The ink refused to behave. It spread where it was not invited, turning the paper faintly bruised, as if even words were learning the city’s new habits. Ghalib lifted the pen, shook it once, and set it down again. Outside, Delhi breathed unevenly. Smoke lingered where it should not. A smell of gunpowder threaded itself through the lanes, mixing with damp earth and something older, something that would not name itself. He sat near the window because light had become precious. The sun entered the room cautiously, as if it did not trust what it might find. Across the lane, a wall leaned with the fatigue of having been struck and spared. A crow perched on its edge and watched the street, head tilting, patient in a way men were no longer allowed to be…

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To read the full story and 19 other short stories in this series click on the links below:

This story is a part of the book “Lives Between the Dates“, my first printed collection of short stories, bringing together twenty well thought moments from twenty well known lives across twenty Indian cities. These stories do not revisit achievement. They enter the quieter hours around it. The hesitation before action. The doubt behind conviction.

Rooted in real places and shaped by history, this collection gathers the unrecorded moments that define a life more truthfully than any monument.

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If you have found something here that stayed with you, some of my other books are now available in print and digital editions. They gather longer journeys, quieter questions, and stories that continue beyond this page.