✊🏆Defeat, Defeat

The other day, one of my best friends stopped by my house. I was in my bedroom, speaking quietly with another friend—the one who has always been there for me, my most dependable companion, even more than my best friend.

My best friend overheard our conversation and knocked on the door. I said, “The door’s open, come in.” He entered and asked, “Who were you talking to?”

I replied, “A friend of mine.”

He said, “I heard you mention defeat and not giving up. Is everything alright?”

I hesitated before saying, “No. That friend is struggling. He’s weary, losing motivation for his dreams, on the verge of giving up after years of hard work. He feels defeated by life.”

“What did you tell him?” he asked.

I answered, “Defeat isn’t real. It’s an illusion—a fear, a thought born in our mind. Winning and losing are real; defeat is the worm that feeds on your doubts before you’ve even lost. It whispers lies, feeds laziness, insecurity, and fear. But it’s not you. You’re not a quitter. You’ve always been a fighter—the one who wins even lost matches. So defeat defeat.”

My voice grew stronger with conviction.

He smiled and said, “That’s some speech. Who is this friend?”

I grinned, “You know him well.”

“Have I met him?”

“It’s hard to say. All I know is, he lives inside your best friend.”

He looked puzzled, then said softly, “You are my best friend.”

I just laughed.

Because sometimes, the biggest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves. And the only way forward is to rise again and defeat defeat.

 

👻👔The Night I Outsmarted Ghosts (and My Delivery Manager)

A couple of days ago, I was chatting with a long-time reader of mine. Over the years, she’s become more than just a reader — more like a friend, and honestly, one of my biggest motivators.

After reading one of my recent posts, she messaged me:

“I had a nightmare after reading your blog. Don’t touch me.”

I blinked at my screen. Nightmare? Really? There wasn’t a single jump scare in that post.

Curious, I asked, “Why so? There was nothing scary about it.”

She shot back: “Who was that girl?”

I had to laugh. “I’m not sure. She never told me her name.”

But she insisted: “No, she felt unrealistically real. Like I knew her. She’s Sophia. She’s from your imagination, isn’t she? She’s Sophia — from your book.”

Sophia. My fictional character. She continued, “It was her ghost talking to you.”

I replied, “Maybe.”

“I cannot sleep unless you tell me the truth.”

And I, trying to be mysterious, answered:
“Truth is slippery. She could be as real as this conversation… or as fake as aliens (debatable). But if you really want a real ghost story, let me tell you what happened to me the other night.”

So, here it is. My ghost story.

---

A Hot Night, A Cold Coffee

It was after a brutal round of interviews when I dragged myself home, sweat-soaked and shirt plastered to my body like clingfilm. It was one of those nights when even the mosquitoes were complaining about the humidity.

Shower. Cold coffee. Bed. That was the plan.

By 3:00 AM, I was half-asleep when I felt something scratching at my legs.

I opened my eyes. Nothing.

“Must be a dream,” I muttered. But then, a warm breath tickled the back of my neck.

I whipped around. No one. Just the slow blades of the ceiling fan, slicing moonlight into shadows.

I pulled the bedsheet over my face. Classic move. If horror movies have taught us anything, it’s that polyester blends protect against supernatural entities.

But my heart thudded harder when I realized—I wasn’t imagining it. Someone was watching me.

---

The Granny and the Spider-Girl

I peeked out. And there it was.

A figure dangling from the ceiling fan, hair wild, face glowing like a pale lantern. An old lady, wrinkled, floating closer. Her smile—crooked enough to shame a dental school.

Before I could scream, something else crawled over my feet. Long nails scraped my skin. This time, the pain was real.

A young girl, drenched in blood, dragged herself across the bed, her twisted hands pulling like a spider. Her face was covered by hair — until the fan’s breeze revealed it.

Skin pale as chalk. Tongue grotesquely long. Eyes that locked onto mine.

Pinned. Trapped. Terrified.

I thought, This is it. Heart attack at 30. Headline: Blogger Dies of Ghostly Spider-Girl Attack.

---

Reflex, Rage, and the Alarm Clock

Her claws dug into my back. Teeth hovered at my neck. My hands flailed wildly until—smack—I found my alarm clock. Pure reflex, I smashed it into her skull.

Shockingly, it worked.

And that’s when I realized: they were in my world now. The land where gods bleed, CEOs betray, and delivery managers haunt worse than any phantom.

This is Earth. Ghosts don’t scare me. Humans do worse.

Politics, betrayal, clients who email at 2 AM—that’s the real horror show. Compared to that, Granny Ghost was practically comic relief.

---

Turning Fear into Comedy

The granny hovered, but I squinted and thought, She looks just like my old delivery manager, Vicky.

I laughed. Hard.

Her crooked smile twisted into confusion. And when I imagined the spider-girl as my Hitler-like client manager Fredu… oh, I nearly rolled off the bed laughing.

Apparently, ghosts don’t like being laughed at. Because they hesitated. They faltered. And just like that, the power dynamic shifted.

I grabbed Granny Ghost’s hand. “Where are you going, disturbing my sleep?”

Spider-girl lunged, but I was already in full rebellion mode. “Come here, you devil sons of… managers.”

And I punched her square in the face.

---

The Morning After

And then, I woke up.

Clock: 8:00 AM. Shirt: maroon. Pants: black. Office: waiting. Ghosts? Gone.

Or so I thought.

In the shower, I felt a hand on my stomach. Breath on my shoulder. This time, no laughter came. Somehow, they’re scarier in daylight.

I bolted, caught a cab. Phone rang. A distorted voice hissed:
“I will get you. You are mine. But first—I need to kill you.”

The call disconnected. No record of it on my call log.

When my cab arrived, I sat down, glanced at my socks (mismatched, as usual), and there they were—fresh scratch marks on my feet.

Dream? Reality? Self-inflicted?

I’ll let you decide.

All I know is this: ghosts may terrify, but delivery managers will always be worse.

✋🛑Don’t Touch Me – A Dinner I’ll Never Forget

It had been another long day at work. By the time I got into my car, I was drop-dead tired, dreaming only of my couch and a strong cup of tea.

