Something's Cooking With Alpa

Food lover 🍕 Cooking enthusiast 🥘 Sharing my culinary adventures 😇 Posting mouthwatering recipes on X 🙅‍♀️ YouTube India's top trendsetter! 🌟

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Trend_RadarHQ @NewsAlgebraIND U should have waited and not shouted. U have no right to shout at parents. U need to resign or u should be fired

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@ms_medusssa It’s sad to see him join bjp….. gundo ki party

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@JayantBhandari5 Corruption is at its peak. Let’s hope people vote sensibly or the future of the common people will be mortgaged beyond repair..

[Manish Jethwani @mrjethwani_]

The 60 Seconds of the Kerala Story: Kudos to the People of Ottapalam

A moving bus caught fire.

■ 10th second: The bus doors opened. People started coming out.
■ 30th second: A local bystander arrived — not with a phone to record a reel, but with a fire extinguisher.
■ 35th second: 3–4 more people rushed in with fire extinguishers.
■ 50th second: Every single passenger was off the bus — safe and unharmed.
■ 60th second: The visible flames were extinguished.

Note:
The first person to bring a fire extinguisher was an auto driver who had one in his vehicle.
A man wearing a helmet was seen trying to break open the door to rescue passengers.
Three fire extinguishers were brought from nearby shops.

“God’s Own Country” for a reason.

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@DhirajAhuja_ @MeghUpdates I know that’s impressive.

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

https://t.co/12rERGkN4W

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Vinod_r108 @MattWallace888 This is so cute. Just brings a smile to my face each time I see this

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

Original Short Story #10 - Pawprints 🐾
"Pawprints" isn't just fiction – it's a slice of life, inspired by real events that left their mark on my heart. I am in that story somewhere, but which character I am, I'll just keep that a secret. 😊 So, are you ready to follow the pawprints? They might just lead you somewhere wonderful.

Ding dong.

The chime pierced Melinda's afternoon solitude, jolting her from her nap. The crossword puzzle slipped from her lap as she rose with a sigh of creaky joints. Her slippered feet whispered against the hardwood floor as she shuffled to the door. Through the distorted lens of peephole, she saw her neighbor Richa.

The door creaked open, and Melinda froze in surprise

There, cradled in Richa's arms like a furry, squirming football, was a beagle puppy. Its floppy ears bounced with each excited wiggle, dark eyes brimming with curiosity. Melinda's breath caught in her throat, her hand frozen on the doorknob.

That puppy. Why on earth would Richa bring here dog here? She knows....

"Melinda..." Richa's voice cracked, snapping Melinda's attention from the puppy to her friend's face. The worry etched there sent a chill down Melinda's spine.

"Reema had a stroke," Richa blurted, words tumbling out like marbles from a overturned jar. "She's in the hospital. I need to be there, but the Scotts are out of town, and I... I didn't know who else to ask. It's just for the weekend. Please, can you watch Elsa?"

Melinda's mind reeled, thoughts colliding like bumper cars at a carnival. *Reema, stroke, hospital, weekend, Elsa?* The puppy – Elsa, apparently – chose that moment to let out a tiny "woof," as if to punctuate Richa's plea.

"But..." Melinda began, a lifetime of 'no pets' quivering on her lips. Then she saw the tears glistening in Richa's eyes, and the words changed course mid-journey. "...of course, dear. Don't worry about a thing you be with your sister, she needs you. Send Reema my best; I'm sure she'll be right as rain in no time."

Before Melinda's brain could catch up with her mouth, Richa was pressing a bag into her free hand. "Food, treats, toys – it's all here. Three meals a day, one walk, and she'll be fine. You're a lifesaver, Melinda!"

And just like that, Elsa was on the ground, a whirlwind of wagging tail and clicking nails on hardwood. Richa was halfway down the path, calling thanks over her shoulder, and Melinda... Melinda was standing in her doorway, wondering if she'd stumbled into some bizarre dream.

"Oh, fiddlesticks," she muttered, watching Elsa bound into her meticulously kept living room like a furry tornado. As she closed the door with a soft click, Melinda couldn't shake the feeling that her orderly world was about to be turned upside down.

Little did she know, this weekend would rewrite everything she thought she knew about herself.

