Prompts to novel

   Everyone experiences love in one form or another - atleast i would like to think so. The love of a parent, a sibling, our grandparents, maybe our pets or even from some stranger we encounter along life's path. We receive all this love freely and often oblivious to it, and yet wonder what is love? Am i in love? How would i know if i were? We try to decode a language not meant for us mortals to be understood - a melody meant to just be heard not analysed.  But how do we know when we're in love? Are there signs — telltale symptoms of this intoxicating symphony? Not quite. Love takes a different shape for each of us. It's molded by our stories, our scars, and the quiet hopes we carry. Like a freshly fired pot, it bears the cracks, stains, and fingerprints of the hearts we’ve broken, the ones that broke us, and the winding paths we've taken. And when it comes to romantic love — love shared with a partner — the question becomes even more elusive.. Is it fair to compare lov...

8:24 p.m. I glanced at my purple, diamond-studded Swarovski and shook my head. “Trust Komal to set me up with someone who doesn’t believe in punctuality.” I signaled the waiter to refill my wine — third glass tonight. It had been a long week. The Wiscons merger , the one I’d spent months orchestrating, had finally concluded. It wasn’t pretty. Countless employees laid off, multiple relocations, dozens fired on short notice. But the merger would bring the firm an estimated $2.8 billion in additional revenue. And that — that was enough for me. This world isn't kind, and I don’t expect it to be. I did what I had to do. People get tangled up in emotions at work. It only makes them inefficient. This is business. Why take things personally? Being "nice" shouldn't be a workplace norm. You want nice? Go work at the Taj Hotels. I glanced at my phone. No calls, no messages. Just Whiskers — my cat — staring back from the wallpaper. He must be restless by now. What am I even d...

\ 3:33 My groggy eyes resist opening as I’m pulled out of my slumber. Darkness cloaks the room. Everything is still. My senses slowly return to this dimension. Even with my eyes half-shut, I catch the faint red blink across the room — the digits etched on the clock read: 3:33 . I sit up, scanning the room, half-expecting to see a bunch of people ready to explain why I’d been woken. My own mind steps in to question me: Why the hell am I awake at this ungodly hour? A quick body scan — no urge to pee. I yawn, muttering curses under my breath, and pull the bedsheet over my head, ready to drift back to the land of Morpheus. And then I hear it. A low squeaking sound . Soft. Sharp. Like a hand dragging slowly across wooden floor . I freeze. My body stiffens instinctively. My voice, shakier than I’d like, shouts toward the locked door: “Who’s there!?” Silence. The heat creeps up my face as my breathing goes uneven. That sound... It wasn’t from the street. Not a neighbor. ...