• English - Science Fiction

    The Memory Archive

    Neel Madhav Rao Chapter 1 – The Echo of Forgotten Names The city of New Delhi no longer breathed in silence. It hummed and pulsed like a living circuit board, streets strung with cables of light, towers crowned with translucent domes where advertisements and memory-feeds shimmered day and night. From Connaught Place to Dwarka, holographic billboards rippled against the heat-hazed sky, whispering promises to the millions who walked the streets below: Upload today. Secure tomorrow. Become more than flesh. Dr. Elara Vaughn had stopped listening to those voices long ago. She had seen too many patients who came clutching their…

  • English - Suspense - Young Adult

    The Echo Between Seconds

    Kael R. Nakamura The Man Who Didn’t Blink They say the moment you begin to lose time, the rest of you follows quietly. Elias Shin first noticed the distortion on a Thursday, when his breath no longer misted the mirror. It wasn’t a trick of light—he leaned closer, rubbed the glass, even switched rooms—but his reflection stared back unbothered, lips parting, chest rising, yet no fog, no condensation, no presence. Just a face suspended in permanence. He didn’t tell anyone. Not his father who still texted him riddles in Sanskrit, not his friend Jun who managed a Zen café near…

  • English - Fiction

    The Sound of One Leaf Falling

    Kenji Sora 1 The monk arrived just before dusk. The hill curved like a sleeping body, and at its crown stood the monastery: walls made of ancient cypress, dark with age, unpainted, without embellishment. It was said to be built by those who had forgotten the need for bricks. But the strange thing was that there was no gate. Not even a crack. Taro walked the perimeter twice. He touched the wood. It was warm, breathing, as though the wall itself was waiting. There was no sound from within, no chanting, no footsteps. Only the wind and the monk’s breathing,…

  • English - Suspense

    The Last Move

    Riaan D’Souza 1 Rain fell like memory over the shanty roofs of Dharavi, each drop tapping out a rhythm older than the city itself. Inside the dimly lit, one-room Dharavi Chess Club, the walls smelled of damp wood and resignation. But within that space, a quiet miracle unfolded every evening. His name was Arjun Menon—ten years old, barefoot, and already a mystery to the men who came here to play. The board was his world. The black and white squares did not care who you were outside their borders. They did not ask how much money your father made or…