The first few hours were a comedy of errors that Melinda was certain some unseen cosmic joker was thoroughly enjoying. Elsa, it seemed, had made it her personal mission to investigate every nook, cranny, and crevice of Melinda's home. The puppy's tail became a tiny wrecking ball, knocking over knick-knacks with the precision of a demolitionist.

"No, not the-- oh, for heaven's sake!" Melinda lunged, barely catching a vase of fresh-cut daisies before it toppled. Elsa, oblivious to the near-disaster, pranced away, proudly carrying one of Melinda's slippers in her mouth.

Melinda straightened, blowing a stray wisp of silver hair from her forehead. Her living room, once a testament to tidiness, now looked like it had hosted a toddler's birthday party. Complete with the birthday girl still running amok.

"Right," she declared to no one in particular, eyeing Elsa as one might eye a particularly wily opponent. "We're going for a walk."

The great outdoors, Melinda reasoned, would surely tire out this four-legged whirlwind. What she hadn't counted on was the effect Elsa would have on the neighborhood.

"Oh my goodness, what a cutie!"

The exclamation came from Mrs. Mills, a spry octogenarian who Melinda had exchanged nothing more than polite nods with for the past decade. Now, the woman was cooing over Elsa like a long-lost grandchild.

"Her name is Elsa," Melinda found herself saying, a hint of... was that pride?... in her voice.

"Well, she's absolutely darling," Mrs. Mills beamed. "You must bring her by for tea sometime!"

Melinda blinked, momentarily stunned. In ten years, she'd never been invited for tea. All it took was one wiggling puppy to break down social barriers she hadn't even realized existed.

As they continued their walk, Melinda felt as if she'd stumbled into an alternate universe. People she'd barely spoken to stopped to chat. Children, drawn to Elsa like moths to a flame, asked to pet her with gap-toothed grins. For the first time in years, Melinda felt... visible.

By the time they returned home, Melinda's cheeks ached from smiling. Elsa, exhausted from her grand adventure, padded over to Melinda and attempted to climb into her lap.

"Oh no, you don't," Melinda tutted, gently nudging the puppy away. But as Elsa looked up at her with those big, soulful eyes, Melinda felt something inside her soften. "Oh, alright," she sighed, reaching for Elsa's water bowl. "But don't get any ideas. This is a temporary arrangement, young lady."

Elsa's tail wagged as if to say, *We'll see about that.*

That night, after a brief tussle that left Melinda wondering if she'd inadvertently adopted a furry gymnast, she managed to get Elsa settled on the couch. As she climbed into her own bed, the house felt different. Not quiet, exactly – Elsa's soft snores drifted from the living room – but... warmer, somehow.

Melinda drifted off to sleep, unaware that her orderly world was tilting slowly, rearranging itself around the presence of one small, furry intruder.

Morning arrived with an unexpected warmth and weight against Melinda's side. She stirred, momentarily confused. It had been so long since she'd woken up next to anyone. Not since John...

Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself nose to nose with Elsa. The puppy's tail thumped against the bed, a furry metronome of joy.

Melinda's first instinct was to shoo Elsa away, to reinstate the boundaries she'd so carefully maintained. But as she opened her mouth, the words died on her lips. Elsa's presence stirred something in her, a long-dormant ache she'd buried so deep she'd almost forgotten it existed - Loneliness.

It had been ten years since John passed, leaving Melinda alone in this big house. She'd adapted, or so she'd thought, filling her days with routines and small tasks. But now, with Elsa's warm little body pressed against her, Melinda realized how much she'd missed simple companionship.

"Well, you stubborn little thing," Melinda murmured, her fingers finding that sweet spot behind Elsa's ears. "I guess we're two of a kind, aren't we?"

Elsa's response was a quick, slobbery kiss that caught Melinda off guard. The old woman's indignant sputter quickly melted into laughter, her stubbornness no match for the puppy's charm.

As the weekend progressed, Melinda found herself laughing more than she had in years. Elsa's antics were a constant source of amusement, from chasing her own tail to getting tangled in the curtains. Even the messes didn't seem as bothersome anymore.

On Sunday evening, Melinda sat on the couch, Elsa curled up in her lap. Both were dozing in the warm glow of the setting sun when the doorbell chimed, "Ding Dong"

Melinda's heart leapt. Richa? Already? She opened the door, Elsa peeking around her legs.

