Category: Short Stories

Whole Again

Mira traced the rim of her coffee cup, staring at the rain-streaked window. The café was warm, filled with the comforting hum of quiet conversations, but inside her, there was only silence. A silence that had settled ever since Aarav left.

She had once believed love made people whole, that relationships were about two halves completing each other. But when Aarav walked away, she realized how dangerous that thought had been. He hadn’t taken a part of her when he left, he had only shattered the illusion that she needed someone else to feel complete.

“Still lost in thought?” a familiar voice broke through her reverie. Riya, her best friend, slid into the seat across from her.

Mira smiled faintly. “Just thinking… about how we expect love to fix everything.”

Riya sighed. “You don’t need someone to fix you, Mira. You were never broken.”

Mira looked at her friend, the one person who had stood by her even when she was drowning in heartbreak. The one who reminded her, time and again, that love wasn’t just about romantic relationships. It was in friendship, in late-night conversations, in the way her mother still called to check if she had eaten.

“I think, I believed that love should fill the empty spaces,” Mira admitted.

Riya shook her head. “Love isn’t about filling gaps. It’s about being whole on your own and still choosing to share yourself with someone.”

Mira let those words sink in. Maybe love wasn’t meant to complete her, but to add to the person she already was.

As the rain slowed, she felt a shift inside her—small but significant. She wasn’t waiting to be whole anymore. She already was.

Linking this to Fiction Monday – 241 – Prompt – WHOLE

March 6, 2025
The Shadow’s Whisper

I decided to take up this Creative Writing Challenge shared by Tulika, originally created by Tolentino Teaching. It instantly piqued my interest, nudging me to don my creative hat and rekindle my love for writing flash fiction. The structured challenge, with its specific sentence rules, made the process even more exciting. So, here’s my attempt at writing a thrilling short story within the given constraints.

Below is the image of the Creative Writing Challenge prompt with all the guidelines—give it a try if you’re up for a creative challenge!

Here’s a story following the given prompt…

1. The moonlight shimmered on the restless waves.

2. A deep sense of dread settled in.

3. The shadow loomed closer, stretching ominously.

4. The wind howled fiercely tonight.

5. Suddenly, a whisper brushed against my ear.

6. The air was cold like a ghost’s breath.

7. My fear was a locked door with no key.

8. Why did I take this path alone?

9. A figure stepped forward, eyes glowing red.

10. The last thing I heard was my own scream.

March 3, 2025
From Surviving to Thriving

Tough and challenging times come calling for everybody at some point of life. They usually twist, turn and knock us around and are inherent part of living life. And they are something that cannot just be done away with.

They did come calling for me too.

The global economic depression pushed the company to give me the pink slip which forced me to give up my high paying mid level job. Like it is for most of the people, high paying jobs are usually accompanied with high (or higher) cost of living. And it was no different for me. As expected, the industry layoffs resulted in a downturn in employment for the overall economy as well. For the available jobs, I was either under-qualified or overqualified. I took up odd jobs but they didn’t work out for long.

Two steps forward and three steps back! Yes, that summed up my life. Every time I thought I had found a solution to my financial worries, something would fall apart and I would end up feeling worse than before. The latest blow devastated me. My current job was offered to somebody who was willing to work at a lesser pay than me!

The setbacks demoralized me and it was tough to stay positive. The troubles seemed to be never ending just like the bus ride back home. I was having a tough time coping with the bad hand that life threw my way.

A lone tear escaped my eye as the turbulent mind wandered far from where I was.

So lost was I in complaining to God about my life and my circumstances that when a warm hand touched my hand, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I turned to look into the compassionate eyes of a co-passenger. Warmth and life radiated out from where the stranger’s fingers touched my skin.

Before my brain could process a reaction, the stranger lady said, “I don’t know what’s troubling you. But I want you to know that you’ll get through it. Whatever ‘it’ is!”

I looked at her as fresh tears began to well in my eyes. She patted my hand comfortingly and said, “Though you may fear that you won’t make it through. Though you may wonder if the grey sky would brighten again. But believe me that it will work out eventually. All the life’s challenges are not without a purpose. There is a grand design hidden behind them. The Universe is signalling you to evolve to a higher plane. It is time for you to explore your latent power and talents. You can do it. Have faith. And remember that faith and hope never fail.”

