Sanchita Khan

Author on Reedsy Prompts since Jul, 2022

Stories (6)

6 Stories

24 karma pts

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“The House That Waited” by Sanchita Khan

In the hollow of a quiet street, edged by banyan trees with roots like thick, writhing fingers, Rupa had grown up. She remembered its smallness, its secret ways, and its strange ability to turn still and shadowed at dusk, as though it were hiding something. And in a way, it was. The street was long and narrow, punctuated by worn houses with peeling paint, and at the very end of it stood an abandoned house, one that all the children called Bhoot Bangla. It loomed large in Rupa’s memory, that house—its peeling walls gray as winter, its windows...

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“Money Fails Here” by Sanchita Khan

It was a damp, quiet despair that sat on Madhupur, that small town somewhere between the known and the forgotten. For five days, the rain had fallen as if by grudge, as if by memory. A rain that could not forget what it came to drown. It turned the streets into rivers, the roads into puddles, swallowing sounds, swallowing faces, swallowing the town whole. The gutters overflowed, each one a secret stream weaving through mud and leaves. People clung to their umbrellas, darkened shapes bobbing under the wet, cold sky. The children watched from ...

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“Ray of light” by Sanchita Khan

The day began, like any other, with a quiet, disapproving hum that wound itself around the family breakfast table, settling most heavily upon the younger of the children. Farhan, who was sixteen and sullen, stabbed at his plate with a disgruntled face. “I wanted sausages and pasta, not boiled eggs and cheese-bread,” he muttered, an edge of rebellion coloring his tone. His mother pointed, not at him but at a calendar hanging on the wall, a daily regime nailed in neat squares. “Well,” she said, without looking up, “today’s breakfast is boiled ...

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“Twisted” by Sanchita Khan

9:30 a.m. The flight attendant informed the passengers to fasten their belts as the plane was about to land. Mason was in a deep sleep; it was 7 hours journey. One thing Mason never can do is read a book during fly, not even watching anything on the monitor. He has motion sickness. Long flights are like nightmares to him. The harsh reality for many of us, what we don’t like to do, becomes a part of our life. Moreover, this event might harm his marriage; he could avoid it, but sometimes it’s wise to be brave and let yourself float along with ...

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“Melting heart of a Stone” by Sanchita Khan

“Jack, drive a bit slow. The road is zigzag, don’t forget it”, said Flora. She is holding Tina’s hand. Tina is trying to act normal and relaxed though it’s not easy to hide her excitement. The road is scary. They were rushing towards the town but will be back soon. Nina, their great grandma, was sitting on a chair in her garden, closing her eyes, enjoying the sweet-smelling gentle breeze and waiting for them to return. Age has made her strong body bent and reduced her height to almost half the actual and, nowadays she can’t move wi...

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“Invincible” by Sanchita Khan

Submitted to Contest #153

The sun was about to rise. Its soft golden light had already bid farewell to the night and declared another day to begin. Some small birds were chirping from their nests. Chickens became restless to come out from the coops. Women in the village already got busy preparing the food since their husbands would go to the paddy fields and their children would attend school. Sonapur has only one school. During monsoon, sometimes this school becomes the emergency shelter for them. Throughout the night, Asma couldn’t sleep, and her pillow was soake...

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Author bio

I have always wished to fly—to stretch my arms like wings, feel the world slip away beneath me, and rise into the boundless sky. In my mind, I soar, unburdened, above mountain peaks and ocean depths, dipping and gliding over bustling cities, sleepy villages, the quiet corners of ancient temples, and the chatter of crowded cafes. I wander through the world’s smallest secrets and largest mysteries, listening to echoes of forgotten stories, the soft hum of the wild, and whispers that linger like old, unsung songs. Your thoughts, your impressions on my stories—be they praise or critique—are the wings on which my words learn to fly truer. Writing, I believe, is a thing born of solitude but raised in conversation. So, leave me your thoughts, if you will, and help my stories reach greater heights.