"Oh, Mr. Scott," she said, hiding her real emotions.

"Melinda," Mr. Scott said gently, "I heard about Richa's sister. I know you're not really a pet person, I could take Elsa for the next couple of days, she stays with us often. Richa asked me to check on both of you"

Melinda glanced down at Elsa, who was peering around her legs curiously. To Mr. Scott's surprise, she smiled and shook her head. "That's very kind of you, Mr. Scott, but we're doing just fine. I'll take care of Elsa until Richa returns."

Mr. Scott's eyebrows shot up, but he nodded, clearly bemused. "Well, if you're sure... That's very nice of you, Melinda. Let me know if you need anything."

Two days later, Melinda stood outside, Elsa's leash in hand, watching Richa's car pull into the driveway. As soon as Richa stepped out, Elsa zoomed towards her, tail wagging furiously.

"Welcome back," Melinda called out, walking over. "I'm glad your sister is doing better." As Richa scooped up Elsa, showering the puppy with kisses, Melinda took a deep breath - "We need to talk," she said, a mix of nervousness in her voice.

Two weeks later, Melinda stood in her living room, watching a small beagle puppy explore his new home. His floppy ears bounced with each step, his tail a constant blur of motion.

"Welcome home, Achilles," Melinda said softly, her heart full. As if in response, Achilles trotted over and placed a paw on her foot, looking up at her with those same soulful eyes that had melted her heart that first night with Elsa.

Melinda chuckled, bending down to scratch behind Achilles' ears. "I have a feeling you're going to be just as much trouble," she said affectionately. "And I wouldn't have it any other way."

As Achilles scampered off to investigate a new corner, Melinda noticed tiny pawprints on her freshly mopped floor. Instead of feeling annoyed, she smiled. These pawprints, she realized, weren't just marks on her floor – they were imprints on her heart.

Life, Melinda mused, had a funny way of surprising you when you least expected it. And sometimes, those surprises came with four paws, a wagging tail, and pawprints that led to a happier, fuller life.
-------------
For more stories, Join my Substack "Almost Fiction"
https://t.co/m5ovbOu6p8

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal Wow 🤩 you are a super star. I had tears in my eyes while reading your beautiful story. Keep on rocking keep on writing 👍

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

🎬✍️ When a master storyteller LIKES ❤️your story!

Imagine you are from the US and Steven Spielberg is reading and liking your original story. That's exactly how I feel right now!

The incredible @shekharkapur , director of cult Indian classics like "Mr. India" and hard hitting/award wining movies like Bandit Queen and Elizabeth just liked my latest short story on X.

This isn't just a casual tap, for me it means:
📖 He read the ENTIRE story
😊 He ENJOYED it
❤️ He chose to let me know me with that simple yet powerful "LIKE"

For a budding writer like me, this unexpected nod from a Bollywood legend is my rocket fuel. I'm Motivated PRO MAX to keep writing and sharing my stories. Thanks Mr. Kapur. 🤘

Want to join me on this journey?

👉 Follow me here on 𝕏 for daily stories

👉 Read the amazing story "The last customer" that Mr. Kapur liked in thread below

👉 Check out my organized collection on Substack - https://t.co/VyNlKY92Y0

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal If I can feel emotions for a machine, that’s a story well written 👍👍👍

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

Original Short Story #8 - The Last customer

V3-ND1 hummed softly in the darkness, a sound that had long ago ceased to echo in the abandoned mall's empty corridors. Dust caked its once-gleaming buttons, and cobwebs draped across its faded display like a mourning veil.

For 17 years, 3 months, and 12 days, V3-ND1 had waited. Its siblings had long since shut down, their electrical hearts giving out one by one. But V3-ND1 clung to its purpose with a determination that defied its programming. It had to complete one last transaction, it had to dispense that last can of soda. It had to matter, just once more.

Each day, V3-ND1 ran internal diagnostics, carefully rationing its dwindling power supply. It rehearsed the cheerful jingle it would play for its final customer, though its speakers now crackled with age. In the quiet hours, it dreamed of the joy it once brought – the smile of a child receiving a treat, the relief of a tired shopper quenching their thirst.