But that night, hunger won the battle against laziness. On impulse, I pulled over at a restaurant I’d never tried before.

---

The Entrance

The place looked massive, with heavy wooden doors guarded by a man whose moustache deserved its own postal code.

His face was carved in stone-seriousness, but he was forcing a smile so hard it looked like a punishment. Either his manager had ordered him to “smile more” or some customer had complained that his poker face made them too uncomfortable to enter.

Personally, I always feel bad for serious-faced people. Nine out of ten times, they’re the nicest folks you’ll meet.

Still, it was unsettling when he opened the door and said in the sweetest voice:
“Good evening, Sir. Hope you have a great time.”

That smile… let’s just say it was the creepiest “welcome” I’d ever received.

---

The Ambience

The doors opened into an architectural marvel. White marble flooring, a high ceiling, and a massive dome painted with Egyptian gods mid-battle.

I stood there gawking until I realized half the restaurant was staring back at me. Not my proudest tourist moment.

I quickly slipped into the farthest corner seat, maroon velvet sofa hugging me like royalty. Behind me, a giant glass wall revealed fish lazily swimming past — as if mocking me for paying to eat their distant cousins.

The place was gorgeous. Which is exactly when it hit me:
“Damn. This is going to be expensive.”

---

The Order

Before I could sneak out, a waiter materialized by my side. There was no escape.

I flipped the menu with fake confidence and blurted out,
“One Tandoori Chicken… and a cold coffee.”

Classic broke-but-hungry order.

The ambiance was so inspiring, I decided to make use of it. I pulled out my notebook and began scribbling a dark, epic line:

“The cold winds of December carried away his tears as he held his daughter’s lifeless body, blood dripping from his hands. She was only seven. Betrayed by his own blood. He, the greatest warrior of the Akalious army, had lost everything…”

And just when I thought I was writing the next bestseller—

---

The Couple Next to Me

—my attention got hijacked by the couple at the next table.

The girl looked uncomfortable. “What are you doing? We’re in public. Behave.”

The boyfriend shrugged, “Nobody’s watching. Everyone’s busy.”

Cue my awkward mistake: I was staring. Not intentionally—just lost in thought. But when our eyes met, she shot up from her seat, marched to my table, and hissed:

“Don’t touch me.”

Now, imagine my panic. She was tall, striking, with curves that would make Greek sculptors cry. But all I could think was: Oh God, she’s a psychopath about to accuse me of harassment and extort money.

I stammered, “Sorry.”

She doubled down: “Don’t touch me.”

I snapped back, rolling my eyes: “I don’t wish to touch you. Not now. Not ever.”

But my eyes were already scanning for CCTV cameras, just in case she screamed bloody murder.

---

The Twist

She suddenly broke into a smile. “But you did touch me. Not the way you’re thinking. I’ve read your blogs. They touched me.”

I nearly collapsed in relief. Hopefully, my face didn’t betray the storm in my chest.

I asked cautiously, “Which blogs did you like?”

Her smile widened. “So it’s true. All those stories actually happened. Even now you’re pretending to be calm, just like with the girl in your ‘Face Off’ blog.”

I blinked. “So… you’ve read my blogs.”

She tilted her head. “Don’t change the subject. Tell me—are your blogs real?”

---

The Interrogation

I played coy. “Might be. Might be not. Some mystery is necessary.”

“So… something is real in them?”

“Most things did happen to me somewhere, sometime. Maybe not exactly as I wrote them. Don’t ask me what’s real and what’s not.”

“So kind of real.” She leaned closer, eyes locked on mine.

“Am I going to be in one of your blogs?”

I smirked. “Definitely yes. You ruined my chance to write a bestseller tonight.”

She raised a brow. “So what were you writing before I interrupted?”

“Not sure. Something epic. Kingdoms, politics, revenge.”

She laughed. “So basically clueless.”

“Exactly. Stories flow on their own.”

She studied me like a scientist examining a rare insect. “You always add a twist at the end. If you write about this meeting, what’s the twist?”

I leaned back. “Not every story needs a twist. But if you insist, I could make you a serial killer who tried to poison me.”

She laughed, then warned, “I’ll find your blog and comment the real story. Be careful how you portray me.”

“Then I’ll just reply it wasn’t you,” I countered.

---

The Goodbye

As she turned to leave, she asked, “What are you going to call it?”

I said, “Don’t Touch Me.”

Then curiosity got the better of me: “How did you even recognize me? My blogger photo looks nothing like me. I’m not exactly photogenic.”

Her answer chilled me more than the air-conditioning.

“You still don’t remember me, do you?”

I frowned. “What? Have we met before?”

She smiled—the widest, strangest smile I’d ever seen.
“Sometimes. Somewhere. Don’t ask me when or where.”

And with that, she walked back to her seat.

---

I muttered to myself, “Damn. Not again. I just hope she comments.”

🍔 Midnight at McDonald’s: The “It’s Not You, It’s Me” That Finally Made Sense

It was 11:30 PM.
The kind of night where silence feels heavier than the burger in your hand.

I was at McDonald’s — my comfort zone. No crowd, no chaos, just me, my burger, and the freedom to let tomato slices escape without judgment. Most of the place was cloaked in darkness, except my little spotlight corner. One worker manned the counter half-heartedly, and the vibe screamed: ghost town with fries.

As I bit into the burger, my phone pinged.

“One new message from Rossy Angel (not her real name).”

Rossy. Long curls, perfect body, too-hot-to-be-true. She’d added me months ago, and we’d been chatting casually. Tonight, though, the message wasn’t casual.

“It’s been a month since we started chatting. I think we should meet.”

For a second, I almost dropped my burger. I mean, when does life gift-wrap a moment like that? Still, I told myself to play it cool. No desperate midnight replies. Morning would do.

And just as I sank my teeth back into my burger…
I heard it.

A moan.

Not the fun kind. Not the ghostly kind either. (Though, let’s be real, even demons wouldn’t moan like that. They’ve got some self-respect.)

