দেবদীপ মুখার্জী পুরনো ভাড়াবাড়ি শহরের প্রান্তে, যেখানে নতুন উঁচু ফ্ল্যাটের দালান এখনও পুরোপুরি গজিয়ে ওঠেনি, সেখানেই একপাশে দাঁড়িয়ে আছে ভাঙাচোরা, শ্যাওলা-ঢাকা একটি ভাড়াবাড়ি। বাইরে থেকে দেখলেই মনে হয় বহুদিন কেউ থাকেনি। কিন্তু আসলে সেটা ভাড়ার জন্যই রাখা হয়েছে—সস্তা ভাড়া, সামান্য মেরামতির খরচে কেউ যদি সাহস করে থাকতে রাজি হয়। রুদ্র, সদ্য কলেজ শেষ করে সাংবাদিকতার চাকরিতে ঢোকা এক তরুণ, তার অফিসের কাছে একটা থাকার জায়গা চাইছিল। শহরের ভেতরে ভাড়া সামলানো সম্ভব হচ্ছিল না। ঠিক তখনই এক প্রপার্টি ডিলারের মাধ্যমে এই বাড়ির খোঁজ পায়। বাড়িটা দেখতে এসে প্রথমেই বুক কেঁপে উঠেছিল—কালচে দেওয়াল, কাঠের জানালায় ফাটল, ছাদের কোণে বাদুড় ঝুলে আছে। কিন্তু…
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তনয়া সেন বিকেলের শেষ আলোয় যখন সূর্য পাহাড়ের গায়ে ধূসর হয়ে গলে আসছিল, তখনই অরণ্যের বাস এসে পৌঁছল ছোট্ট গ্রামটায়। বাস বলতে আসলে একটা পুরোনো মিনিবাস, জানালার কাচ ঝাপসা, সিটের চামড়ায় ফাটল। গাঁয়ের নাম রাধাপুর—এমন নাম মানচিত্রে খুঁজলেও পাওয়া মুশকিল। তবু অরণ্যের মতো ফটোগ্রাফারের কাছে এই জায়গার টান ছিল অন্যরকম। শহরের কোলাহল, নামজাদা প্রকল্প, নামী রিসর্ট নয়—বরং অচেনা, অনাবিষ্কৃত জায়গার মধ্যে লুকোনো প্রকৃতির ছবি তুলতে তার সবচেয়ে ভালো লাগে। অরণ্যের কাঁধে ঝোলানো ব্যাগটা ভারী, ভিতরে ক্যামেরা, লেন্স, ত্রিপড আর কিছু নোটবুক। বাসস্ট্যান্ডে নেমে চারপাশে তাকাতেই সে বুঝল, এই গ্রাম যেন সময়ের বাইরে দাঁড়িয়ে আছে। কাঁচা রাস্তা, খড়ের চালের ঘর, বাচ্চাদের…
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Rahul Malhotra One The summer sun was already high when Rohan, Anya, Kabir, and Tara found themselves assigned to the same group for their history project, a mundane school task about the “lost traditions of Himachal.” At first, they treated it with typical teenage indifference, expecting a few hours of research in the library and a quick, perfunctory presentation. Rohan, with his love for photography, suggested documenting old artifacts in the town; Kabir, always the skeptic, rolled his eyes at the thought of dusty legends; Tara, the organized one, insisted on interviews with the elders; and Anya, curious and restless,…
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Aanya Roy Part 1: Arrival in Chandrapur The monsoon had begun its slow, deliberate siege over Bankura, draping the laterite hills in a persistent, misty gray. Every hill and hollow seemed to hold a secret, every forested path whispered with wind and rain. Arjun Sen’s jeep rolled over the slick red clay road, tires squelching in protest, as he left the asphalt of the district town behind and entered the forgotten spine of Chandrapur. The village appeared as if it had emerged from another century—terracotta temples leaning in tired dignity, mud walls patched with moss, and narrow lanes where…
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Aarushi Trivedi One The monsoon had just withdrawn from the land, leaving behind a scent of damp earth and ancient memories as Dr. Meera Rao stepped off the dusty jeep that brought her to Shulgaon—a quiet riverside village wrapped in dense sal groves and secrets. From the banks of the Narmada, the landscape stretched out with a deceptive serenity, the river gliding past like a sentient observer. Meera adjusted the scarf around her neck, shielding herself from the lingering heat, her eyes already scanning the site marked by flags and canvas tarps. It was an unassuming mound just fifty meters…
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Vivaan Malik Part 1: The Room That Doesn’t Exist The rain fell like nails on the roof of the boarding house, hard and deliberate. Elliot Crane stepped out of the taxi, dragging a battered suitcase behind him, the soles of his boots already slick with Kolkata’s monsoon grime. The signboard above the house was missing letters—what remained read: “B R ING H USE.” A broken bulb swung from the lintel like a dying eye. He paused for a moment, collar turned up, and knocked twice. Behind the faded blue door, something shifted. A slit opened. Grey eyes squinted. “Room?” Elliot…
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Pranoy Kr. Shah 1 The rain had been falling since dawn, washing the dust off the skeletal towers of Andheri West as Vedant and Nayantara Chitnis entered their new home on the sixteenth floor. The apartment, 1604, was tastefully modern—a minimalistic shell waiting to be warmed by the presence of a newly married couple. The realtor had called it a “luxury compact,” but Naya thought it felt like a box floating in fog. White walls, dark wood paneling, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the blurred skyline of Mumbai gave it the illusion of space, though a strange emptiness clung to…
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Niyati Sharma The Perfect Escape The road to Rose Hollow curved like a question mark through the misty ridges of the Lake District. Fog clung to the narrow lanes like a hush that had forgotten how to lift. Alice kept her eyes on the pine-shaded drive as Tom navigated their little rented hatchback past an iron gate that creaked open without assistance. The gravel crunched beneath their tyres as the house came into view. “That’s… beautiful,” Alice said, finally breaking the silence. The cottage was postcard-perfect—stone walls laced with ivy, a red-tiled roof sloping under decades of moss, and two…
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Rohini Deshmukh Part 1: The Call of the Unknown Sreeja Rao had covered countless stories—murder mysteries, unsolved disappearances, and even a haunted mansion once. But nothing had prepared her for the assignment that came her way on a rainy afternoon in the newsroom. The editor, a man who rarely trusted her instincts, handed her the assignment with a grin she didn’t trust. “Another one of your superstitions,” he said, flipping through a file. “Some temple in the south. Bells ringing by themselves. People disappearing. Thought you might like the challenge.” “Sounds like a joke,” she replied, arching an eyebrow. But…
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Vikram Rathore Part 1: The Inheritance The sun was beginning to set behind the rugged peaks of the Aravalli Range, casting long shadows over the winding roads that led to Kumbhalgarh Fort. Anirudh Deshmukh, a young archaeologist from Delhi, gazed out the window of his car as it meandered through the narrow, serpentine paths that led him to the fort. He had heard much about the place—the towering walls, the haunting beauty of the fort, and the endless stories of its troubled past. But he never imagined that it would be his own inheritance that would bring him here. It…