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[Image source:  AI-generated with DALL·E] They say time heals all wounds but some scars refuse to fade- especially the ones shaped like a best friend. I used to think our friendship was unbreakable until it unraveled entirely, thread by thread. What followed was no explosion, no confrontation, there were no flames- just ashes of what once was. Her number is deleted from my cell for months now but let's be honest- I had it memorized years ago. Despite our friendship or whatever of it that's left, she's the first person I dial when I receive the final letter. It is tucked between grocery bills and flyers. I would've almost missed it if I hadn't grown to fear letters lately. When she picks up I let out the words I have been holding in far too long. "I need help" I barely recognize my own voice. Scared, helpless. Her reply is prompt- almost too quick. "What's wrong?" Everything, says a voice in my head. Everything. At first, I mistook the final l...

'Clara Winslow wins song of the year at Grammy Awards 2025', read the headline. She made it , I thought to myself before letting the overwhelming flood of memories take over.   I was interning at a music summer camp when I first met Clara Winslow, a frail girl with freckled cheeks, long bronze hair and eyes so expressive they almost appeared animated. When I assigned the kids their first activity of the summer, I vividly recall how Clara's eyes lit up.  'Listen to music across various genres, cultures, languages and pick your favourite song' ,  read the chalkboard behind me.  It was quite a task to get the rest of the class started. Clara however, was a natural. I don't think she spent a minute without her headphones and notepad. That was the only time I interacted with the kids and although most were adorable, Clara Winslow left an impression instantly.  Later that day and for every day since, I was assigned generic prep work so I barely saw the kids....

(Image source: Wix Image Creator)

From the window, she could see the rain pelting down. She was an artist, a songwriter, a grandmother, a brave woman. She was so many things- but in that moment as she followed her gaze along the tracks in mud left by the pouring rain, she felt suspended between the realms of life and death.  She checked the wall clock out of habit, the minute hand not having shifted an inch since she last checked. Within an hour, she would know for sure the results of her PET scan report. In the upcoming sixty minutes of her life, she would know at last if she was cancer-free. The time gap was analogous to a journey of miles and all she had was a bullock-cart. One would expect the mind to crumple down with anxiety under similar conditions but she was known to be an exceptionally calm woman. Her approach towards an organized life had her so prepared, that her retirement life was sorted by her twenties. Having lost her parents at the tender age of eight, death was no stranger to her. Her only concern...

Allow me to walk you through a day in class 12th F. Students are expected to report after every other class from the coaching is dispersed. Class 12th F shares its schedule with no other batch, so the rusted iron entry gates are closed shut way before their session begins. That, however, is not their greatest concern. They consider themselves lucky if they don't have to struggle studying in candle-lit rooms due to power outages.  After you jump past the iron gate, you will have to climb a flight of slippery stairs till you reach the third floor. Towards your right will be a dimly illuminated hallway. Keep walking and the last classroom should be your 12th F. Careful, silence your phone before you enter. These students tolerate no distractions. If you wait for someone to answer the door, you might probably wait there forever. These students' ears are receptive to nothing beyond their syllabus- not even a knock at the door.  Once you are in, you realize what I meant when I said ...

  December 31st, Sunday I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. When I exhaled, I could feel strands of my hair flying with the wind as every last trace of tension left my body. My feet felt relaxed against the calm of river water. My son was splashing some on me, giggling so much my chest ached at not bringing him out for picnics more often.  The gushing of water brought my buzzing thoughts to a standstill. In that moment I wasn’t bound by the baggage from my past, nor was the uncertainty of the future holding me back. In that moment, as I focused on the rhythm of my heart- I was living.  The thought made me calm. I opened my eyes to see my son still playing with water. It was five minutes to sunset which I so eagerly brought my son to show. From the riverside, it looked delicious at the backdrop of a pinkish blue sky. The view was clear without any obstruction of skyscrapers.  It was only a few blocks away and I was visiting it after fifteen y...

