Under the vibrant hues of the Kolkata sunset, the city’s pulse reverberated through its streets and parks, pulsating with an invigorating energy.
His eyes are locked on me, seemingly mesmerized by my graceful presence, the cascade of black curls, and the rhythmic click of my heels.
His appeals had become a regular occurrence since my second semester.
One evening, as they walked together, Ram found himself overwhelmed by a wave of emotion.
Another night. Eyes squeezed shut, feigning sleep. The familiar creak of the doorknob, a melody in the silence.
Amir, a familiar sight outside the college gates, always struck me as the archetype of street kids – young, barely fourteen, dressed in tattered clothes.
One evening, I sought solace in the joy of wandering along the lively streets of Esplanade, where commerce thrived amidst the pulse of the city.
As we halted at the signal, their familiar clapping drew near. When they rapped on my window, I apologized.
“Have you seen my watch, Shaun?” Father Michael Bhutia’s voice trembled, a stark contrast to his usual authority as the principal of St. Jude’s Academy.
As the COVID-19 pandemic ebbed away and life cautiously tiptoed back to its pre-pandemic rhythm, the gates of the ancient monastery continued to remain closed
Desperation hung heavy in the air as Reena pleaded, but the landlady’s words were callous – “Fortune favours only the fortunate, my dear!”
On the day of their son Tulsi Nair’s divorce, tension hung heavy in the air.
As the sun dipped low on the horizon, Arjun, his mischievous nature in full swing, devised a scheme to trick the unsuspecting Annapurna sweet seller.
Upon learning of her mother’s terminal cancer diagnosis, Amelia devastated, took to Facebook to share cherished memories of their time together.
