Pritam Sarkar Chapter 1 – The Arrival at Kumartuli unfolds with the vivid sensory chaos of Kolkata’s legendary artisan quarter. Seventeen-year-old Tanya steps into the narrow, winding lanes of Kumartuli, her senses immediately overwhelmed by the vibrant intensity of the place. The air is thick with the earthy scent of wet clay, mingling with turpentine, oil paints, and the faint tang of incense from nearby shrines. The rhythmic tapping and molding of hands on clay create a hypnotic symphony, broken intermittently by the calls of vendors and the chatter of apprentices. Towering idols of Durga, in various stages of completion,…
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Radhika Sharma 1 Ananya Sharma’s life, to any outsider, looked like something that could be wrapped neatly in a report card or a family photo framed in the drawing room. Sixteen, sharp-eyed, with her hair always tied back in a disciplined ponytail and her school uniform creased to perfection, she seemed to glide through her Delhi school corridors with the quiet confidence of someone who had it all figured out. Teachers adored her for her flawless homework submissions and her articulate speeches in debating competitions; classmates respected her, even envied her, for the effortless way she seemed to win trophies…
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Drishan Sengupta 1 Every morning, the Yellow Line of the Delhi Metro was a theater of hurried footsteps, weary eyes, and the rustle of bags pressing against metal poles. Aarav Malhotra boarded the train with the air of someone who did not belong to the chaos around him—his crisp white shirt tucked neatly into tailored trousers, his AirPods whispering music from some international chart-topper, his fingers idly scrolling through the latest Instagram updates. He stood tall, a brand-conscious silhouette amid the bustle, one sneakered foot tapping in faint irritation at the crowd pressing too close. At the opposite end of…
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Nikhil Pandey 1 The sun hung low over Ahmedabad, spilling its amber glow across the rooftops that seemed to stretch endlessly into the horizon. Every terrace was alive with color, movement, and laughter, the city preparing for the festival of Uttarayan. High above, kites of all shapes and hues fought against the playful gusts, dancing, dipping, and climbing as though the sky itself had been turned into a battlefield of dreams. Fifteen-year-old Aarav Patel leaned against the cool wall of his family’s terrace, the hum of the city below and the chorus of voices above filling his ears. His eyes…
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Ipsita Sharma One Kunal Malhotra sat at his cluttered study desk, a half-finished math assignment spread before him, the pages filled with doodles instead of equations. His hair was messy, his eyes half-closed, but the frustration boiling inside him refused to let him sleep. Tomorrow was another Monday—another week of endless homework, boring classes, and that dreadful morning assembly where students stood like robots reciting prayers they barely believed in. He opened his phone, intending to scroll aimlessly through memes until sleep took over, but something inside him snapped. Instead of laughing at someone else’s jokes, he turned the camera…
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Niharika Gupta Chapter 1: Dreams Grounded Rohan Mehra sat cross-legged on the floor of his small Bangalore bedroom, his sketchbook balanced carefully on his knees. The hum of the ceiling fan above mingled with the faint noise of traffic from the streets outside, but he barely noticed; his world existed inside the fine pencil lines and rough outlines of wings and engines. Each page of his notebook bore traces of his obsession—wing spans carefully measured, landing gears penciled in with painstaking detail, and the occasional coffee stain from late-night work when he had refused to let sleep interrupt his imagination.…
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Arunesh Roy The last bell at school had just rung when Ananya slipped through the crowded lanes of College Street, a place she often escaped to when the chatter of her classmates felt too sharp for her quiet thoughts. The street was alive with its usual symphony—hawkers calling out offers, the clatter of trams in the distance, and the faint whiff of roasted peanuts mixing with the musty perfume of old books. Here, she felt both invisible and at home. Booksellers leaned against their stalls, surrounded by mountains of second-hand volumes stacked in haphazard towers that looked as though they…
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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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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…