Avoiding- I’ve mastered that art by now. I can do it with my eyes closed but moreover, I can nail it with my eyes open. I can see things with the empty stare of not having seen them. I can hear words with the sheer surprise of never having heard them, and I can avoid situations like they never presented themselves. It’s as easy as shoving back an unpleasant memory. A dismissing head-shake and it’s gone. That’s all it took until she stood tall in front of me, head up, chin up, looking me in the eye as though challenging me with her daunting gaze.  “Why don’t you love me?”  I immediately break eye contact as if the slightest of eye movement would make her disappear. Unlike all the things I have been avoiding, she doesn’t go away simply after blinking. Her pinning look demands answers and I am nothing if not a questionnaire myself.  I want to ask her why she hates me, why she avoids me, what part of me disgusts her. I have so many questions for her but firstly, does she real...

  There were days when I had a voice of my own.   Then there was the great revolt. It’s not like our clan and the other never fought before the revolt, but those fights were nowhere close to wiping out the existence of an entire community. At times I wonder what it would have been like if I perished along with the rest of my community members. That way, I wouldn’t have to live a life that isn’t mine. I also wonder if some other members of my community survived like I did. Maybe I could get a Doctor to treat my deep wounds and my survival chances would increase. Although a pointless thought, it makes me feel safe. The happiness is short-lived though, for I know far too well that to live in this world, they would have to live as a member of the opposite clan as I do. The disguise makes it impossible to spot my clan members and for them to spot me, assuming they made it. The odds of them turning out to be a Doctor are even more slim. Which makes me wonder how many days I have at ...

  Worry not! We are fixing it         The Olaseez were known to be brilliant creatures. Their intellect was unimaginable. To give you a reference point, the dumbest of Olaseez would still be seven steps ahead of a Mensa group member. Amongst one such clique of Olaseez, belonged Steven.  Steven had had a rough day. To top it off, he entered his shiny, clean lab to see a gross lump at its corner. The lump sat surrounding his favourite golden lamp. The specialty of which was how it was a spherical body suspended mid-air without visible support. Oh, how he had spent days working on its design. And now a disgusting structure was forming on it. He covered his nose and leaned in closer to have a better look.  Tiny granules made themselves visible. They seemed green, but there was no saying without a microscope. As he fetched one from the common area, his fellow mates joined in out of curiosity. Their reactions were identical. Scrunched up noses, taking a step...

    Even after two hundred twenty seven years, I can precisely recall what those gates looked like.  Rusted brown, high as Everest, wide as the Great Wall of China, and as finely carved as humanly possible.    ~~~   A young man about eighteen years old, walked confidently down the hallway. His eyes searched the unfamiliar place with curiosity. If he was feeling confused or lost, he hid it pretty well. He kept taking quick steps until he reached crossroads. Going with his gut, he followed the path to his right, as anyone with a soul alike would have.  On reaching the end of this seemingly never-ending lobby, the figure of an old man came into focus. Behind the man was a tall, metallic gate. The young man's naturally stoic face could no longer mask his amazement. Those gates were known to have that effect on people. They brought out the side of them that made them themselves .  The old man introduced himself as the gatekeeper. He insisted the young ...

The Scotts were known to be punctual animals. Dinner was served at sharp 8:03 p.m. daily, for years. Except for today. It isn’t until the clock strikes eleven that the main door’s hinges creek with the tired Scotts coming in. “Oh boy! How my feet hurt after standing for hours” winces Mrs Scott. “Didn’t mean for you to have to work three jobs. I know it’s gonna be tough for you…and it’ll get worse eventually. But the times are such tha-” “I get it, honey” says Mrs Scott reassuringly, to which Mr Scott gives her one of his sad yet appreciative smiles. Mr Scott runs four businesses on his own, three of which are doing miserably poor. Not that he could help it. Recession issues, you see. Lisa, the only daughter of the Scotts, starts crying before dropping the phone from her ear onto the floor. Startled by the sound, Mrs Scott springs into motion all of a sudden. “Sweetie! What’s wrong? You okay? Are you hurt? Oh my God are you crying?” “Drama teacher called to say I can’t play Fairy’s role...

