Sindoor Stories

Naina was sitting in the car, disoriented. She didn't know where her life was taking her, where her relationship with Sameer was leading to. She just wanted to hide somewhere, away from everyone's eyes...she couldn't pretend to look delighted when her heart was broken beyond repair. She closed her damp eyes, and recollected words of her ex-fiancee who was her boyfriend as well during college days. "Tum nahi janti main tumse kitna pyaar karta hoon Naina." "Hum na honeymoon pe Darjeeling jayege." "Tum Blue dress me bahut beautiful dikhti ho yaar." "Finally we are getting married. I am so happy for us darling." "You are slaying in this lehenga Mrs.Soon to be Mehta." Her chain of thoughts were interrupted by her new fiance, who looked at her with a captivating smile, while touching her soft hand. She breathed in nervousness, as He began to end the remaining distance between them. Naina stared at him in anxiety, and Sameer almost reached to her shivering lips. He could sense hesitance in her eyes, and eerie in her visage which was coated with fresh liquid of sweat. "Umm...what are you doing. Sameer?" She finally asked him in a barely audible voice. "I want to kiss you. Naina." He replied to her within a moment, and intensely looked at her innocently-inviting lips. "Kyun?" Naina questioned breathlessly. "Because I like you...main tujhe pasand karne laga hoon bahut yaar." Sameer said with enthusiasm overlapping in his husky voice, and She gasped for air. NOTE : The whole story is solely imagined and written by me, if you will dare to copy a single line or any scene from this book...Then don't forget I know how to make someone famous in just one night. :) Picture used in the cover is taken from - Pinterest

The poem is about an Indian Muslim , who shares how one feels when they are being questioned on their nationality and been claimed terrorist or to go away from India , just for being Muslims. This poem brings light on what Islam is , and what religion and faith terrorists follow / portray . The poem conveys a message that one is indian first and then comes the religion. And it's high time to be united as a nation,then being divided in our own nation.

She went out to forget a betrayal. She came back married to a stranger. Priya never planned to drink herself into oblivion. She only wanted the pain to quiet down-the kind that comes after love breaks you with excuses instead of honesty. One night. One stranger. No names. No promises. No tomorrow. What began as shared laughter in a loud pub spiraled into something unreal-temple bells, borrowed vows, sindoor she doesn't remember agreeing to, and a ring she wakes up wearing on the wrong hand. By morning, the alcohol fades. The memories don't. She runs-before questions can be asked, before he can wake up, before she has to face the truth of what she did... and what she felt. But some mistakes don't stay buried. A black thread still rests against her skin. A marriage still exists-whether she accepts it or not. And a man she calls a stranger may remember the night she's desperate to forget. Because the most terrifying part isn't the accidental marriage. It's the quiet truth Priya refuses to name: What if it wasn't just a mistake?

this is the story of the secret crossdresser who is preparing for upsc and living alone in the city, and at night he often wears girl's clothes secretly but one day her classmate almost caught him and than that story starts revolving around crossdressing, submissiveness and thier relationship 💖✨

The Sindoor Khela had begun. Women, draped in traditional red-and-white sarees, danced and laughed as they applied vermilion to each other's cheeks and foreheads, blessing each other with long, happy marriages. The air was electric with joy and nostalgia. But on the far side of the crowd, things were far less serene. Vaibhav Bajaj, having just returned from the business meeting, had barely loosened his collar before he was pulled aside by his BROTHERS, Kartik and Utkarsh, both covered in streaks of red powder and sweat. "KARTIK!" Vaibhav shouted, lunging after him. The chase was on. Laughing, the three boys ran through the crowd, dodging aunties, side-stepping plates of sweets, and narrowly missing an idol-bearer. And Vaibhav - in full sprint - collided. Smack. He slammed right into someone turning the corner from the other side. Mihiksha. She had been holding a brass thali, full of sindoor, sweets, and a small diya. The tray wobbled, spun - and tipped forward. In that single, fateful second- Vaibhav's hand instinctively reached out to stop the tray. But instead - his palm struck the center of her forehead. Right above the eyebrows. Right where the sindoor should be. Red powder exploded between them, dusting the air, staining both of their faces - but none more strikingly than Mihiksha Roy, who now stood, stunned, as a perfect streak of sindoor glowed across her maang. It looked like he had married her. Silence fell. All the shouting, music, and laughter seemed to vanish into a vacuum. Vaibhav blinked. His hand still hovered near her forehead. His breath caught in his throat. And Mihiksha- Her eyes were wide, dark pools of disbelief. The moment stretched too long. She slowly touched her forehead. Realization hit her like lightning. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Like dominos, people turned, stared, whispered. One aunty dropped her sweet plate. Another covered her mouth. And then- "HE PUT SINDOOR ON HER!"