Excerpt

*The Clockmaker's Promise*
In a quiet town nestled between rolling hills and a slow-moving river, there stood a small shop with a crooked sign that read “Timeless Hands.” Inside, the air was warm and still, filled with the soft, steady rhythm of ticking clocks. Wall clocks, pocket watches, mantel clocks—they all chimed and clicked in quiet harmony, each keeping time in its own way.
By meerjanan8 months ago in Fiction
Operation Lassi Spill
It was one of those golden Punjabi afternoons—the kind where the sun hangs warm in the sky, the air smells of cardamom and fresh roti, and every lane in the village hums with celebration. A wedding was in full swing, the biggest the village had seen in years. Banners fluttered above the courtyard, children darted between guests with sticky fingers, and uncles danced with the kind of energy that defied their age.
By meerjanan8 months ago in Fiction
The Girl Who Painted the Sky Blue Twice
Story In the town of Alder’s Hollow, the sky was always perfect. Not in the way big cities claimed theirs was perfect after a storm, but truly perfect—endless blue, soft clouds, the kind of backdrop you’d expect in a painting rather than in life.
By waseem khan8 months ago in Fiction
A Case in Two
Click. The steel door swung wide open. Scraping against the concrete floor, screaming at the arrival of the man I had been waiting to see all morning.
By Shreyas Vartia8 months ago in Fiction
The Storm That Took Him at the Lake’s Edge
Reports of a storm had been surging for weeks, but it didn’t feel like one was coming. It was just like any other day. Gleaming amber light raced through the tall, branching canopy and struck the fresh, uncut earth beneath it, mingling in with the ferns and flowers much like a Joan Mitchell piece. It changed quite often and had many faces throughout the day, but this was my favorite. A tranquil state where nothing much happened, and you were free to explore however you wished. A symphony of yellow sun, green leaves, and lush flora performing around you.
By Shreyas Vartia8 months ago in Fiction
*The Forgotten Bench*
In a small town cradled by rolling hills and thick forest, there was a wooden bench by the lake. It wasn’t grand—its green paint had peeled, one leg was uneven, and the wood bore the soft scars of time. But if you sat there long enough, you might feel something linger in the air—quiet, familiar, like the echo of a laugh carried by the wind.
By meerjanan8 months ago in Fiction
My Friend’s Last Words Came in a Dream
It’s been a year since Lily passed away, but sometimes it still feels like she might text me, or I’ll turn a corner and see her laughing in that way only she could. Grief is strange like that—it never really goes away, it just changes shape.
By ETS_Story8 months ago in Fiction
Residency
I knew the art residency I had signed up for was going to be in a castle, but the pictures and description couldn’t have prepared me for the reality of it. We drove over a drawbridge; I couldn’t believe the place had a moat. Then we went through the tunnel in the stone wall around the base of the hill, then pulled up the winding drive. Once at the top we drove around the side of the castle and down a slope into an underground garage. The driver parked in one of the slots in a row occupied by matching unremarkable black cars. He got out and opened my door for me and helped me out. I was glad I had worn my gauzy dress; it was comfortable but also felt medieval and ethereal. It was an off-white color spaghetti strap with barely visible flowers all over it. It fell to my calves and was cinched around my waist loosely. I left my auburn hair down and my curls felt heavy on my bare shoulders.
By Raine Fielder8 months ago in Fiction
The Window That Waited
In a quiet corner of the city, where the traffic never quite quieted and the buildings leaned into each other like old friends, stood a weathered apartment block with peeling paint and a rusted fire escape. It wasn’t grand or new, but it had stood for decades, holding stories in its walls.
By meerjanan8 months ago in Fiction
Between the Last Train and Dawn
The last train out of the city sighed into the station at 11:48 p.m., wheels hissing against the tracks. Mara stepped aboard, her reflection flickering in the darkened windows before dissolving into the harsh fluorescent glow of the carriage.
By Millicent Chisom8 months ago in Fiction
Toronto
The City in Between" The first snow of December always hit Toronto like a gentle ambush. One moment, the sidewalks were wet with leftover rain, the next, a soft white hush blanketed the streets.
By waseem khan8 months ago in Fiction
The Call Came After Midnight
I was half-asleep when my phone rang. The screen lit up my dark bedroom, the name flashing across it like something out of a dream — or a nightmare.
By ETS_Story8 months ago in Fiction