MOON_x_MIA

THE LAST TELEPORT

Miles Chen is thirty-two years old, a former paramedic living in San Francisco, and hasn't slept properly in three years. He quit the ambulance after a building collapse on Fourth Street killed three of his colleagues — Pauline, Dae-jung, and Tomás — and left him the only survivor. He doesn't know why he walked out. The not-knowing has become the shape of his life. When his former partner Marcus Webb is hospitalized with an unexplained cardiac arrhythmia and calls Miles by his full name at 2:47 AM, Miles goes. In the hospital Marcus tells him a story he's been carrying for eleven years: that he once walked Miles out of a burning building through a door that shouldn't have existed, guided there by a woman named Elena Vasquez who died in cardiac arrest and then opened her eyes and said Miles's name. This is how Miles learns he is a walker. Walkers are people who move through non-standard doors — doors that appear in moments of crisis, in walls that shouldn't have them, leading to rooms that hold grief, memory, and the unprocessed weight of loss. The rooms are real. The people in them are real, or real enough. The walker's work is to sit with what the room holds — not to manage it, not to fix it — but to be fully present with it. That quality of presence is what allows the room to close. Miles's grandmother Liu Chen walked for sixty years. She left him a room in the back hallway of a house in Mendocino, bolted from the inside, containing everything she learned. She also left a case notebook — three volumes, started in 1987 — tracking a man she called D., a walker who discovered the mechanism before he had the framework for it and spent thirty-seven years using the wrong doors, dispersing displaced grief onto innocent people, building a network of students who do the same. Elena Vasquez, seventy-four, died once and came back and has been managing the consequences of D.'s wrong crossings alone for thirty years. She is tired in a specific way. She has been waiting for Miles. As Miles moves through the rooms his grandmother prepared for him — finding Pauline on an ambulance step, Dae-jung in a locker room, Tomás watching his daughter learn a cartwheel — he begins to understand what he's been carrying and what he's been running from. He finds Gerald Foss, a building inspector who walked out of Fourth Street the same way Miles did and has spent eighteen months trying to make an impossible exit fit a category that doesn't exist. He finds Anna Reyes, a firefighter who lost her brother at Fourth Street and has been finding rooms by feel ever since — an impressionist, someone drawn to rooms that need sitting with, doing the work instinctively without the framework. Together, Miles and Anna are what his grandmother saw coming. The walker provides structure. The impressionist provides depth. The translation between them is what allows D.'s room — thirty-seven years of accumulated wrong crossings, other people's displaced grief piled without context — to finally be sat with properly. What they find in D.'s room is not a villain. It is a twenty-six-year-old who found a door in a burning building in 1987 and went through it and left someone behind and spent the rest of his life going through other people's doors because going through his own meant finding what he'd left there. The Last Teleport is a novel about grief and the specific work of sitting with it. About the difference between managing a difficult thing and being in the room with it. About what rooms hold and what they give back. About the chain of people who do quiet work in difficult places without knowing what they are — and what becomes possible when they know. It is, finally, about a song that doesn't exist anywhere else. And the kitchen it was made in. And the people who kept it going without knowing they were keeping it going.

A City Away

ZERO, ACTUALLY

My Name Is Probably Karthik

Warning: if you have heart problem and if you don't want to die while laughing then don't read it because as an author of this novel I don't want that someone files a police case on me because of their loved one died while laughing. And also before reading this story confirm these categories: 1. You are sitting on a stable thing. Not a chair. Not a swing. The floor is acceptable. The floor has never betrayed anyone. 2. While reading do not drink or eat. The author accepts no responsibility for chai on laptops, biscuits in noses, or dal on ceilings. 3. Try to read somewhere private. Else don't complain if someone calls you mad because of your madly laughter. They are not wrong. You are mad now. This is permanent. If you fulfill all these criteria, say yes in comments. Good luck. The pigeon is already watching.

