Natasha Shrivastav Chapter 1 – The Waters Rise Chennai woke to a city unrecognizable, drowned in the relentless aftermath of the heaviest monsoon the region had seen in decades. The Marina Beach, usually a sprawling stretch of sand dotted with morning walkers and street vendors, had become a surreal tableau of destruction. Waves, tinged with debris and refuse, lapped angrily at the submerged roads, while low-lying neighborhoods resembled shallow lakes, rooftops and treetops barely protruding above the rising water. Families huddled on makeshift rafts, carrying children and belongings, as emergency sirens wailed through the humid, rain-laden air. The government had…
-
-
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…
-
Vijoy Menon Part 1: Ashes That Speak The smoke rose like a slow, coiled prayer — grey and indifferent, curling against the dimming sky. At Manikarnika Ghat, the fires had no time to rest. One pyre faded, another was lit. Wood cracked, bones whispered, and the Ganges swallowed the silence of the dead with the same patience it gave the living. The priests moved like phantoms in ochre robes, their hands blackened with ghee and soot. No one cried here. Grief had long since turned into muscle memory. Devkant Mishra stood by the edge of the river, his white dhoti…
-
Nabin Mishra Chapter 1: The Cassette The rain had returned to Mumbai like an old debt collector—persistent, uninvited, and soaked in memory. Officer Vinayak Rane sat by the rusting grill of his Dadar flat, the yellowed curtains barely swaying as he watched water trickle down the windowpane like the slow bleed of time. His apartment was a museum of silence, its walls lined with worn furniture and an old transistor that hadn’t caught a frequency in years. He smoked his first cigarette of the day at 4 p.m., his back aching from sleep he never remembered falling into. When the…
-
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…
-
Part 1 – The 47th Floor The first thing Maya Collins noticed about the 47th floor was the silence. Not the kind that came from focused minds or noise-cancelling walls. This silence was thick. Artificial. Like the air itself held its breath. The elevator pinged softly behind her, then slid shut with a whisper. She turned to face the floor. Rows of polished glass offices stretched in clean symmetry. Frosted doors. Sleek desks. Not a single paper out of place. No chatter. No laughter. Just the rhythmic hum of overhead LEDs and the distant murmur of printers working alone. Maya…
-
Animesh Tarafder 1 The sun had barely begun to set, casting a soft golden glow over the winding streets of Kolkata, when Dr. Neelav Gupta received the call that would pull him back into a past he had long buried. A murder—gruesome, ritualistic—had occurred in the heart of the city. As a renowned criminal psychologist, Neelav was often called in for such cases, but there was something unsettling about this one. The victim, an elderly woman, had been found posed in an unnatural way, her body frozen in a grotesque contortion. Strange symbols, like the markings of a forgotten language,…
-
Swati Trivedi 1 The monsoon season had arrived in Shillong with an intensity that was both beautiful and foreboding. The clouds rolled over the hills like dark, heavy blankets, casting a shroud of mist that clung to everything. The town, famous for its relentless rains, seemed to hold its breath as the first wave of the downpour washed over the region. A body was found in one of the remote villages on the outskirts of the city, nestled deep in the mountains where few dared to go. Local authorities initially thought it was a landslide victim, a common occurrence during…
-
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…