Her words were exactly what I needed to hear. Those few simple words comforted me. Her words filled me with optimism and hope. I pondered over what she told me and asked myself questions like, “What do I really, really want in life?” “Where am I going?”…

The answer made me realize for the first time, my true calling in life… Yes, a home baker.

Today, my life is smiling back at me. I have come a long way from merely surviving to thriving. But it was all because the Universe showed me the light at just the right moment through that lady in the bus.

Since I was young, I have always known this: Life damages us, every one. We can’t escape that damage. But now, I am also learning this: We can be mended. We mend each other- Veronica Roth

March 6, 2015
First Impressions Last

Festivity was in the air, in our home. My father couldn’t stop beaming and my mother’s happy tears wouldn’t stop. I had finally given in to their wishes. After all, for how long can one bear the weight of permanent worry lines on your father’s face and premature greys on your mother’s head.

Yes, I gave in without any tantrums. I gave in to their dream of arranging marriage for me. It was a dream that they had been nurturing since the day I was born. They wanted a groom who had some super amazing stats… good family, lots of money, well settled… All things considered, that is how it worked for them. My parents had seen each other for the first time during their marriage ceremonies!! So, the idea of marrying without love is perfectly ok with them. Love and all that jazz can happen after marriage, they believe. Their long healthy marriage bears testimony to that.

To their misfortune, my education was coming in their way of realizing their dream. I was no longer the sweet and nice little girl but, a woman of 25 with a mind of her own. They can’t trust me to find a ‘life partner for myself and also that I am a bit picky does not go down well with their sensibilities! Plus they have societal pressure to marry me off as I would soon be considered past marriageable age.

I understand the stress my parents were under and I understand their motivation too. For this very reason, I am agreeing to their emotional blackmails and fulfilling my karmic destiny and agreeing to go for an ‘introduction’ meet at the cafe. Needless to say that all this would be happening under the watchful eyes of both sets of parents.

So, here I am, in all my finery sitting across him. When our eyes met… I sighed and thought, ‘Oh, this can’t be happening to me!’ I swallowed back that feeling of shock. Who comes up looking like that for an occasion like this? He had a blank expression on his face. His chin was black with several days’ worth of stubble. I connect stubble not just to a shabby look but also with people who are depressed, untidy and unwell.

I looked at my parents and hugged them mentally, for their eyes mirrored my thoughts too. Sorry dude, you only get one chance to make a first impression. And you lost it. After all, early impressions are hard to eradicate from the mind. When once wool has been dyed purple, who can restore it to its previous whiteness?

I was tagged by Aditi and I am tagging Nabanita, Manjulika, Ideator, Shaznin to share their #WillYouShave stories.

This post is a part of #WillYouShave activity at BlogAdda in association with Gillette.

December 31, 2014
Chapter 14 : The Redeemer

Team Writers’ Den

Read the previous chapters here – Game Of Blogs – Writers’ Den

The little chat that Cyrus had with the sub-inspector Duryodhan Desle in cell number 308 disturbed him. He had to get out of this police custody immediately. He requested Duryodhan to allow him to make a phone call.

As Cyrus made that one call, Duryodhan looked up and sniggered in his direction, before grabbing his paan from the drawer and made an attempt to look busy with some papers.

*             *             *              *                 *

JJ tapped her fingers on the table top, a habit she had when she was feeling restless, and glanced at her phone for the hundredth time hoping the clock would tick faster. But the time was moving at its annoying pace and the clock showed 3:30 in the afternoon . There was still no sign of the delivery boy.

Patience. Patience. She repeated. But then, while patience with hard work can move mountains, patience in idleness that she was convincing herself of, a few seconds ago, moves nothing, not even cobwebs. She took a deep breath in and opened her laptop to do something constructive.

The start-up page on the Google Chrome opened with her Facebook wall. As she checked her timeline, a smiling picture of Cyrus greeted her. Her heart did a complete somersault. She gave a wistful look at his picture hoping that he would join her soon. On an impulse, she clicked on his picture and saw his timeline. As she scrolled further down, she came across a link. http://cdslegalden.blogspot.in She opened the link and it led to a blog. Cyrus’s blog. An appreciative whistle escaped her lips.

The first post she saw…

“Ok, so he has a blog! And writes about legal investigation cases “, she mused. Before, she could explore further, the delivery boy interrupted her, “Madam, your papers!”.