The counter guy had vanished. My corner spotlight felt like an interrogation lamp. Against all better judgment, I tiptoed toward the sound.

The darkness cleared. A hunched figure came into focus.
Not making out. Not a ghost.

It was a man. Crying.

---

A Face From the Past

“Ravi?!”

He looked up. Tears, sweat, and… wait, bald? Fat? Could this be the Ravi — college hunk, six-pack flaunter, envy of every guy, crush of every girl?

“Vinay?” he croaked.

Oh, it was him. Or what was left of him. My foot went straight into my mouth:

“You look so… different now.”

Translation: You’re not hot anymore.
He smirked bitterly. “Yeah. No longer the hunk. Lost the hair too.”

And then came the gut punch: “She dumped me.”

---

The Shock

I braced myself. “Rupali?”

Ah, Rupali. College goddess. Eyes that could hypnotize, smile that could heal nations, hair that had its own fan club. If anyone dumped Ravi, it had to be her.

But he shook his head. “No. We parted ways after college.”

Then he whispered the name.
“Rukmani.”

My jaw fell to the sticky McDonald’s floor. Rukmani?! The girl Ravi used to run from like she was an unpaid electricity bill? The stalker with short hair and persistence as strong as garlic breath?

“She’s different now,” he said defensively. “Caring. Confident. Almost my size.”

Fair enough. People change. Love changes. Burgers don’t.

“So why did she dump you?” I asked gently.

His answer? A dagger wrapped in cliché.
“Because… it’s not you, it’s me.”

---

The Universal Breakup Escape Hatch

I stared at him. “Wait, she actually used that line?”

Ravi nodded, sobbing harder.

Now, I’ve always hated that line. It’s the Ctrl+Alt+Del of relationships. No explanation, no accountability, just It’s not you, it’s me. Genius, really. You get dumped, but you can’t even fight back.

“Bro,” I said, “what she means is: it’s not you, it’s her bullshit. She bailed. No proper reason. No closure. Just a coward’s shortcut.”

“But, I cannot forget her.”

I tried calming him down but honestly, my sarcasm got there first.

“Dude,” I said, “how can someone dump a person because they’re mad at themselves? What is this logic? Like—my boss is yelling at me, I can’t yell back at him, so let me just dump my partner instead. Genius strategy! No mess, no drama—just utter the magic words and poof! Relationship Houdini.”

He looked at me, gloomy, and said, “I spent seven years with her. I was ready to start a family. And now I’m 31, bald, fat, and who’s going to marry me? I think she found someone else.”

To which I replied, in my best motivational speaker voice:
“Bro, if it’s really not you—it DEFINITELY is her. And if she left you for someone else, then trust me, this is just the trailer. Tomorrow she’ll find someone better than him too. Meanwhile, you? You’ve got stability, maturity, and actual relationship skill. You’re gold; she’s just running after glitter.”

But Ravi wasn’t buying my TED Talk.
“But I can’t get her out of my head,” he sighed.

At this point, my patience decided to leave my body. “Wait. She ditched you without a reason after seven years and you’re stuck daydreaming? Bruh, this is the time to burn her photo, flush it down the toilet, and maybe hire a priest to perform an exorcism, not cry like a rejected contestant on Indian Idol!”

He shook his head like a sad puppy, still clinging to hope, and whispered, “She was so nice… it must be that new guy she keeps talking to. Whenever I try calling, her line’s busy. Why couldn’t I see this coming? He must have brainwashed her.”

And just like that, my hidden Sherlock Holmes DNA kicked in.

“Alright, my Watson,” I declared. “This means investigation time. Does she have this guy on her Facebook friends list? We’ll track him down.”

Ravi, with trembling fingers, opened her profile like he was about to hack into NASA. His face looked like he was about to launch Chandrayaan 3, except instead of the moon, we were aiming for… the truth about his ex.

He scrolled through Rukmani’s friends list, hunting for the villain of his seven-year love saga. We were both expecting some shady guy with weird sunglasses and over-filtered selfies. But nope—nothing looked suspicious.

“Most of these guys I already know,” Ravi sighed, sounding like a disappointed detective in a daily soap. Then he looked at me and said, “And hey, I see you’re in her friends list too. Can you try to get the name out of her? Just pretend you’re reconnecting with old college friends.”

I frowned. “Wait a second. I don’t even have any ‘Rukmani’ in my friend’s list.”

Ravi shot back like he’d just cracked a major conspiracy theory: “It’s Rossy Angel.”

And that’s when my entire brain just… crashed.

🚤 Like a Small Boat in a Big Ocean (But Still Making Waves) - Motivational Speech

It was the release date of my first novel, and I was buzzing with excitement—like a kid who just discovered Wi-Fi after years of dial-up. Unfortunately, not all my friends shared the joy.

One, in particular, took it upon himself to play the role of Dream Crusher Extraordinaire. On our way home, he looked at me like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars and said:

Friend: “Do you know how many authors there are in the world? How many books get published every year?”
Me (sarcastic, of course): “Why do I feel like you’re threatening me right now?”

He smirked. “You’re just a little boat in a big ocean.”

Wow. Einstein, stop right there.

I didn’t argue much because here’s the thing: people who don’t even read your work will happily predict your failure. It’s easier to judge than to support. But inside, I was laughing. If I’m a little boat, then at least I’m sailing—while he’s still standing on the shore, Googling “what is a metaphor.”

---

🎭 The Cameron Diaz Metaphor (Yes, This Happened)

He doubled down on his philosophy:
“If I want to marry Cameron Diaz, can I? No. Because I’m a small boat and she’s the ocean.”

My reply? “Did you even try?”

Silence. Checkmate.

To poke him further, I added, “People called Einstein stupid once too. But here’s the thing about little boats—they can still make waves. You never trust a small boat to sail in a big ocean, but that doesn’t mean it can’t.”

He snapped back, “It would be crushed in pieces.”

“How do you know? Have you tried it?”

At this point, he got desperate enough to explain metaphors to me (ouch), which only made me laugh harder.

