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…
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Arjun Malhotra Episode 1: The Edge of the Unknown The forest began where the last fields ended, as though the earth itself had drawn a line that man dared not cross. From a distance, it looked like a wall of green, dense and silent, but up close it was something stranger—something alive. The trees seemed to lean forward, their branches arching over the boundary, their leaves whispering secrets to the wind. Beyond lay shadows layered so thick that sunlight was reduced to a dim, trembling glow, like the last breath of a candle in a storm. Aranya stood at this…
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অৰুণাভ দাস নদীৰ কাষৰ জোনাকী লাচিমুখ গাঁওখনৰ বুকুত, যেন এক আঁচলত গুজি থোৱা ৰত্নৰ দৰে, গুজি আছে হেমধাৰা নদী। সেই নদীখনৰ পানী শীতল, পানীৰ কলকলনিত যেন যুগ যুগীয়া সুৰেৰে গাওঁজনক জপাই ৰাখিছে। দুয়োফালে বাঁহৰ বন, মাজে মাজে মহুলী আৰু কদম ফুলৰ গন্ধেৰে ভৰা হাওঁৱা। হেমধাৰা কেৱল পানীৰ ধাৰা নহয়—ই গাওঁবাসীৰ জীৱনৰ মাৰ্গ, সপোনৰ কণ্ঠ, আৰু লোকগাথাৰ আঁতুৰঘৰ। লাচিমুখত একো মহান ৰাজবংশৰ ঘৰ নাছিল, একো বৈভৱময় ইমাৰত নাছিল। তথাপি গাঁওখনৰ লোকৰ বুকুত গর্ব আছিল, কিয়নো তেওঁলোকে বিশ্বাস কৰিছিল—তেওঁলোকৰ জীৱনক এখন গোপন শক্তিয়ে আগবঢ়াই যায়। সেয়া আছিল হেমধাৰাৰ কন্যাৰ গাথা। গাঁওখনত এজন মানুহ আছিল—হৰিদাস বৰুৱা। অতি সাধাৰণ মানুহ, কাষত ধানজমি, সৰু ঘৰ,…
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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…
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Aneesha Marak Part 1: The Broken Route It was past nine when the cab took the sharp bend near Cherrapunji, the headlights cutting through curtains of mist that clung to the hills like secrets. The driver muttered something in Khasi, tapped the dashboard thrice, and the engine made a coughing sound that didn’t feel reassuring. Inside the cab sat three people who hadn’t planned to meet each other—much less rely on one another. But Meghalaya, with her moody skies and rain-polished roads, has a way of bending fate like bamboo in the wind. Anaya, curled up in the backseat with…