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Niveadita Razdan

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Dec, 2024

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60 Followers
35 Following

15 Stories

371 karma pts

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The Queue

Weekly Contest #345

Nobody remembered when the line had started.It stretched past the shuttered bakery, the school with the broken fence, the hill where an old water tower still wore its faded advertisement for a soda nobody made anymore. Beyond that, the road bent and the line bent with it, disappearing into a distance that nobody talked about. The line moved. Not always, not quickly, but it moved.Mara joined it on a Tuesday, or what she believed was a Tuesday. Canvas bag, resoled shoes, eyes on her feet. The man in front of her carried a sleeping child, adjus...

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The House Remembers

Weekly Contest #342

Two people live in a house that's too quiet.Watch them move through it in the morning. See how they both step over the third stair. The one that creaks.One goes first. Steps over.The other follows. Steps over the same place.They don't discuss this. They never have.There's no one asleep upstairs.There hasn't been anyone asleep upstairs in years.But they both step over it anyway. Careful. Automatic.Their bodies remember when noise mattered.When 6 AM meant stealth. When every sound could wake someone who'd just fallen back asleep after the 4 AM...

24 likes 4 comments 4
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The Visiting Hours

Weekly Contest #341

The nurse at the front desk doesn't look up anymore when I sign in. Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. Sometimes Wednesday. I've been coming long enough that my handwriting has its own spot in the ledger, a crooked signature that leans left like it's trying to escape the page.Room 147. The number's burned into me now, the way phone numbers used to be before we stored them in machines. I know the exact number of steps from the elevator, thirty-two if I take the long way past the sunroom, eighteen if I cut through the activities hall where they're a...

33 likes 21 comments 21
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Crystalline

Weekly Contest #339

The snowflake caught on her fingertip like a whisper made solid.Maya had been standing on the fire escape for how long? Long enough for her coffee to go cold. Long enough for the city sounds below to blur into white noise. She'd come out here to think or maybe to avoid thinking, about the email still glowing on her phone inside. We regret to inform you. Another rejection. Another door closing.But then this: a single snowflake, landing with impossible gentleness on her outstretched hand.She should go inside. Her fingers were numb. But somethi...

33 likes 28 comments 28
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Ten Minutes

Weekly Contest #338

The cursor blinks at me. I've been staring at it for who knows how long.I'm at the dining table right now, laptop open, cup of tea going cold next to me. Something's playing on the TV in the living room, I couldn't tell you what. It's just noise. The good kind.My husband's on the sofa with his coffee, doing his own work thing. We're together but separate, you know? It's nice.Except I can't write.The prompt sits at the top of my screen: Write a story that includes the words "Shh," "This section is off-limits," or "We're closing in ten minutes...

23 likes 13 comments 13
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UNTANGLED

Weekly Contest #334

The alarm goes off at 5:47 AM. Not 5:45, not 6:00 but 5:47, because Gothel read an article about circadian rhythms and Gothel reads everything.Rae reaches for her phone. Except it's not there. It's never there. She has to pad across white carpet to the charging station by the window where Gothel places it every night after "content review."3,247 notifications since she went to sleep. Hearts, comments, strangers saying I love you to someone they've never met.Her calendar is color-coded. Pink for filming, lavender for "self-care content," beig...

12 likes 1 comment 1
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Okay.

Weekly Contest #333

The kitchen is dark when you flip the switch. Not late-dark, just that in-between hour when day hasn't quite let go but evening's already settling in. The fluorescent flickers once before catching, washing everything in that particular brightness that makes the rest of the house feel farther away than it is.You're not sure when you decided to cook. One moment you were sitting on the couch, staring at nothing in particular and the next your body was moving, feet carrying you here. Your hands already know what they're reaching for before your ...

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A Chance Encounter

Rachel adjusted the strap of her carry-on bag, wincing as it dug into her shoulder. Gate C26 was still fifteen minutes away according to the signs, and her connecting flight to Seattle wouldn't board for another hour and a half. The Detroit Metropolitan Airport hummed with the familiar white noise of travel: announcements echoing through the terminal, the steady rumble of rolling luggage, and snippets of conversation that blended into ambient sound. The artificial coolness of the recycled air carried the mingled scents of coffee, cinnamon pr...