“At last!”, she muttered, before dismissing him with a curt nod of her head.

Immediately, she packed her laptop and the papers and rushed out.

*             *             *              *                 *

Duryodhan leered at her with a sick smile as he found that all the bail papers were in order. He shouted at the constable to bring Cyrus out from his cell.

JJ and Cyrus exchanged a look which was not lost on Duryodhan.

*             *             *              *                 *

JJ and Cyrus drank their coffee in companionable silence, until Cyrus finally broke the quiet. After all that she had done for him, he believed that it was time for him to come clean and tell her the truth. He cleared his throat and looked at her feeling all bashful and guilty.

“Actually, I have not been honest with you”, he stuttered.

It took her a moment to absorb it but she eventually lifted her right brow and looked back at him.

“I have been to the crime scene and have collected 3 pieces of evidence. I have a chocolate wrapper, a blank piece of paper and a thorn from the crime scene and Duryodhan knows about it. My instincts tell me, that these will lead us to crucial discoveries about the gruesome murder of lil’ Sophia.”, he explained.

“I have been thinking about these, since the past 3 days in that wretched cell but nothing is making any sense. I think we must consult the expert from Mumbai. His name is Aryan…”

“…Ahuja!”, JJ completed for him. He gave her an incredulous smile.

“Aah! So you have been snooping around my blog!”, he looked pleased now.

*             *             *              *                 *

Finding his address was a cake walk. As they reached his building, JJ stopped dead in her tracks. Cyrus looked at her with his eyebrows raised questioningly. After recovering from the initial shocked surprise, JJ found her voice and said, “This is where Tara stays too!”

He was about a head taller than her and had a clean short crew cut. He had distinct cheekbones and an angular jaw made him look devilishly handsome. He was lost deep in thought as he looked at the dull weather outside. JJ was busy admiring the man in front of her oblivious to the inner turmoil raging inside him. The man had aged right in front of their eyes. His earlier reaction of point blank refusal for taking up the case was a sharp contrast to the pensive looking man when they mentioned Sophia’s name.

Cyrus nudged JJ with his shoulder and gave her a withering look. He cleared his throat and said, “Please, Mr Ahuja, you must help us. If not for anything, at least for Sophia. She must have played in front of you…”

“Oh anything for Tara errr I mean, Sophia…. “, he stuttered and muttered, the overcast weather mirroring his mental state.

“Please, call me Aryan and tell me all that you know about this case”, his demeanour completely changed. He was all business.

*             *             *              *                 *

Read the next chapter of the story here

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.

September 24, 2014
Chapter 6 : The Vulnerables

Team Writers’ Den

Chapter 1: Mens Rea by Mahesh Sowani
Chapter 2: A Morning Star by Rohini Varun
Chapter 3: The Cursed One by Sreesha Divakaran
Chapter 4: The Vanquished by Aurindam Mukherjee
Chapter 5: The Insurmountable by Vinay Biradar

The story continues…

42% Complete…

JJ tapped her fingers on the table restlessly, as the file transfer continued to take its own sweet time. Her mind took her to the moment she had a chance encounter with Tara that night at News Today office. A casual chat with one of her colleague revealed something weird about Tara. Her curiosity was piqued and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. The search in the desk drawers did not reveal anything, so she looked at her computer.

While she willed the computer to reveal some dark secrets, Tara’s voice jolted her from her thoughts.

“What brings you here at this late hour? And what are you doing on my computer, JJ?”, she had asked. Her voice was smooth, like water calmly flowing over a smooth rock, though there was an icy glint in her eyes.

Beads of sweat trickled down the length of her body, as JJ struggled to stay calm.

“Of course, work. What else?” Did you like the “The Queen of Arabian Sea”?, she asked and hoped that Tara wouldn’t come and stand besides her, as she quickly closed the various open windows in the computer.

Tara was walking towards her desk, when a phone call distracted her. JJ gathered her bag, mouthed a bye and made a dash for the exit. Outside, she heaved a sigh of relief at her luck. Had she been there for a few more seconds, she would have seen Tara turning white into a sheet.

*             *             *              *                 *

Settling with a cup of coffee, she dialled his number. Cyrus picked up her call at the very first ring. Their relationship did not require the horrid nonsense of having to exchange pleasantries, so they got down to business, immediately. The 65 pictures captured by her DJI Phantom Drone were viewed and reviewed back and forth on their respective laptops.