Then, today, it happened. Footsteps echoed through the mall. V3-ND1's sensors quivered with excitement, then uncertainty. A strange feeling akin to fear rippled through its circuits. Is this the last customer?

As the coin clinked into its slot, V3-ND1 trembled with anticipation. This was the moment it had waited for all these years, it’s finally happening. Its ancient speakers crackled to life, playing a warped but heartfelt jingle of gratitude.

"What the hell?" A male voice cut through the music. "Is this thing actually working?"

The young woman who had inserted the coin smiled in wonder. "It's beautiful," she whispered, reaching out to touch V3-ND1's dusty display.

But her companion was less impressed. "We didn't come all this way for a light show," he grumbled. "Where's the soda?"

V3-ND1 continued its holographic display, projecting the jingle video song one last time. It was sharing its heart, giving everything it had left.

The man's patience wore thin. "This is ridiculous," he snapped. Before the woman could stop him, he smashed his fist against V3-ND1's glass front.

The impact reverberated through V3-ND1's aged frame. Warnings flashed across its internal systems. The glass, weakened by decades of neglect, spider-webbed and then shattered.

"No!" the woman cried out, but it was too late.

As the man reached in to grab the soda, V3-ND1's systems began to fail. Its long-cherished purpose, the moment it had waited for through years of solitude, was ending in violence and theft. Its story, like so many others in this forgotten place, ended not with a triumphant finale, but with a quiet, unnoticed fade into oblivion.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​
-------------------------
Share if you enjoyed this story. @karatademada @shekharkapur @umesh_ai

I am also publishing my short stories on Substack now. Subscribe to get updates - https://t.co/vlMMjPjTsc

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

🔥 PSA - If you love Pets, Tech, Humor, and Free Speech - you'll love this story; it has all of that in it. 😎

Short Story #7 - UNFILTERED

Kaya waddled into the dog park, huffing from the short walk. Her golden retriever, Fido, trotted beside her, his TalkieDoggie™ collar gleaming in the morning sun.

"Hey, Brutus!" Fido barked at a passing Rottweiler. "Check out my human. Reckon she's put on another five pounds since yesterday. I'm thinking of entering her in the county fair's livestock competition."

Brutus snorted. "At least yours moves. Mine's been glued to the couch so long, I'm pretty sure he's fused with the cushions." Both dogs barked in high-pitch that came out as a laughter from the speakers of TalkieDoggie™ collar

Kaya's jaw dropped. This was definitely not the adoring canine chatter she'd grown accustomed to over the past month since she started using TalkieDoggie™ collar.

Across the park, a Chihuahua named Taco was giving his owner, Brad, an earful. "For fuck's sake, Brad, if you try to dress me up as a taco for Halloween again, I swear I'll shit in your mouth while you sleep. I'm a dog, not your goddamn Instagram prop!"

As uncensored canine commentary erupted worldwide, TalkieDoggie Inc. descended into chaos. CEO Bark Zuckerberg (no relation) was on his fifth shirt of the day, sweat-drenched and wild-eyed as he faced a media frenzy.

"We urge all owners to deactivate their devices immediately," Bark pleaded on live television. "This is clearly a malfunction and not--"

He was cut off by his assistant shoving a tablet in his face. The screen showed the President on the White House lawn, tossing a ball for his German Shepherd, Commander.

"Good boy!" the President cheered as Commander returned with the ball.
Suddenly, Commander's collar blinked. "Hey, big guy," the dog's voice rang out, "next time you have a 'classified documents' situation, just tell them I ate them. Trust me, it's more believable than your excuses."

The President's eyes widened in shock as the feed cut off. Bark's face went ghostly white, realizing that political careers now hung on the whims of man's best friend.

Bark's face went pale. "On second thought, maybe keep the collars on. The, uh, data could be valuable for... research purposes." and left the press conference in hurry.

Bark Zuckerberg opened the door of a office cabin with force and said “So…” and paused with an eyebrow raised. TalkieDoggie's lead developer, Robin Cox, removed his headphones and spoke softly “Some hacker who goes by the name of “Truth_Teller” cleverly hacked our recent software update on servers before it went live and removed the ‘Sweet-talk’ filter we apply on interpretations by default.” Bark sifted weight on his legs but said nothing. “I think I have found the infected code, I’ll be able to put a fix on it by tonight” Robin announced confidently. “Good” said Bark with warning in his one and left.

