Rudra Sen The road to Blackmoor village twisted like a serpent through the mist, narrow and slick with rain, the headlights of Daniel’s car cutting pale arcs across hedgerows that seemed to lean in and whisper as he drove. He was late, later than he had planned, and the countryside had that unnerving quality of stretching endlessly, as though he were circling the same patch of earth again and again. His editor had sent him here on what was meant to be a small piece—an article on forgotten English villages, the ones people left behind when the railways stopped running…
-
-
Rudra Ahuja Chapter 1: The Pen in the Attic It was the last stall at the farthest corner of Daryaganj Sunday Book Bazaar—the kind of place where stories go to retire. Beneath yellowing tarpaulin sheets and towers of old files, Neil Das spotted a flicker of brass. He had walked this market a hundred times before. But this morning, the damp October air had pulled him toward the stall like a tug on a forgotten thread. A wrinkled shopkeeper sat cross-legged amidst dusty encyclopedias and cracked leather briefcases. Neil’s eyes drifted past the usual—old college yearbooks, British-era maps, a few…