A few pictures made her throw up while he squirmed in his chair. The body of the little girl, Sophia was discovered at a secluded area near railroad tracks. She had been bound, blindfolded, gagged, and stripped naked from the waist down. The child had been brutally tormented and it appeared that death came after hours of torture, having suffered injuries to her vagina and anus as a result of repeated sexual assaults. Something was carved on her forehead. Zooming the picture revealed it to be 666 which was cleverly concealed. It was the mark of the Beast. The blood had dried and blackened and encrusted around the symbol in haphazard patterns on her once beautiful face.

“Who could have done this?”, JJ asked, incredulously.

“The Lucifer’s army is at work. Looks like that the some new “initiates” are inducted in the army, with a baptsim in ‘blood and semen’ to make it all fine!”, explained Cyrus.

As she chewed on this revolting information, he felt the need to elaborate further, “Their rituals are based on the manipulation of energy and consciousness. They believe that blood contains the life-force energy, so drinking human blood is good for their inter-dimensional connection. They prefer young children because they are not contaminated like adults. Sex with corpses fresh or less is hailed as ‘divine’ too. Hard to accept isn’t it?”

“Sickos”, she said vehemently.

“Let’s get it cracking, lady. Will you work with me on this maiden case of mine?” He knew the answer, but he still asked. Was he feeling jittery at the enormity of task and the path that was laid ahead?

*             *             *              *                 *

She woke up from her nightmare with a start. Heart pounding in her ears, she tried to scream.

But when she tried to open her mouth, it was just not happening. Roohi’s nightmares were following her like a shadow. Sitting at the edge of her bed, Shekhar despised himself some more. He hated when his anger turned into tears.

*             *             *              *                 *

Read the next part of the story here by Archana Karkera

Me and my team are participating in ‘Game Of Blogs’ at BlogAdda.com. #CelebrateBlogging with us.

September 16, 2014
Unrequited Love

She was tall, thin, beautiful and elegant, my mother I mean.
I have seen her only in pictures.
I have been told that she died just after giving birth to me.

A string of relatives along with my father took turns to bring me up.
When this routine started disrupting their regular lives, my foster mothers suggested my father to remarry.

My new mother just about tolerated me.
I often wonder what it would feel like her arms around me, giving me one of these warm hugs that I see other moms and children exchange everyday…
I wonder what I should do bring a smile on her face on seeing me…

Aah! A remarriage may give a man, a wife but rarely a mother to a child.

Linking it to The Write Tribe Festival of Words – 3 : Day 1 : 9 Sentence Fiction

PS : Based on a real life story!

March 2, 2014
Her Story So Far

Unattached and Independent. Yes, these words define her. She has been like that for as long as she remembers. She has lived life on her own terms, always!

If she wanted to stay in bed all day, reading a book, she could do that without a care, without a second thought. She could pack her bags and leave for a vacation wherever and whenever. The freedom to follow her dreams and passions, she cherished that. Why, if a friend called her to accompany somewhere, she could say a yes or a no immediately as she needn’t check with anybody, ever.

In her world, she reigned supreme. A dream job, a dream house and a dream life. What else does one want?

She was single and living the dream!! Now wasn’t that simply perfect!!

And then her perfect world started looking a little less perfect! She had been feeling more lonely, over the last few months! No, it was not that she no longer enjoyed her company. No, she still needed her ‘me’ time especially after spending long hours with friends. But of late, she felt she was lonely than alone.

A surprising new feeling of talking to somebody when she was low was rearing its head. The usual methods of staying positive or allowing the bright her to cast a shadow on the dark her or relying on her mental toughness, were failing her regularly. Why was she feeling the need of a comforting arm or somebody to listen to her … Somebody to tell her to go back to sleep and that all would be ok in the morning. Or somebody to snuggle up to…

Being single was suddenly not looking so awesome!!

Now in her late 40s, she believed that love may be behind her and that chances of finding a like minded partner were very slim. And that was more so as she started feeling that she’s never going to have one! Was there something strange about her that puts people off? Or is it her success that makes her unapproachable.
She was too late, she thought.
Or was she?

Linking to the Write Tribe’s Wednesday Prompt : She was too late.

Image Courtesy : Google Images

February 23, 2014