afternoons when the corridors of Crestwood High smelled faintly of chalk dust and disinfectant, and my hands were still ink-stained from the chemistry exam I had nearly failed. I remember because the bell had just rung, scattering students like restless birds, and I was still sitting in my seat, stuffing my calculator and a half-finished answer sheet into my bag, when something thin and metallic slipped from between the pages of my notebook and clinked against the floor. At first I thought it was…

  • English - Young Adult

    The Infinite Playlist of Ruhi Sen

    August 26, 2025 - By 

    Aanya Deshpande Part 1 – Rooftop Strings The city was heavy with heat that night, even though the monsoon had broken weeks ago. Ruhi Sen pushed open the creaky terrace door of their old two-storied house in Ballygunge, her guitar clutched tightly against her chest. Downstairs, her father’s voice still echoed from dinner, rising above the clatter of utensils: “Focus, Ruhi. No more distractions. IIT is not a joke.” Her mother had nodded in silent agreement. But here, on the rooftop, she was free. The sky hung low, thick with stars blurred by smog, and the distant hum of traffic…

  • English - Young Adult

    The Last Bench Love

    August 22, 2025 - By 

    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…

  • English - Young Adult

    The Summer Pact

    August 21, 2025 - By 

    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…

  • English - Young Adult

    The Sky Between Buildings

    August 21, 2025 - By 

    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…

  • English - Young Adult

    Chai & Chalk Dust

    August 12, 2025 - By 

    Ananya Pradhan One The mist clung thickly to the hills of Darjeeling that September evening, wrapping the sleepy town in a soft, silver-gray blanket. Outside the gates of St. Augustine’s Hill School, where ancient pines swayed gently in the cool breeze, Anaya Gurung tended the modest tea stall her mother had set up years ago. The worn wooden counter was streaked with years of spilled chai and chalk dust, a testament to its humble history. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the streetlamps flickered on, casting pools of warm yellow light on the wet cobblestones. Anaya moved with quiet…

  • English - Young Adult

    The Firefly Pact

    August 8, 2025 - By 

    Isla Verma Mira Patel wasn’t expecting to find anything interesting in a house that smelled like mothballs and mildew. Her grandfather’s old bungalow in Elmsworth was the kind of place that felt stuck between timelines—one foot in 1973, the other refusing to acknowledge anything after dial-up internet. Still, here she was, sleeves rolled up, armed with cardboard boxes, and guilt-tripped by her father into helping him “sort things out.” “Start with the attic,” he’d said, handing her a flashlight like they were preparing for a cave dive instead of old furniture and dead spiders. The attic door groaned like something…

  • English - Young Adult

    Before the Sky Falls

    August 6, 2025 - By 

    Saanvi A. Menon The rain started sometime after midnight, stealthy at first, tapping like fingers on the tin awning outside Mira’s fourth-floor window. She didn’t get up to look. Mumbai rain, especially in late June, had a way of arriving without ceremony but leaving a trail. The fan above her bed slowed, hiccuped, and then stopped altogether. Silence followed, thick as wet wool. The power was out. Again. She lay still, waiting for the noise to return — a whirr, a click, the hallway inverter kicking in — but the darkness held. Beyond her shuttered window, thunder cracked the sky…