Stories

It was a busy Monday morning, and Mansi hurried out of her house, her mind already racing with tasks for the day ahead. She quickly locked the door, hopped into the auto-rickshaw, and set off for work. Halfway through the ride, she realized something—she had forgotten her lunchbox on the kitchen counter. “Uff, not today!” […]

It was a warm Sunday afternoon, and the Agarwal family had gathered for lunch at their ancestral home. The dining table was filled with the aroma of freshly cooked parathas, sabzi, and chutney. Everyone chatted and laughed, catching up on life’s updates. The room buzzed with the usual banter that came with big family gatherings.

Be a master of your own happiness—that thought never occurred to Aarav until life forced him to reflect. Aarav sat alone in the corner of the college canteen, stirring his coffee absentmindedly. His friends were at the other table, laughing and chatting without him. They hadn’t exactly excluded him, but Aarav felt invisible, especially after

Asha paced the living room, glancing at the clock for the hundredth time. It was 6 p.m., and Samiksha wasn’t home yet. Her phone calls had gone unanswered, and Asha’s worry had turned to frustration. She felt the familiar tightness in her chest—anxiety mixed with the fear of losing control over her daughter’s life. Finally,

Ayushi and Shreya were best friends, both in their mid-twenties and working in the same office in Mumbai. They had grown close over the years, often sharing lunch, discussing their dreams, and supporting each other through life’s ups and downs. But despite their close bond, they were very different when it came to their views

Abhik and Sayantani had been best friends since they could remember. They lived in the same colony, shared lunch at school, and spent hours chatting about everything under the sun. Their bond was so strong that their classmates often joked about how they were practically siblings. But as time went on, Abhik started drifting. He

It was a hot afternoon in the heart of Delhi when the protest began. People had gathered at Jantar Mantar, holding signs and banners, their voices united against the injustice that had shaken their community. Tara stood among them, a petite young woman with quiet eyes, listening to the chants growing louder around her. The

Pritha was a passionate young woman, and social media was her battleground, a place where she vented her anger at everything wrong in the world. Corruption, environmental destruction, gender inequality—her feed was a relentless tirade against injustice. Her posts were often filled with strong words and sharp judgments, her fingers itched to type out her

Maneka prided herself on being a devoted mother. For her, parenting meant shielding Parna, her 16-year-old daughter, from every danger the world could throw at her. But Maneka’s devotion came with rules—strict, stifling rules. Maneka made every decision for her—from the clothes she wore to the books she read. As Parna grew older, Maneka’s grip

Preeti had always been the queen bee of her college friend group—the planner, the leader, the one they all seemed to rely on. She chose the cafés, the road trips, and even the music they listened to on their weekend outings. It made her feel special, needed, like she held the group together. But as