• English - Romance

    Whispers of Pinewood

    September 9, 2025 - By 

    Aarushi Sen The road curved like a tired snake up the hillside, each turn opening to glimpses of mist rolling down the pines, and Mira Kapoor sat in the back seat of the rattling jeep clutching her bag as if it might steady her heart, wondering for the hundredth time if she was making a mistake by coming here at all, leaving behind the familiar noise of Delhi, the polished glass office towers, the people who used to smile at her in corridors but no longer looked her in the eye after she had broken off her engagement with Rohan,…

  • English - Romance

    Check-Out After Midnight

    August 7, 2025 - By 

    Saanvi Kapoor One Nikita stepped into the lobby of the boutique hotel in Bangalore, heels tapping softly against the marble floor as the glass doors whispered shut behind her. The rain had stopped moments ago, leaving the air thick with petrichor and neon reflections from the street. She wore her silk blouse slightly unbuttoned, blazer casually draped over her arm, and a weekend bag slung over one shoulder. For once, she wasn’t checking into a five-star chain with her husband or clients. This was her idea, her plan—one night away from courtrooms, colleagues, and the quiet resentment that had begun…

  • English - Romance

    A Hundred Letters North

    August 5, 2025 - By 

    Isla Verma The Letter in the Book It was a Sunday shaped like rain. The city hadn’t yet decided if it wanted to pour or pretend, and Anaya stood under the torn yellow canopy of a second-hand bookstall near Churchgate, letting her fingers glide across spines of the forgotten. The old man who ran the stall smoked a cigarette with one hand and flipped through pages with the other, not even looking up as she pulled a faded copy of Wuthering Heights from the stack. The pages were frayed at the edges, browned like toast. Anaya loved that. She liked…

  • English - Romance

    Skin Deep, Soul Deeper

    June 27, 2025 - By 

    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…

  • Hindi - प्रेम कहानियाँ

    चाय और वो पुराना स्टेशन

    June 22, 2025 - By 

    नीलेश राघव स्टेशन वही था—प्लेटफॉर्म नंबर तीन, पुरानी लकड़ी की बेंच, जंग खाया पीला बोर्ड, और सामने वही चायवाला, जो कभी मेरी कॉलेज की सुबहों की शुरुआत करता था। अब भी वो पुराने केतली में चाय उबाल रहा था, जैसे वक्त ने उसे छुआ तक नहीं। मैंने पास जाकर कहा, “तू अभी भी यहाँ चाय बेचता है?” वो चौंक गया, फिर मुस्कराया, “अरे भैया… नीलेश भैया ना? आप तो… कितना साल हो गया आपको देखे हुए!” “बीस,” मैंने कहा, “करीब बीस साल।” उसने सिर हिलाया, “पर चाय वही है। पीजिएगा?” मैंने पाँच का सिक्का बढ़ा दिया। उसने कुल्हड़ में चाय…

  • Assamese

    নিষিদ্ধ নীলাকাশ

    June 21, 2025 - By 

    অভিজিৎ হাজৰিকা পর্ব ১ ধৰাপাত শিখা শেষ কৰোতেই নীলমণি চকু ওপৰলৈ তুলি খিৰিকিৰ বাহিৰে চাই থাকিল। কলেজৰ পৰা আহি চিৰিকিয়া ধুৱাঁ উঠে চাহৰ কাপ এটা লৈ তেওঁ ওলাইছিলে বাৰাণ্ডালৈ। সদায়ৰ দৰে আজি পূব দিশৰ হালধীয়া পোহৰে তেওঁৰ কপালত পৰিছিল, যেন কোনো এজন সৰু ল’ৰাই ৰং তুলিকাৰে তেওঁৰ মুখত আলফুলে নেৰাই দিছে। আজিও চৌদিশে চুপচাপ, কেৱল মুকলি গৰম বতাহ আৰু একেটা চিন্তাৰ শব্দ—ইমান দিন হ’ল, আকাশ সেউজীয়া কিয় নহ’ল? আকাশটো সেউজীয়া নহ’ল কিয় বুলি তেওঁ ভাবি থাকোঁতেই ফোনখন ভাইব্ৰেট কৰি উঠিল। স্ক্ৰিনত এখন নাম পোহৰ পেলাই উঠিল—”ঋষৱ কলিং…” কিবা এটা ভিতৰত টিপ খাই উঠিল। তিনিদিন ধৰি কথা নাই। কথা নহয় মানেই…

  • English - Romance

    Between Lectures

    June 13, 2025 - By 

    A. K. Menon It started with a spilled cup of coffee and a Shakespeare quote. Dr. Aanya Roy, Head of Literature at St. Helena’s College, was pacing across the staff lounge, a worn-out copy of King Lear in one hand and a cappuccino in the other, when Dr. Kabir Mehta entered, unsuspecting, balancing his own mug and a stack of philosophy journals. Aanya turned mid-step and collided with him. Coffee splashed on both of them, papers flew, and silence echoed—before she muttered, “Nothing will come of nothing. Speak again.” Her lips twisted in dry amusement. Kabir blinked, then grinned. “Is…