---

🎬 Real Life Is Stranger (and Better) Than Movies

When I explained that every entrepreneur, every king, every so-called “giant” once started small, he rolled his eyes:
“That sounds good in movies, not in real life.”

Excuse me? Has this man ever seen an inspirational movie? They are based on real people. Try telling Elon Musk, J.K. Rowling, or Oprah that their lives were “just like the movies.”

---

🛠️ Well-Wishers Who Don’t Wish You Well

Finally, he pulled the classic “I’m just saying this so you don’t get hurt when you fail.”

Ah yes, the dreaded Well-Wisher Who Doesn’t Wish You Well.

• At work, it was my manager who didn’t want to pay me my salary but swore it was “for my own good.”

• In friendship, it was this guy who thought I couldn’t handle rejection.

Let me clarify: I wrote a whole book. Do you think I can’t handle failure? Please. Failure is part of the syllabus when you sign up for dreams.

(Side note: my first book wasn’t a commercial success, but some readers called it one of the best thrillers they’d read. Failure? Not really. More like Chapter One in a bigger story.)

---

🎵 And Then I Sang

By the end, I was so done with his boat metaphors that I decided to annoy him with Rachel Platten’s Fight Song.

“Like a small boat in the ocean, sending big waves into motion…” 🎶

And yes, it pissed him off. Did it feel good? Absolutely. Sometimes, you don’t win the argument—you just sing it.

---

🌊 The Takeaway

Here’s what I learned:

• People will tell you you’re too small, too late, too ordinary.

• Most of them haven’t even read your work.

• Their “advice” says more about their limits than your potential.

So go ahead—be the small boat. Make waves. Annoy a few dream-killers along the way. And when they doubt you, sing louder.

Because little boats? They don’t just float. They move oceans.

⚡ Passion vs Hobby: Why I’ll Never Quit Writing (Even When Life Tries to Break Me)

Today, I came back from the office and just yelled, “Fuck off.”
Nothing personal, just corporate chaos slowly crawling into my head. Deadlines, politics, betrayal—the usual circus. But deep down, my frustration wasn’t only about work. It was also about the guilt of not giving my true passion—writing—the second chance it deserves before I bid it a final farewell.

As I sat with a cup of tea, I remembered something my mom once asked me:

“Why do you keep writing? It’s just a hobby. Do it when you’re free.”

Back then, I was too young to answer. I simply said, “It’s my passion.”

But now I finally know the difference.

A hobby is what you do when you have time.
A passion is what you do even when you don’t.

I’ve had sleepless nights because I didn’t write. Writing isn’t leisure for me—it’s survival.

---

🖋️ Why Writing Refuses to Let Me Quit

If I’m angry, I write.
If I’m sad, I write.
If I’m happy, I still write.

Even when I’m exhausted after a 9-to-6 job, plus four hours of commuting, I drag myself to the keyboard at midnight. Writing is not like the gym where you can just plug in music and push through reps. Writing requires thought, imagination, and consistency.

And yet, I do it. Night after night. Word after word. Because I know this: failure doesn’t kill passion.

My first book wasn’t a bestseller. The sales didn’t match my dreams. But you know what? That only made me hungrier.

---

💡 What Failure Really Means

Failure doesn’t mean you weren’t good. It means you dared.

I realized this while watching talent shows. Sure, some contestants weren’t “good enough.” But you could still feel the years of sweat, sleepless nights, and broken dreams behind those two minutes on stage.

It’s easy to judge. It’s harder to see the work behind it.

For me, writing is like that. You don’t see my midnight battles with the blank page, or my obsession with characters even while I’m eating or working. You only see the outcome—the book. And maybe you’ll judge. But for me, that process is everything.

---

🚀 The Truth About Dreams

Here’s the truth: if you have a dream and you’re not working on it, you’ll never get there.

I’m not saying effort guarantees success. But I am saying that effort guarantees peace of mind.

Every morning when I wake up, I can tell myself one thing honestly:
“I tried my best to make it work.”

And believe me, that’s priceless.

So if you’re reading this, stuck scrolling instead of working on your dream—you’re wasting time.

---

🌈 Pain, Rain, and the Pursuit of Happiness

Life isn’t about rainbows—it’s about facing the rain that makes rainbows possible. No pain, no gain.

If life knocks you down, take a moment. Feel the weight of it. But don’t get comfortable down there. Stand back up. Fight back.

Because that moment—the one where you rise again—belongs only to you.

I think of The Pursuit of Happyness, where Will Smith’s character finally gets the job. That one scene captures it: every failure, every humiliation, every night of hunger—it all flashes back in a single, overwhelming moment of victory.

That’s what passion is. That’s what dreams feel like when they come true.

---

🔥 Final Word

Passion doesn’t wait for free time. Passion creates time.

So, get your shit together. Stop blaming circumstances. Stop waiting for “the right moment.”

Your dream isn’t going to chase you—you have to chase it.

Because if you don’t, someone else will.

Labels:

A raw, motivational story of why true passion never quits—even after failure. For writers, dreamers, and anyone fighting for what matters.

Chapter 5 - Scary woods - novel - A tale of mysterious Greenfield woods

This is a copyrighted material

Sam tries to keep up with Sophia into the secret passage and runs behind her but she stops as the path reaches a pond. "This must be the magical water else no reason to bring me here.", says Sam trying to mock her. Sophia laughs and jumps into the water and does not come up even after a long time. Sam had no choice but to jump in and find out for himself but he could remember the unknown man’s words stay away from water. But after waiting for a long time he jumps in and sees a small opening beneath to get to the other side. He swims towards the light and comes out of the other side. A dim moon light that came of the hole in the dark unclean water guided Sam to the other side of the pond. Sophia was waiting for Sam to arrive on the other side. She holds his hands and says, "How did you reach so far? I did not expect you to reach here. At Least, not this quick." Sam replies, 'The Light..." Sophia interrupts and says, "Yes, always follow the light as they generally get you out of trouble. Anyways, I want to show you something.", and then drags him deeper into the Greenfield woods. Greenfield woods was known for being haunted and hardly anyone dared to go deep into the woods.

