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Category: free online novel

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Fourteen: Scrabble and Sarcasm

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter Fourteen: Scrabble and Sarcasm

    That evening, Arin knocked on Astha’s door at precisely the time Shanaya had instructed. When the door swung open, Astha raised an eyebrow at him, her expression unreadable. “So, the great editor has been roped into Scrabble warfare. Hope you know what you’ve signed up for.”

    Arin smiled. “I’m a quick learner.”

    “Good,” Astha said, stepping aside to let him in. “Because Shanaya plays dirty.”

    Shanaya, already setting up the board, grinned. “Excuse me? I play strategically. There’s a difference.”

    Arin took a seat beside her while Astha settled opposite them, her expression composed, almost indifferent. As the game began, Arin quickly realized that Astha’s style was precise, methodical—she played not just to win, but to obliterate her opponent’s confidence entirely.

    Shanaya groaned as her mother placed quixotic on a triple-word score. “Come on, Mom. Who even uses that word?”

    Astha took a sip of her tea. “People with a vocabulary.”

    Arin nearly choked on his water, caught off guard by the deadpan delivery. He had expected Astha to be reserved, maybe even aloof—but he hadn’t expected this dry, merciless humor.

    “Alright, alright,” Shanaya muttered, placing her next word. “We’ve got this, Arin. We just need strategy.”

    Arin carefully selected his tiles and placed eloquent on a double-letter score. “There. That should level the playing field.”

    Astha peered at the board, unimpressed. “Cute. But not good enough.”

    A few turns later, she casually placed zephyr on a triple-word score, earning an impressive number of points. She looked up at Arin, her expression entirely neutral. “Would you like me to recommend a dictionary?”

    Shanaya groaned and dropped her head onto the table. “Mom, do you have to crush our souls along with the game?”

    “It builds character,” Astha said, straight-faced.

    Arin shook his head, both amused and intrigued. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

    Astha leaned back in her chair, sipping her tea. “Where’s the fun in that?”

    The game stretched on, each round more intense than the last. When Arin placed modest on the board, Astha raised an eyebrow. “Ah, I see you’re spelling out your personality now. Next round, try delusional. It would be more accurate.”

    Shanaya laughed loudly. “Mom, that was brutal.”

    “I’m just helping him expand his vocabulary,” Astha said with a straight face.

    Arin smiled, playing along. “Noted. And here I thought I was the editor.”

    By the time the final tiles were placed, Astha had won—unsurprisingly. She leaned forward, her tone completely serious. “Good effort. If it helps, you didn’t lose by too embarrassing a margin.”

    Shanaya sighed dramatically. “I need a new teammate. This one didn’t save me.”

    Arin chuckled. “I’ll be better prepared next time.”

    Astha smiled slightly. “I’d like to see you try.”

    As Arin left that evening, he found himself replaying the night in his mind. He had come expecting a simple game of Scrabble.

    Instead, he had discovered another piece of Astha Mehra that he hadn’t known existed.

    And he wanted to see more.

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM Chapter Twelve: A Whisper To The Stars

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM Chapter Twelve: A Whisper To The Stars

    It was late when Arin stepped out onto his balcony, the cool night air wrapping around him like a silent companion. The city below was winding down, its lights flickering in warm hues, and above, the sky stretched vast and endless, speckled with a million glowing stars.

    He had not expected to hear her voice.

    Astha stood at the edge of her own balcony, her hands wrapped around herself as she gazed upward. Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but in the quiet stillness of the night, every word carried.

    “Keep them safe,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the heavens. “My parents, my daughter. Keep them happy, keep them healthy.”

    Arin remained in the shadows, unmoving, listening as she continued speaking—not to him, not to anyone, but to the stars themselves.

    “And my job… let me keep it. I don’t ask for more. I have what I need, and that is enough.”

    She paused for a long moment, as if collecting her thoughts, before exhaling softly. “No more entanglements. I don’t need love, and I certainly don’t want it. I have no use for heartbreak, not at this age. So, please… if you’re listening, don’t send anyone my way. I am happy as I am.”

    Arin felt something stir within him, an unfamiliar pang in his chest. Her words were resolute, but he could hear the unspoken weight behind them—perhaps even a quiet loneliness she had long made peace with.

    She sighed and stepped back, rubbing her arms as if shaking off an invisible chill before retreating inside.

    Arin remained where he was, staring at the place where she had stood. He had come to this world seeking answers, but tonight, he had only found more questions.

    And for the first time, he wondered—had he already disrupted something he was never meant to touch?

  • THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter One: The Woman in the Library

    THE TIME KEEPER’S POEM: Chapter One: The Woman in the Library

    The air inside the small library carried the scent of old paper and quiet contemplation. A stark contrast to the controlled, sterile environment Arin had always known. He moved between the shelves unseen, observing the woman who sat by the window, her fingers dancing over the pages of a notebook. Strands of her dark hair slipped from her bun, framing a face absorbed in thought.

    Astha Mehra. The woman behind the poem.

    She was 46 years old, with an air of quiet determination about her. She wore jeans and a well-fitted t-shirt, the kind of outfit she was most comfortable in. Formal occasions sometimes forced her into a dress, and she knew she looked decent in them, but sarees were not her style. A pair of spectacles rested on her nose, occasionally slipping as she pushed them back absentmindedly. She considered herself average—perhaps even overweight—but there was something effortless about the way she moved, as if her body was simply a vessel for her mind, always lost in thought.

    Her pen scratched across the notebook in quick, sharp strokes, pausing every so often as she bit her lip in concentration. Her brows knit together when she struggled with a word, and then she would scribble something out, exhaling in frustration. She muttered under her breath, sometimes shaking her head at herself before continuing.

    Arin watched, fascinated. He wanted to understand what had driven her to write those words. Was it longing? Was it loss? Did she even know what she had captured in that poem—something so powerful that it had reached through time and found him?

    She sighed, stretching her fingers before flipping back a few pages in her notebook. Her lips moved silently as she read over something she had written earlier. Then, a small, satisfied smile flickered across her face, and she tapped her pen against the paper before adding a new line.

    That smile stirred something in him.

    He took in every detail of her—the way she pushed her glasses up, the way her lips moved as she read, the quiet sighs that punctuated her thoughts. She was a woman accustomed to solitude, to having thoughts that belonged only to herself. She was not trying to impress anyone. And perhaps that was what made her so compelling.

    She suddenly looked up, her gaze shifting toward the ceiling, as if she was about to speak to someone unseen. Instead, she pressed her lips together and shook her head, returning to her work.

    She had no idea he was here.

    For now.

    …To be continued in the next post