I enter the small room and find myself in the presence of a mountain of files covered in a thick film of dust. There's no one else in the room.

I feel the coldness of the bed which prompts the thought in my mind that she has been gone long.

I wear the uniform of the character I will be playing for the rest of the day. There are times I wonder how an act so distant from the cravings of the heart could define existence.

Inside the dingy room of an old single-storeyed house, Shakuntala managed to combat the bone-chilling cold with a meagre fire.

The sun was shining, fresh wind was blowing, the sky was a serene blue but in Ghanashyam Bista’s heart, dark clouds hung.

Every moment you breathe is worth celebrating. Life is beautiful even when it is bleak.

If only I were rich, I used to say to myself long ago, but not anymore because in all likelihood I never will be.

Prithvi had come from a humble background. His father was a primary school teacher in a government school and his mother was a housewife.

Ghanashyam walked cautiously, carefully, so as to not step onto the wet dew-soaked grass.

The ignition lures me in a trice. As I see the burning flame, I experience a sentiment of profound pleasure.

What difference is there then between what I remember and what I imagine, and can I imagine what I cannot verify and still sincerely consider it as the truth?

Five years back, when Shrinkhala was preparing for her twelfth grade examinations, she encountered her fate.

Mrs Pradhan, like thousands all over the world, had forgotten her place in her world and her destiny had been obscured.

When he was done, he looked at the winding road. Something inside him stirred. A strange, mysterious sensation was pulling him towards the road.

For the past few years, every day had been an uphill struggle for Sita to survive. But never did she think of giving up.

He dwelled in his imagination seeking solace, truth and happiness because reality offered him none.

Anderson started calling out his wife’s name hysterically, but no one was there to help him. He was convinced the porter took off with his belongings and something horrible had happened to his wife.

Gyan Kumari could not make much of Gauri, for she didn't speak much, but her eyes held a deep sadness.

Although he had walked this road daily for a year, today he was conscious of a strange change. His instincts were screaming at him. Holding his breath, he paused and looked around.

Two years passed with no information about Junkiri. And Sunkumari had forsaken all hope of ever seeing her daughter again.