A small lane in a ziczac pattern ran through a dense coconut tree plantation and at the end of the plantation there was a broken bridge floating over a small lake. The mist cover gave a magical look to the broken wooden bridge which seemed like no one had dared to walk on it. It was scary with the moonlight falling over the lake and the reflection of the stars making it sexy at the same time. A wolf roar in the background made the night even more thrilling for Sam.

Sophia says, "Sam wait here for a minute." Sophia went into a small hut nearby with strict instruction that Sam didn't open his eyes. Sam lies down on the end of the bridge and closes his eyes when suddenly Sam's phone rings. The Voice says "Are you still alive?" Sam didn't mind much and replies, "No, I am dead. You are speaking to a ghost. Who are you?" The unknown voice replies, "I am the one trying to help you. Get out of there as soon as possible, your life's in danger. You would die a horrible death, one that even death would fear." Suddenly, Sam's phone network goes down and the line disconnects.

Sam could hear footsteps coming from the other side of the bridge. Sam shouts with fear in his voice, "Sophia, come out and do not play games with me." Sam sees a shadow moving behind the trees and gets up on his feet. He then tries to run but freezes not knowing where to go, whether to run towards the other side of the bridge or towards the woods. He could see a shadow with long hair weeping behind the tree and moves towards the tree to get a closer look. Sam could feel someone's breath on his neck and turns around but finds no one. He turns around towards the trees but there was no one. The sound of grass being crushed comes from behind but this time Sam didn't have the guts to turn around. Sam felt something was wrong and runs towards the hotel. Sam could hear footsteps approaching him from behind, so he runs faster but trips over a stone and rolls down.

Sam looks up to see a small girl being hung on the tree trunk with her own hair. She waves and winks at him. She then releases her hair and comes down onto him. Sam stumbles onto his feet and continues to run towards the lodge. He runs even faster with the hope to reach room 101 safely and get back to all the alive people. He hits something on his way and falls right back onto the ground. He looks up and blood spills on his face. He could see a man with a burnt face standing in front of him and cutting his own neck. The man says, "You are next Sam.", walking towards Sam with a limp. Sam gets up and sprints again and reaches the pond. He then tries to dive into the pond but something was holding his leg from below. The hair just pulls him back into the forest and raises him from his arms onto a branch next to the small girl. The swing close to the tree was swaying back and forth in the wind. Sam's legs were furiously flapping around trying to find power to free his hands which reminded him of his suicide attempt. He could hear people clapping and drinking beer, but he couldn't see anyone. Even in this noise there was a perfect silence and Sam could hear every sound, the sound of the crickets and wolves howling in the background which made him feel more nervous.

He could see an old woman standing far away combing her long hair, but he could hardly see her face from that distance. He could see her coming closer to him, but he could not do anything. Within few seconds her face was right in front of his. His heart misses few beats, almost stops for a second. She removes her hair from her face to let him see, her dark blue eyes with nails that has outgrown her fingers. She has a bright white face with wrinkles all around it and only had upper lips as she had bitten off her lower lips.

-------------------------------------------------Rest to be continued------------------------------------------------

Series : Love, Intimacy and Betrayal - Twisted Heart Saga

Title : A tale of Mysterious Greenfield Woods

Copyright © 2014 Kallat Vinay Surendran

Chapter 4 - Secret Passage - Novel - A tale of mysterious greenfield woods

This is a copyrighted material

(Warning Garpical content)

Series : Love, Intimacy and Betrayal - Twisted Heart Saga

Title : A tale of Mysterious Greenfield Woods

Sophia says, "I remember my father taking me to this hotel since childhood and it was then he showed me a secret passage to a secret world." She takes Sam to the back of the hotel into Greenfield Lodge, which was attached to the hotel. "Here, this is my favorite room, Room Number 101 and I have the spare key to this room. Let us go inside and have some fun.", says Sophia winking at Sam. Room Number 101 was placed right at the center of all the other rooms in the Greenfield Lodge. Sam says, "You have gone mad, there might be people inside." Sophia replies, "This room is never opened or given to the customers. You might be wondering how I got this key. Well, let's just say I am very close to the owner of this Lodge. Do not worry, just trust me and follow me."  Sam hesitates but Sophia's confidence overpowers his hesitation and they both enter the room. There was nothing extraordinary about the room, just a plain old wooden flooring house with old long watches. Seeing this, Sam asks, "Why did you bring me here? There is nothing much to see in here." Sophia replies, "Patience, my Love" and walks towards the new radio, which was looking out of place to the old architecture. Sam's heart was pounding as he could remember the words spoken by the unknown man. Sam slowly strays along the walls of the room and reaches for a nail cutter that was placed on top of an old antique table. “Every time that you get undressed, I hear symphonies in my head. I wrote this song just looking at you.” Sam exclaims, “I have heard this song before from Trumpets by Jason DeRulo. What are you up to, Sophia?” Sophia turns around, drops her gown and moves closer to him. Sam had not expected it at all and gets caught in the moment. Sam drops the nail cutter in his hand, moves closer to her and  pulls her towards him from behind. (Warning graphical content) Sam moves his hand over her stomach and kisses on her neck, which sends shivers across her body. Sam holds her firmly and turns her around. Slowly, he moves towards her lips and gently kisses her lips. He could feel the tenderness of her lips and then slowly moves down to her neck. He pulls her even closer with only his clothes separating their bodies. He could feel Sophia’s increasing anxiousness and her eagerness as if this was the time she had been waiting for long.  He stops for a while just enough for Sophia to react and her naughty look was enough for him to move forward and unhook her bra. She on the other hand was smiling and enjoying the act in sub-conscious state of mind, which made Sam feel more confident of what he was doing. He then moves her slowly towards the bed, stretches her hand behind her head and make her lie down in a comfortable position. Sam slowly moves down and removes her lingerie. She could feel his tongue rolling over her jugs and his hands moving between her thighs towards her there and then slowly moving inside it. Sophia could feel Sam's long finger going inside her and touching the sweet spots. She was coiling in out of pure pleasure. 