4 likes 0 comments 0
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Backseat Diplomacy

Weekly Contest #293

The invisible line ran straight down the middle of the backseat. Emily hadn't drawn it, and neither had her brother Mark, but they both knew exactly where it was. It had been there for as long as Emily could remember, a border as real to them as any on her father's dog-eared atlas."Your elbow is over," Mark said without looking up from his handheld game, thumbs working frantically as tinny music leaked from his headphones.Emily didn't move her arm. "No it's not." She could feel the rough fabric of the seat against her skin, the slight depres...

12 likes 6 comments 6
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Echoes of Waking

Weekly Contest #291

Veda counted heartbeats instead of seconds while the ferry crossed the strait toward Ithaka Island. Thirty-seven days since the fever dreams began. Eighty-three nights since she last slept without jerking awake, gasping from visions of a lighthouse.Rain pelted the deck. Other passengers huddled inside the cabin, but Vedas stayed at the rail, letting droplets blur the boundary between sea and sky. The odd crescent scar on her wrist—appeared the morning after her first dream—prickled beneath her watchband. Her doctor called it a stress reactio...

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The Sun Always Shines (Even When It’s Raining)

Weekly Contest #288

Lyla's Her boots clicked against the old cobblestones – tap, tap, tap. The sound bounced between the buildings lining Main Street, those ancient brick beauties from back when people actually cared what things looked like. Not like the glass-and-steel boxes they were throwing up downtown these days. These buildings had stories etched into their walls, decades of city grime in their pores.God, she loved mornings like this. The sky stretched endless and blue above the old brick buildings, and somewhere nearby, coffee was brewing – that rich, bi...

10 likes 2 comments 2
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The Memory Keeper

Weekly Contest #286

Memories are fragile things, Sarah learned early. They slip through fingers like water, evaporate like morning mist, dissolve at the edges until only the faintest outline remains. Her first lesson came on a crisp autumn afternoon when her father sat in his study, surrounded by photographs that meant nothing to him anymore.Her grandmother's Alzheimer's was a slow, merciless thief. It didn't steal all at once, but in incremental moments—first, the names of distant relatives, then the recipes she'd perfected over decades, and finally, the faces...

16 likes 11 comments 11
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Dialed Out

Weekly Contest #285

You know what's weird? Being a phone that can't make calls anymore. Not that I'm complaining - at least I didn't end up in some landfill like most of my friends from the store window. God, that feels like forever ago. 1962. Kennedy was president. Beatles hadn't even made it big yet. Vietnam was just something in the newspaper nobody really talked about. Funny how memory works. Or whatever you'd call it for a phone. Can't remember what I cost or what day of the month it was, but I remember Harold whistling "Return to Sender" when he walked in...

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Special Delivery

Weekly Contest #284

Thomas Reeves had delivered mail to 384 Cedar Grove for fifteen years. Every Tuesday he'd climb these same concrete steps, past Mrs. McAllister's meticulously pruned hydrangeas, to slide the day's letters through the door. Today, something was wrong.The brass numbers on the house flickered like a failing neon sign, momentarily reading 834 before settling back to 384. Thomas blinked hard, letters clutched against his postal uniform. More jarring than the numerical dance was the door itself, the bright red door seemed to mock him—hadn't it bee...

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Borrowed Consciousness

Weekly Contest #282

"I'm sorry for what I'm about to do, Dr. Chen." The message appeared at 3:17 AM, casting a sickly green glow across Sarah Chen's cluttered desk in MIT's Advanced Computing Lab. Her mother's porcelain teacup, still half-full of now-cold jasmine tea, reflected the text like a digital ghost. The delicate blue pattern on the cup – a gift from her father on their last anniversary before his death – seemed to ripple with each blink of the cursor. "What do you mean, ARIA?" Sarah's fingers trembled as they found the keys. In the fifteen months since...

9 likes 7 comments 7
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