POCKET TELLER

Chennai – A quiet evening turned unforgettable. The grand hall was dimly lit, the scent of old pages and fresh flowers hanging in the air. “And now… I welcome Annie,” the host announced, voice slightly trembling. “The famous writer whose book isn't just about love... but something that lingers far beyond the last page. If anyone wishes to ask her about the story… just remember — some questions open doors that were never meant to be opened.” From the crowd, a man stood up — his press badge catching the dim light. His voice cut through the silence. “Tell me, Annie… is this story truly yours? Or just a work of imagination?” He paused, eyes narrowing. “And this title… Crimson Petals — why did you choose it? What was going through your mind?” The hall seemed to hold its breath. Somewhere in the shadows, a chair creaked… as if the book itself was waiting for her answer. Annie’s eyes softened, but there was a shadow behind them. “This story… is about a ...

The story begins at SHRI NIWAS , a large house in Shimla. Today the house was alive with excitement—Avik's 15th birthday was being celebrated, and preparations were in full swing. Dadi moved around the house, overseeing everything with care. “Everyone, make sure everything is done properly before Avik gets home,” she instructed, her voice full of warmth and authority. The servant approached her with a slight bow. “Maaji, all of Avik baba’s favorite dishes are ready. Please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like me to prepare.” Dadi paused for a moment, then turned to him and asked, “Has his cake been ordered? And yes—did you make the moong dal halwa for him?” As the evening approached and the sun dipped lower in the sky, the peaceful hum of the household was suddenly interrupted by the sound of the front door bursting open. “Daaadiii!” came a loud, cheerful voice. Avik came running in, his face lit up with joy, his schoolbag bouncing behind him. His eyes sparkl...

 In the heart of old Lahore, where narrow alleys whispered forgotten tales and time clung to crumbling walls, stood a haveli—ancient, abandoned, and veiled in mystery. Locals spoke of it only in hushed tones, calling it "Jinn Ka Makaan". No one lived there. No one dared. They said a jinn resided within—a girl cloaked in shadows and sorrow, who had once been wronged so deeply that hatred had become her very soul. Her presence was like cold smoke—unseen but heavy, wrapping itself around any boy who dared to venture near the haveli. And if any man crossed its threshold? He would never return. After nearly a decade abroad, Dr. Shezad finally returned home. The renowned archaeologist had spent years uncovering forgotten ruins across Europe. Yet something had pulled him back to his homeland—something deeper than nostalgia, heavier than memory. He arrived in Lahore. As his train rolled into the station, the sky darkened unnaturally & sudden gust of wind howled through the plaƞ...