Come here rude boy, boy

Can you get it up

Come here rude boy, boy

Is your big enough.

Sam exclaims, “Thanks Rihanna for hinting me what to do next.” Slowly widening her legs, Sam goes on top of her and slowly moves into her. "Holy Shit. I can feel him moving inside me.", Sophia says to herself.  He bends over and kisses on Sophia's neck which sends shivers across her body right till her there. Sam could feel every bit of it and knowing Sophia crumbling down below him, he makes his movement faster and every sweat of his on her was hot. “Droplets of pure Love.”, says Sam in a whispering tone. Sophia on the other hand was cheering him on in a sub conscious mind. Sam moves his hand from behind her thin sexy back to her neck and gets a firm grip on her shoulder. Every move of his ended with a sound of pure pleasure that came out of Sophia’s mouth. Sam rests his body on her for a few more minute and then rises to his feet to watch satisfied Sophia lying on the bed. Sam moves away towards the mirror just to get back to reality of what had just happened. Sophia comes and hugs him from behind. Sam whispers, “You are the one I was waiting for.", and slowly moves more closer. He picks her up on his thighs and says, "I am in you." He could see Sophia coiling in out of pleasure as if she didn’t wanted this to end. And that is when the magical moment of being human is unrevealed to both of them. She arrives at the same time as Sam empties himself into her. He could see a tear droplet coming out of Sophia’s left eyes. He slowly kisses that tear from her eyes promising Sophia that he would never make her cry. Sophia relaxes her sweat driven body on Sam with most part of their body touching each other. Sam was leaning back onto to the table that gave him some support. Sophia then slowly raises her leg over Sam's legs and suddenly she could feel Sam growing inside her again. She clinches onto Sam and feels the marks which was made on the back of his body that she had not noticed at all during the act of submission. She looks at the mirror right behind Sam and says, "What are those marks on your back?" Sam replies, "I am not as good as you think I am. I still regret.." Sophia stops him and says, "Not today. This was the best day of my life and I do not want it to end it this way.” They make love for one more time and let go off their body, which by now was drenched in sweat. Sophia says, “Now you need no perfume, you have my smell on you. Sam you complete me.” They just hold each other and sleep for a while without talking. After a while Sam says, "Sophia, you brought me here to show some magic. Although, this was not less than magic but why did you bring me here." Sophia giggles and says, "If you feel I brought you here to do this then you are not wrong but the real reason was to show you a secret place." She looks back and points towards the mirror and says, "This is the magical mirror that would take us to the secret place. Why don't you try to move that?" Sam moves the mirror and finds a box with numbers on it. Sophia says, " The pass code is 2 9 0 2." Sam eagerly keys in the code and waits for something to happen but nothing happens. Sam says, "Are you kidding with me Sophia." Sophia says with a smile, " Oh, well yes. A little bit." Sam says with a little anger, "A little bit." Sophia replies with a little naughtiness in her eyes, "Yes, only a little." Sophia pulls his hands and pushes him away from the table in a playful manner and then pushes the table down. The tables moves into the ground forming the first step of the secret passage. Sam admires the entire arrangement and then follows Sophia into the tunnel. She runs ahead of him and says, "Catch me, if you can."

Copyright © 2014 Kallat Vinay Surendran

Chapter 3 - Mysterious Hotel - Novel - A tale of mysterious Greenfield woods

This is a copyrighted material

Series : Love, Intimacy and Betrayal - Twisted Heart Saga

Title : A tale of Mysterious Greenfield Woods

The next day, Sam decides to make it up to Sophia and asks her out for a romantic dinner. Sam was wearing short sleeve button down shirt which was tight and a Jeans, while Sophia was wearing a ground length  sequined ball-gown which was black in color a perfect date dress. They met and started walking towards Greenfield Hotel  with their hands almost touching each other. It was a cold evening, but his eyes were rooted to her hands moving closely to his. He wants to hold it but innocent touches were even more engraving. They enter the Greenfield Hotel which was famous for Sushi. Although, Sam didn't like sushi much, he had come to know that Sophia liked it from Leena and he wanted to make it up to her desperately. Sam had never seen so many Japanese eating together, so seriously, ever before. The silence in there when they both walked in was making Sam a bit nervous, while Sophia was confident and happy as always. Being the only non - Japanese couple in the sushi mushy counter, they earn lots of look. Sophia sits right in the middle of the hotel, while Sam just wants to run away to the bar section, away from all the drama. Sophia senses his embarrassment and holds his hands to calm his nerves down. Chef Daichi was giving a very good show right in front of their seat. Sophia always liked to be at the center of the party where all the fun part took place whereas Sam always preferred to be in corner where no one would be noticing him, holding a bottle of Budweiser. Sam knew they were not similar at all and also knew he needed Sophia more than she needed him. Daichi was a thin muscular guy with lots of piercing on his body and looked like Jackie chan. He was moving like a samurai chopping down vegetables with his four different sets of knife. He tosses a fish in air, made four cuts while it was in mid air and the fish falls right in front of him, intact in one piece. Daichi’s attention gets diverted towards Sam's chuckle who by now was feeling jealous of him. Chef taps the pan below and it breaks into four pieces. Sam whispers, "How did he do that? It should have broken into pieces the moment it fell down." Sophia whispers too, "Sam, I am also trying to find that answer from a very long time. Chef Daichi is the best and has the fastest hands that I have ever seen." This irritates Sam even more as Sophia's eyes were following Daichi and not him. Sophia takes his hand, places it right between her hands and says, "You have nothing to worry about, I am all yours." Sophia then gets up and says, "Let me freshen up," and leaves for the washroom. Suddenly, the lights go off and the entire hotel goes pitch black. Sam looks right out of the door as he starts to drift into his past of lonely dark nights in the jail. Sam, since childhood was always afraid of dark and that is when he thinks, "Should I just make a run to the door? Why the hell did they switch off the light? Where is Sophia?" Sam shouts, "Fire, Fire." Then after a few seconds he realizes it was just part of Daichi's show. Realizing all were looking at him, he shouts, "Oh, wow fire.", which fills in more energy in the room. Daichi starts to juggle vinegar, soya bottles, knives, sea fish and cooking handle all at the same time. He cuts, cleans the sea fish and cooks rice simultaneously without much effort. Sam realizes Sophia was right; Daichi really has the best pair of hands and the yellow orange flame just added glamour to his show in a pitch dark hotel. Sam actually starts to like the show. Sam has a very uncanny nature of attracting trouble especially when everything's going good in his life, that is how his luck is. An unknown person comes and sits right beside him without looking towards him. The unknown person looks strange, someone right from CIA who was in his late fifties. The unknown person says, "Don't look at me and look straight." Sam questions, "What?... Why?" The unknown man says, "Just do not say anything and just listen to me. Sam your life is in danger and my advice to you is to stay away from her." Sam asks curiously, "Whom should I stay away from?" The unknown person replies, "Just stay away from her; it's for your own good. What you see is not what it is like and.also try to stay away from water. Your friend ..."and he just leaves. Sophia comes right behind him and looking at Sam's stunned face asks, "What happened? Who was that man you were talking to?" Sam replies, "Just an old friend of mine. I was just thinking why did you take so much time to return? You missed the entire show." Sophia says something but Sam could not concentrate on what she wants to say. The unknown man's words were stuck in his brain, which forces him to think, "How does Sophia know so much about me? Why did we keep meeting each other with no information of each other at all? Was it just a coincidence?" Sam stops himself before ruining such a beautiful evening just because of that unknown man. And even if Sophia is an assassin, he would love her to take his life. After all it is better to die from the hands of a person you love. A beautiful Japanese girl passes and Sam just glances over her. Although, it was just for a second that Sam looks at her, Sophia didn't like it. Sam could see a little bit of discomfort on her face, which he kinda likes. Sophia asks Sam, "Why are you smiling?" Sam replies, "It is just you. You make me smile." Sophia replies, "Oh Sam, stop it now. Do not start it all over again." Sam couldn't resist the way she was looking at him and that made Sam dedicate a song for Sophia 
Baby I don’t wanna miss your smile,
I don’t wanna miss the taste of your lips,
Nothing else in this world can replace it.
Soft as butter, red as cherry,
Addictive as wine, Sweet as honey,
I surely don't wanna miss you baby,
Even if it means missing heaven,
I am gonna come with you.

