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समीरा खान पहला भाग: वो शाम कुछ अलग थी दिल्ली की शामों में एक अजीब सी बात होती है। भीड़भाड़, ट्रैफिक, और गाड़ियों के हॉर्न के शोर के बीच भी कभी-कभी एक ऐसी ख़ामोशी उतरती है जो सीधे दिल तक पहुँचती है। ऐसा लगता है जैसे शहर थम सा गया हो, बस एक धीमा संगीत बचा हो – सड़क पर चलते लोगों के कदमों की थाप, कॉफी शॉप से आती भुनी हुई बीन्स की ख़ुशबू, और हवा में घुली एक अनकही बेचैनी। उस शाम भी कुछ ऐसा ही था – सिर्फ़ थोड़ा और खास। मैं, आरव मलिक, एक साधारण सा…
Aanya Dasgupta Part 1: The First Drizzle It wasn’t raining yet, not exactly. The sky was still in negotiation, heavy with clouds that hadn’t quite made up their mind. Nia sat by the window of a narrow Hauz Khas café, her fingers curled around a mug of lukewarm coffee, staring absently at her laptop screen. The jazz playing overhead was faint, the kind that seemed to belong in another decade, but it fit the dim light and cracked wooden tables. Her document was open but untouched. She was supposed to be working on a cover design for a new historical…
Maanvi Shah The conference room was too cold for summer, like most VC firms that mistook temperature control for control in general. Rhea Mehta crossed her legs, stilettos clicking lightly as she adjusted her seat, eyes steady on the projected slide deck. “You’re up,” she said, voice clipped, betraying no emotion. Across the glossy table stood a lanky young man in jeans and a faded hoodie—unapologetically casual in a room full of silk blouses and cufflinks. He stepped forward, opened his laptop, and clicked the remote. “My name is Arjun Iyer,” he began, his voice a blend of caffeine and…
Tara Mitra Part 1 — The First Gaze The sky over Goa wasn’t just blue—it was bold, like a canvas splashed with reckless abandon. Rhea stepped into the quiet artist residency nestled between palms and silence, her duffel slung over one shoulder and her thoughts as heavy as clay. She had come here to escape, to disconnect, to breathe. After fifteen years in Mumbai’s blistering art scene, she wanted to sculpt something not for a client or a gallery, but for herself. Something raw. Something honest. She wasn’t prepared to meet Ayan. He was leaning against the porch railing when…
Rhea Jha The conference room was freezing, or maybe it was just her hands that had turned cold. Aisha Kapoor adjusted the cuff of her blazer for the third time in five minutes, a nervous habit she thought she’d long abandoned. The team sat around the glass table, murmurs of speculation buzzing in the air—new leadership, potential restructuring, rumors about a merger. But all Aisha could focus on was the ticking clock on the wall, inching closer to ten. Her mind wasn’t in the present, not really. It was tangled somewhere between a finance report and a memory she had…