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Ayaan Kohli

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2025

Stories (4)
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4 Stories

49 karma pts

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A Kite

Submitted to Contest #339

I was only ten when the kites stopped flying in Lahore. Before "partition" was a word adults whispered, Lahore still felt like it belonged to all of us. Our gully in the walled city sounded the same every morning, milkmen calling out prices, cyclists weaving between rickshaws and tangas, and women arguing over vegetable prices. From our rooftop, I could see the street, the masala shop sign, and the minaret of the nearby Mosque. Best of all I could always see my best friend Kashif’s balcony where we would do hand signals to meet. Kashif and I...

8 likes 0 comments 0
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Lahore, 1947

I was only ten when the kites stopped flying in Lahore. Before "partition" was a word adults whispered, Lahore still felt like it belonged to all of us. Our gully in the walled city sounded the same every morning, milkmen calling out prices, cyclists weaving between rickshaws and tangas, and women arguing over vegetable prices. From our rooftop, I could see the street, the masala shop sign, and the minaret of the nearby Mosque. Best of all I could always see my best friend Kashif’s balcony where we would do hand signals to meet. Kashif and I...

1 like 0 comments 0
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Meethe Chawal

Submitted to Contest #333

I was only ten when the kites stopped flying in Lahore. Before "partition" was a word adults whispered, Lahore still felt like it belonged to all of us. Our gully in the walled city sounded the same every morning, milkmen calling out prices, cyclists weaving between rickshaws and tangas, and women arguing over vegetable prices. From our rooftop, I could see the street, the masala shop sign, and the minaret of the nearby Mosque. Best of all I could always see my best friend Kashif’s balcony where we would do hand signals to meet. Kashif and I...

16 likes 0 comments 0
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A Kite

I was only ten when the kites stopped flying in Lahore. Before "partition" was a word adults whispered, Lahore still felt like it belonged to all of us. Our gully in the walled city sounded the same every morning, milkmen calling out prices, cyclists weaving between rickshaws and tangas, and women arguing over vegetable prices. From our rooftop, I could see the street, the masala shop sign, and the minaret of the nearby Mosque. Best of all I could always see my best friend Kashif’s balcony where we would do hand signals to meet. Kashif and I...

1 like 0 comments 0
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