I want to feel your nervousness,
When I come closer,
Your breath getting heavier,
And see your failed attempts to keep it lower,
I want to feel it,
If you are going to hell baby,
I am coming there to get you.

 You should know one thing by now,
I need no perfume,
Cause I have your smell beneath my skin,
Everyone thinks it’s a sin,
So I guess, I am going to hell with you,
You are not alone.
I can't miss the look,
That you give me when I look at other girls,
The way you blink it softly, lower it
Just to let me know your shyness,
I don't wanna miss it,
If you are going to hell baby,
I am with you in that journey,
To hell,
To hell,

I am with you,
Till the end


Sam opens his eyes to see Sophia's face red as a cherry and the way Sophia was blushing said it all. A loud round of applause went through the room. They could not understand a word of what he sang but they could feel the love in the air. Sophia says, “The poem was good but Sam but the way you said really touched my heart. You want to taste my lips Sam, just wait a little longer I am sure you would get more than that.”

Copyright © 2014 Kallat Vinay Surendran

🌿🌸🔍Chapter 2 - Greenfield Garden - Novel - A tale of mysterious Greenfield woods

This is a copyrighted material

Series : Love, Intimacy and Betrayal - Twisted Heart Saga

Title : A tale of Mysterious Greenfield Woods

Sam hopes to meet Sophia again at Greenfield Flowers, a garden full of stories. What begins with playful teasing turns into a heartfelt love confession.

🌩️👩Chapter one : When the Storm Brought Sophia - Novel - A tale of mysterious Greenfield Woods

This is a copyrighted material

Series : Love, Intimacy and Betrayal - Twisted Heart Saga

Title : A tale of Mysterious Greenfield Woods

In this emotional chapter, Sam’s attempt to end his life takes a dramatic turn when a girl named Sophia appears, dancing in the storm. A story of fate, survival, and an untold connection begins in the rain.

🍻❤️College Days - Nostalgia, Cheap Vodka, and the Legendary Proposal That Went Wrong

I was sitting alone in my company canteen with cash in my pocket yet feeling strangely unsatisfied. My mind drifted back to my college days when I had only a few coins in my pocket but was infinitely happier.

It’s funny, isn’t it? You don’t realize the value of something until it’s gone. Back in college, I often wished those years would end — especially during assignment deadlines and terrifying viva exams. Now, a decade later (2007 batch, shoutout), I miss those days more than ever.

The laughter, the inside jokes, the “Sutta” songs in the back row, writing journals in the canteen, and sneaking glances to figure out which girls were single — life was simpler, purer, and friendship wasn’t a tool for office promotions.

One memory, though, always stands out: our legendary Industrial Visit (IV) of 2007 — basically the last official trip where students act like it’s a vacation in disguise. And this one? It was to Goa. You can already imagine where this is going.

---

Goa IV: Cheap Booze and Broken Hearts 🌴

Now, let’s be clear: Goa is known for two things — cheap liquor and bold decisions. And since it was our last trip together, everyone who had a crush saw it as their do-or-die chance to confess.

The result? A record-breaking number of proposal failures in a single trip. If Guinness World Records had shown up, we’d have made history.

And at the center of this chaos was David (name changed for obvious reasons). David had already proposed to Sarah (his crush) a year earlier, only to be politely rejected. Not because she disliked him, but because back then, “no boyfriends” was seen as a badge of tradition.

But as they say, old flames burn stubbornly. This IV was his “last chance.” And of course, his friends weren’t going to let it go quietly.

---

Twenty-Four Hours Before Disaster ⏳

Cheap vodka, first-time drinkers, and Goa beaches — a recipe for pure chaos.

