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Weekly Contest #362
Golf Balls in Sweet Syrup The drizzle had started before dawn and showed no intention of stopping, falling in that peculiarly London persistence that was neither dramatic enough to be called a storm nor light enough to be ignored: a patient, grey insistence that seeped into the bones of the day.Standing by the bay window of his Primrose Hill home, Dr. John Sutherland watched raindrops gather on the glass before sliding lazily towards the sill. London had worn many shades of grey during his seventy-eight years, but this one, he decided, was p...
Weekly Contest #361
On the first Tuesday of every August, Peter Dunne travelled to Heathrow. It was a small ritual, the kind that outlives its own explanation. His daughter Cecilia, who lived only a few minutes away in Earley, always turned up at his flat off Oxford Road before he’d finished polishing his shoes, his cheese sandwiches ready before he was. He maintained every year that a taxi to Reading station would be simpler. Cecilia had ignored the argument for as long as either of them could remember.At seventy-nine, Peter still disliked rushing. Shortly aft...
Weekly Contest #360
Outside Chilis Indian & Indo-Chinese Restaurant in Reading, the drizzle had settled into that peculiarly British state between weather and opinion. It did not fall with purpose. It simply existed, fine and persistent, silvering the pavement, softening the traffic lights, and making everyone who entered the restaurant shake their umbrella with the same injured expression, as though the sky had personally overcharged them. Dr. Anupam Ganguly arrived at half past seven.He wore a short-sleeved white shirt and black trousers.He had not meant ...
The Last Graph When Arjun Mitra found the Zemansky, it was raining over College Street.Not the angry rain of July that slapped tramlines and overflowed drains, but a thin, patient December rain, almost apologetic, falling through the tangled wires above the bookstalls and gathering in dark beads on the plastic sheets pulled over old volumes.He had not gone there looking for anything in particular.At sixty-eight, one did not go to College Street to buy books. One went to check whether one’s past was still available at a discount.The pavements...
Weekly Contest #359
Every Thursday evening, Arshdeep Brar arrived at Mill Woods Town Centre around 5:45.The routine rarely changed. He parked his blue Ford F-150, bought a double-double from Tim Hortons, and spent a few minutes watching people move through the early evening. Some headed toward the transit centre. Some crossed the parking lot toward the library. Others disappeared into the mall carrying shopping bags.By six o'clock, the coffee was finished. The empty cup went into the garbage bin outside the Mill Woods Public Library entrance. Then Arshdeep went...
The monsoon had arrived early that June, turning Darjeeling into a place of grey skies and endless drizzle. Umesh Singh stood on the veranda of The Royal Steep and watched the weather worsen. He was twenty-six years old, and he had been so close.The letter had come in March. A position at the tourism board in Calcutta. Everything he had worked for since arriving in Darjeeling as an eighteen-year-old with nothing but a cloth bag and hunger for something beyond the borders of his village. The offer had been real. They had wanted him to start w...
Weekly Contest #310
Bur Dubai was quieter than usual. Maybe it was the mid-July heat or maybe just George’s mind slowing down after his final day at the EPC firm on Sheikh Zayed Road. Thirty-three years in instrumentation. Sixteen of them in Dubai. Today marked his retirement. His farewell lunch had been brief but heartfelt—vegetarian special thali and butter milk at the Malayali restaurant near the office, colleagues snapping selfies around him, clinking steel tumblers in his honour. No big speeches, just a nod to the man who always had the cleanest wiring dia...
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