    "Hi, I am Raksha Trivedi from the editorial team of the most popular magazine in India- Section 302. I am recruited for proofreading. Today is my first day at work, and I feel honoured to share the table with you all." My brief introduction was followed by whispered greetings from my colleagues. I returned them, smiled, and walked towards the meeting hall exit. Before I could enter my cabin, a seemingly-uptight woman made me pause. She asked for all of my crucial documents, including my passport. I had them ready in a folder. As I extended my hand for her to have a look at the contents of the folder, she grabbed it instead! "Procedures demand these documents to be in the lockers with us. Can't help it," she said. It wasn't particularly comforting to have my passport locked up at someplace I don't have access to while my visa was on the verge of expiring. But I didn't have much say here. I was well aware of the fact that Section 302 had strict and...

1. Maybe  I stared at the dead rabbit on my lawn for a bit too long. It had fresh deep cuts shaped by sharp, savage teeth. Blood poured over to the cement floor and reached below my shell-shocked body.  In my reflection in the blood, I could see it again. Unshakable, undeniable, tangible regret looking at me in the eye.  Maybe if I had reached a few minutes early, I would have been able to save a life. Maybe if I hadn’t just spent an hour on the bed, crying, I’d have reached downstairs in time.  Maybe. My life has been a lot about ‘maybe’s lately. Maybe if I visited my mother on her birthday for once, she might think of me as a  lesser awful daughter. Maybe if I left early for work, I wouldn’t break traffic rules. Maybe if I wasn’t in the wrong place at the wrong time… It just went on and on.  I cycled through my lawn, making sure I didn’t crush the rabbit. I then went past the neighbourhood, towards the city side.  The sun was like a dab of blush on t...

  2.Did you know? “How did it go?” Cam asked.  “Not an ideal first day of college” “Oh” I gave him a sad smile. He returned it too. In that moment, we said everything without words. Everything about how he was sorry my classmates found out, about how I knew I would never really be accepted in society, about how it felt to be illegitimate. Everything. It’s fascinating just how much a sad smile can hide.  As we were crossing the footpath beside one of those beautiful ponds in the city, he asked me pointing at the water lilies “Lara? Did you know water lilies lasted for only three to five days?”  Cam was sad. I knew it since he would throw random facts my way whenever he was. His way of coping up, I assumed.  “No, I didn’t know that.” ~~~ “Hello?!” yelled the young man in the floral shop in the North-west valley.  He seemed to have been calling my name for a while now but I didn’t realise.  “Yeah, sorry. Can I have a bouquet of blue water lilies please?”...

3.Water lilies It’s 3 a.m. and I’ve given up on trying to sleep. Because everytime I do, I hear my screams. Helpless and hopeless. Desperate cries of help that will always ring in my ears.  The whole night is basically about me shifting sides and my bed creaking beneath me every time I do.  “Cam?” I asked, to the darkness in my room.  “I miss you. I miss how you made me feel like I wasn’t a bad person. Like I had the potential to improve. And that I deserved to be treated better than being tagged as ‘illegitimate’. I miss your smile, your jokes, your presence. Everything you said, everything you didn’t. I miss you everyday, every moment. And above all…I miss us. I miss what we were together. Our talks, our time spent together. Our life after we met each other”  I didn’t hear a response. But I’m not quite sure what else I was expecting.  At around 7 a.m. I got up to leave. As I cycled towards my destination, I recalled every little detail of that day crystal clea...

It was a deserted road and Mr. Arora was more than sure not to meet a company by the break of dawn, which was still about some nine hours away.  He walked breathlessly towards the only open tea shop, with a heavy bagpack and two huge suitcases. He walked for what seemed like forever but as crazy as it sounds, the closer he went toward the shop the further it appeared to be.  He finally stopped still to breathe. As he did, he looked at the view ahead of him and thought of the striking contrast between what he saw and where he came from.  The sky was lined with shimmering stars, not street lights. The air was fresh not polluted. The only sounds audible were those of crickets, not vehicle horns. But all the above observations were least significant to Mr. Arora.  His way of looking at the contrast was analyzing the industrial development. It was negligible where he was right now and considerably good from where he had come. It would be safe to say, majority of credit fo...