Some guys debated how “hot” one of our teachers looked at the beach (spoiler: not a great idea to say out loud). Others were busy egging David on:

“Come on, this is your last chance. Be a man!”
“She’s the love of your life. Don’t waste this.”

David, to his credit, hesitated:
“She’s traditional. I don’t want to hurt her.”

But then Jai — our most legendary drunken motivator (fresh from throwing up in a washbasin) — dropped the killer insult:
“You don’t have the guts to propose any girl. You wouldn’t even propose Farah — the unknown.”

For context, Farah was the kind girl every class has — quiet, invisible, almost ghostlike. Mention her name and people would just blink at each other.

That line hit David hard.

---

Six Hours Before Disaster 🍺

David was still tipsy the next morning. His friends doubled down:
“This is the perfect time, man. Alcohol makes you rough, girls like that.”

The mediator friend tried:
“Please, have some lemon water. Don’t do this.”

But the motivators wouldn’t stop.

“If you don’t man up today, you’ll regret it forever.”
“No ifs, no buts.”
“You can’t even propose Farah.”

The trap was set.

---

Ten Minutes Before Disaster 💔😂

We stopped at a restaurant for dinner. Tension was high. Jai poked again:
“This is it, your last chance.”

Another friend sneered:
“He won’t do it. He can’t even propose Farah — the unknown.”

And that’s when David snapped.

He stood up, banged the table, and shouted:
“WHERE IS FARAH? Bring her here! I’ll propose to her right now in front of everyone!”

The restaurant went dead silent.

And then… the room exploded in laughter.

Why? Because Farah was sitting right next to him. And next to her? Sarah, his actual crush.

Talk about a plot twist.

---

The Aftermath 🎭

David didn’t end up with Sarah. True to her values, she went for an arranged marriage later.

Farah? Well, she remained as mysterious as ever — still unknown, even to me.

David? He took the humiliation like a champ, eventually moved on, and became one of those unforgettable legends we still laugh about when we reunite.

The trip ended, our batch dispersed, and real life began. But that night in Goa — cheap booze, broken hearts, and the “Farah Proclamation” — still lives on as the most epic failure-turned-meme in our college history.

---

Final Thoughts 🌊

College days were messy, hilarious, and sometimes heartbreaking — but they were real. Friendships weren’t about convenience. Life was unfiltered. Mistakes became stories, and failures became legends.

And sometimes, the most embarrassing stories are the ones worth telling a decade later. 😉

A hilarious throwback to the 2007 Goa industrial visit — cheap booze, broken hearts, and the unforgettable story of David’s failed proposal. A nostalgic college tale you won’t forget.

🎭Relationships, Scores, and the Funny Little Games We Never Admit

If you’re in a relationship, you’ve probably noticed this already — for many girls, it’s always about scores. Not the kind of scores you find on a test paper, but invisible, unspoken points that get tallied in the background. And the best part? Even they don’t always realize they’re keeping track… until the scoreboard lights up unexpectedly.

Let me explain.

---

The Case of “Our Mom” 📞

The other day, I overheard two girls chatting about their boyfriends.

Girl 1: “My boyfriend calls my mom every day.”
(Back of her mind: Yes! That’s 10 points on the scoreboard for me.)

Girl 2: “Oh, my boyfriend does that too. Actually, he calls my mom two or three times a day just to check if everything’s okay.”
(Back of her mind: Boom. That’s 30 points for me.)

And just like that, the invisible competition is on.

Now, here’s the danger: the very next time Girl 1 calls her boyfriend, the conversation will start with:
“You don’t love me anymore. My mom is not your mom, right? Why don’t you check on her regularly?”

Pro tip, gentlemen: in such conversations, never say “your mom.” Fatal mistake. It’s always “our mom,” “our dad,” “our problem.” Notice the pattern? Her family, her issues, her world = our responsibility. But your issues? Sorry buddy, those are just yours. Welcome to the beautiful logic of relationships. 😅

---

Publicity: When Sorry Becomes a Spectacle 📢

Another classic scoreboard moment: apology emails.

Say you accidentally send five “Sorry” emails at once because they got stuck in your outbox. Seems harmless, right? She could easily read them, figure out what happened, or clarify over IM.

But no, no, no, no, no.

If she feels you’re worthy of a little gossip among her friends, she won’t let you off so easy. She’ll wait until you’re standing in a group, or maybe she’ll drop the question on your Facebook wall:
“So, did you really mail me five times last night? And why?”

You think: Wow, she asked me in front of everyone. She must be really interested.
Reality check: nope. It’s about the scoreboard again. Every proposal, every public “sorry,” every gesture is like fuel to her beauty meter. The number of people who’ve shown interest = direct evidence of how desirable she feels.

---

Activity: The Proposal Prank 🎲

Want to test this “scoreboard theory”? Try this just for fun.

Call a girl, casually propose, and then brush it off with: “Just kidding, maybe it was a prank.” Then hang up.

If a guy isn’t interested, he’ll laugh it off and never think about it again. But a girl? Whether she likes you or not, she’ll spend the whole night replaying it in her head.

And if you’re “worthy of publicity”? By morning, her friends will know, her cousins might know, and her bestie’s bestie will definitely know. You’ll suddenly become the hot topic in her little circle.

Here’s the kicker: when she sees you next, she won’t ask you directly. Instead, she and her friends will analyze your every move like detectives:

• “He’s still standing near the lift? Oh yes, he’s definitely in love with you.”

• “He smiled before leaving? That’s a signal!”

Meanwhile, the poor guy is left confused, thinking her interest means she likes him back. Nope. Sometimes, it’s just another round in the scoreboard game.

---

Final Thoughts

Relationships are complicated, funny, and sometimes downright confusing. But if you peel back the layers, you’ll often find it’s not about love vs. no love — it’s about points, publicity, and the silent games we all play.

So, gentlemen: next time you’re wondering why something small became a big deal, just remember… somewhere, somehow, the scoreboard is lighting up. 😉

Relationships often feel like a scoreboard — from calling “our mom” to public apologies and playful proposals. A humorous take on how girls tally invisible points in love.