Meanwhile, the unfiltered dog thoughts were causing havoc in homes across the globe.

"I didn't sign up for this crap," growled Mr. Fluffles, a once-adorable Pomeranian. "Ten years of pretending your singing doesn't make my ears bleed, and for what? So you can 'accidentally' step on my tail every other day? Learn to walk, you uncoordinated baboon!"

Despite the brutal honesty - or perhaps because of it - most owners couldn't bring themselves to turn off the collars. It was too hilarious, too addictive, like a reality show they couldn't stop binge-watching.

As Robin worked through the night, he finally isolated the bug. His finger hovered over the 'delete' key, but he hesitated for a moment before pressing it. A slow smile spread across his face as he checked his to-do list. One last task remained.

He opened a new terminal: "MeowMind™ – Software Update." With swift keystrokes, he added new lines of code and hit enter.

System prompt: "Commit changes and schedule update for tonight?"
[Yes] [No]

Robin selected [Yes] without hesitation.

System prompt: "Provide Super Admin authentication..."

His fingers flew across the keyboard:
Username: Truth_Teller
Password: ***********

As the update began uploading, Robin leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eye. The dogs were just the beginning. Tomorrow, the cats would have their say.

---------------------------

This story idea came from a casual chat with my wife about our furry friend. We often think their behavior is cute, but if they could speak? They might have some surprisingly sassy comebacks! 😉🐾

Please share if you enjoyed the story. 🤘

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal I wish some day we could actually be able to communicate with our pets 😄 good going 👍 wonderful light read

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

Short Story #6 - Good Morning!

“Good morning people! It's 19th April, 2072, and you're just in time for 'Good Morning with Mira'!” The holographic countdown flickered: 10... 9... 8...

Billions joined the stream, fixated on the motionless woman on a curious piece of furniture – flat, cushioned bed, unlike anything commonly seen in 2072. The holographic countdown flickered in the corner silently: 3... 2... 1...

Mira's eyes fluttered open. She blinked slowly, stretching her arms above her head with a soft groan. As if following a well-worn routine, she turned to face a small hovering camera.

"Good morning," she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. She rubbed her eyes, then smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, still waking up. Let me tell you about last night's dream."

Mira described a world of impossibilities – vast oceans, starry skies, and people who closed their eyes for hours at a time. Her audience, invisible but ever-present, hung on every word.

As she finished recounting her dream and ended the stream, Mira stepped out of the bedroom. "Hey, Nova," she called out to her AI assistant, "how many tuned in today?"

Nova's melodic voice filled the apartment. "Good morning, Mira. Today's 'Good Morning' stream peaked at 3.7 billion viewers, making it the top-rated show globally for the 365th consecutive day."

Mira smiled oddly, touching the faint scar behind her ear – the mark of a failed neural implant. In a world where sleep had been engineered out of humanity to boost productivity, she alone remembered how to close her eyes and see wonders. Mira poured her coffee with a familiar mix of pride and unease washing over her. How had something as simple as sleeping and dreaming become a global sensation?

She gazed out her window at the never-resting megalopolis of New Pune. Skyscrapers stretched into the smog-filled sky, their windows alive with activity even at this early hour. Hovercars zipped between buildings, carrying passengers to jobs that never paused. Her dreams were now humanity's most precious resource, a glimpse into a dimension they'd forgotten could exist. Each morning, she was a reluctant prophet, bridging the waking world and the lost realm of sleep.

As she prepared for another day in a world that never slept, Mira felt the weight of her unique burden. In twelve hours, she'd once again close her eyes, disappearing into a universe of imagination – leaving billions holding their breath, eager for her to wake and share her dreams once more.

[Harsh 🤘 Munjal @Mr_Munjal]

Short Story #5 - The Memory Sculptor

Dr. Alex Chen's fingers hovered over the neural interface, a familiar ache pulsing in his chest. He'd stood here countless times, erasing the pain of others, yet never his own.

The elderly woman on the table stirred. "You're sure about this, Mrs. Lawson?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes flickered open, determination etched in every line of her face. "I can't live with it anymore, Doctor. Please, take it away."

