They too had a coming out. It was after many days that he received a message from her. It read: “ Mayan, I have something to tell you. You know you are my best friend, and I can ’ t hide things from you anymore. I ’ m dating Amaan. I wanted to tell you this for a long time but couldn ’ t. I ’ m sorry. I just thought you should know. Please don ’ t think too much about it. Love you.” Shachi had messaged him after a month. Things could change so much in a month, he thought.Shac

There she was, Bloom, watching groceries from her basket cascading on the metallic counter. The cashier swiftly scanned each item. The beeping sound echoed in her ears, and Bloom's eyes flickered between the mundane groceries and the cashier's face—an ornate facade of merriment. Humans of the twenty-first century have mastered the art of masking despondence and coming to terms with loss. For life goes on. Life has to go on. With this thought, Bloom endeavored to generate a jo

Dr. Sarah Chen had always been invisible in exactly the way she preferred. Growing up, she'd perfected the art of camouflage: straight A's that never drew attention, achievements delivered quietly, a pleasant smile that deflected deeper inquiry. She'd learned early that being a Chinese American girl meant navigating a narrow corridor—too successful and you were a threat, too struggling and you confirmed stereotypes, too loud and you were aggressive, too quiet and you were a d

His room was empty. Bhavya stood at the doorway, the silence hitting her like a truth she'd tried hard to deny. "Of all the things I imagined... this, I wasn't prepared for," she thought. What hurt more than his absence was the weight of all the conversations that never happened. The words she swallowed. The glances that lingered too long. The hope that always overstayed its welcome. She turned away, slow and reluctant, like leaving meant accepting the end. Her thoughts wande

Once upon a pre-digital time, I was a keen photographer. But now—nothing stays the same, does it?—now, I hardly take photos at all. I have a smartphone with a state-of-the-art camera, but in my hands, the phone is—let's not mince words—the phone is less than smart. Tools are only as good as the workers who wield them and—let's face it—I am a nincompoop when it comes to anything digital. Consequently, I shy away from taking photos with my phone. And so, when Petra took my pict

I was very young back then, probably in class fifth or sixth. Anyway, the age does not matter. What is really striking is how those words affected my mind. While travelling by auto, I suddenly overheard a lady speaking to someone—"Teaching is the best job for a housewife. They get all kinds of vacations; weekends are off and timings will perfectly match with the school timings of their children." I was a bit surprised. If she is a teacher, then how can she be a housewife? How

The train smelled of metal and the last trace of night rain. Meera watched the landscape pass in broad, unreliable strokes. Even the green felt uncertain, as if every shade had woken up with its own mood. The cabin held a kind of heaviness she couldn't name. Sometimes the world understood things before you did. Colours had always been a struggle for Meera. Her first memory of colour wasn't a colour at all. It was her mother sounding out letters at the dining table. R – E – D.