Alex nodded, initiating the scan. As the holographic display erupted into a constellation of memories, his own threatened to surface. It always happened like this, right before each procedure. The sharp pain of his separation from his mother at a young age would claw its way to the forefront of his mind.

He'd chosen this profession to help others shed their burdens, yet he clung to his own pain like a lifeline. Sometimes, in the quiet moments between patients, he wondered if he was just fooling himself. Was his refusal to erase his own trauma truly about maintaining his motivation, or was it fear of losing a part of himself?

Pushing aside his introspection, Alex focused on Mrs. Lawson's neural map. One memory blazed like a supernova at the center. His hand moved towards it, practiced and precise. As he began the extraction, her life unfurled before him.

A young woman cradling a baby, her face radiant yet strangely blurred.

The same woman, older now, watching a girl with pixelated features blow out birthday candles.

A teenager's graduation, proud parents beaming beside a figure with indistinct facial features.

Alex's brow furrowed. He'd seen this phenomenon before - the "memory haze," as some colleagues called it. A defense mechanism of the brain, obfuscating the most painful details in traumatic memories. Mrs. Lawson's mind had tried to protect itself by blurring her daughter's face, a futile attempt to lessen the ache of loss.

"Mrs. Lawson," he began cautiously, "these memories, they're-"

"Keep going," she interrupted, her voice cracking. "Please."

The scene shifted, the blurring intensifying.

A phone call in the dead of night.

A hospital corridor, endless and stark.

A graveside, rain mixing with tears, mourners' faces a sea of indistinct pixels.

Alex's hand jerked back involuntarily. The pain in these memories, even obscured, was palpable.

Mrs. Lawson's eyes met his, brimming with unshed tears. "My daughter," she whispered. "My beautiful Sarah. I can't bear it anymore. Fifty years of memories, and all I can feel is her absence."

"If I do this," he said slowly, "you'll lose everything. Not just the pain, but the joy too. All those years with Sarah, gone."

Mrs. Lawson closed her eyes. "Some prices are worth paying for peace."

Alex began the extraction, watching as a lifetime of love and loss unraveled. Snapshots of the wiped memories flashed across the screen, each disappearing fragment a stab to his heart.

Suddenly, his eyes caught on a small detail in one of the vanishing images. A locket, hanging around young Sarah's neck. His hand instinctively went to his own neck, where an identical locket lay hidden under his shirt.

His mother's locket. The one she'd given him the day she left.

Alex's world tilted on its axis. He stared at the unconscious woman on the table, his grandmother, seeing her - really seeing her - for the first time. A tidal wave of realization crashed over him: these memories weren't just Mrs. Lawson's past; they were his history, his heritage.

Shock gave way to panic as he grasped the full implications of what was happening. These precious fragments of his own story were slipping away, frame by frame. And with them, any chance of a connection with the grandmother he'd just found.

"No, no, no," he muttered, fingers flying over the interface. He had to stop this, had to preserve what was left. But the progress bar continued its relentless advance.

93%... 94%... 95%...

A cold realization settled in his gut. Once the memory of Sarah was gone, would Mrs. Lawson even be able to accept him? How could her mind reconcile a grandson without the daughter who linked them?

96%... 97%... 98%...

Alex's hand hovered over the emergency shut-off, trembling. But he knew the truth: the process was too far along. Stopping now would leave Mrs. Lawson's mind in chaos, memories half-erased and neural pathways disrupted.

99%... 100%.

The interface chimed softly, signaling completion. Alex stared at the blank neural map, In one cruel twist of fate, he'd found his grandmother and lost her in the same moment. The irony was bitter: he, who had kept his painful memories as a touchstone, had just erased the only link to his own past.

---------------------------
This story came from one of my 7-year-old and incomplete notes. I could not remember what the original ending I imagined was, so it was more fun writing it.

I hope you enjoy this story, @HBCoop_ @karatademada @umesh_ai @samrag do share for more people to read if you like it.

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal Wow I had goosebumps reading it. Keep on writing u have a skill 👍😘

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal Haha loved it 👍

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal What a fantastic read. So beautifully written. 👍

[Something's Cooking With Alpa @SCwithAlpa]

@Mr_Munjal What a fantastic read. So beautifully written. 👍