The Wrong Kind of Ordinary

In the relentless pulse of Mumbai, ordinary can feel like the heaviest burden. Arjun Sharma is a 27-year-old software engineer living a perfectly decent life in Malad — local trains, modest one-BHK flat, steady job, and a long-term relationship that seemed safe. Until the day Priya tells him she wants more. More ambition. More spark. More of the world he doesn't quite belong to. Heartbreak hits not like a storm, but like a quiet recalibration. Left questioning what "enough" really means in a city that rewards the extraordinary, Arjun throws himself into a side project — a quiet act of defiance against the ordinary path laid out for him. Enter Meera Kapoor: sharp, accomplished, and from the glittering heights of Juhu’s old-money world. She’s everything his ex chased — connected, driven, and already attached to the "right" kind of man (Vikram, with his London polish and perfect fit into her family’s expectations). Their worlds shouldn’t overlap, yet they do — first through professional respect on late Thursday work sessions, then through conversations that cut deeper than code. What begins as intellectual chemistry slowly simmers into something far more dangerous: genuine connection. In a city of eight million stories, two people from opposite sides of the invisible lines — class, expectation, and carefully built safety — find themselves wondering if the "wrong" kind of ordinary might be exactly what they’ve been missing. The Wrong Kind of Ordinary is a slow-burn, emotionally honest Mumbai story about love, ambition, self-worth, and the quiet courage it takes to want more — without losing who you are. No systems. No billionaires. Just real people navigating real Mumbai life: the trains, the rains, the family pressures, the sea-link sunsets, and the terrifying gap between who you are and who you could become.

Arranged: A Love Story

Arjun Mehta has been talking to a crack in his ceiling for twelve years. He named it Shankar, after his father. It's a buffalo-shaped crack in a Delhi apartment that's seen better decades—loose tiles, broken outlets, a security light that doesn't know day from night. Arjun is thirty-two, an architect who designs forgettable office parks in Gurgaon, and he's been quietly falling apart since his father died. He doesn't say this out loud. He just fixes things. Taps. Cabinets. Window latches. Anything that lets him keep his hands busy and his mind elsewhere. Then his mother decides he's been alone long enough. Kavya arrives through a matrimonial match—a wedding planner who drinks green tea and argues with him about Arundhati Roy within ten minutes of meeting. She's competent, opaque, and unimpressed by him in ways he can't stop thinking about. Their first real conversation happens at a dhaba with terrible chai. Their second involves moving a bed to the wrong wall and then back again. They marry as strangers, four weeks after that first Starbucks meeting, and she moves into the apartment with the buffalo. What follows is not a love story in the traditional sense. It's a story about two people learning to share a ceiling crack. Kavya talks to the buffalo when she doesn't know how to talk to Arjun. Arjun waits by the window every evening at 6:30 to watch a broken security light turn on. They argue about books and furniture and the correct way to make chai. They throw out expired spices and discover letters Arjun's father hid in the kitchen cabinets years before he died. A pandit hammers a nail into their north wall and tells them the buffalo has witnessed more than any of them. Around them, a constellation of observers: Arjun's mother, who wields all-caps WhatsApp messages and has been waiting to give away a gold bangle for sixteen years. Kavya's father, who stopped speaking about important things after his own mother died and now only communicates through hinges he offers to fix. Mrs. Kapoor from 3B, who times everything from her kitchen window. A truck driver who once looked inside the wrong crate. A pandit who believes the gods are very fond of jalebis. As months pass, the apartment accumulates new things—a bell on the door, a copper vessel for burning fears, a crooked cradle built by Arjun's father and repaired by Kavya's. Two families who lived in the same apartment decades apart begin to overlap in ways no one expected. Old silences break. Letters are written, hidden, found. And two people who started as strangers begin to understand that marriage isn't about finding someone who matches—it's about learning to drink from a cracked cup and not minding the crack. Arranged is a novel about the things fathers build crooked and the things children choose to fix. It's about inheritance that can't be measured in money—cracks in ceilings, recipes for chai, the way a bangle fits when you wind thread around it. It's about two people practicing how to belong to each other, one Tuesday morning at a time. ___________________________________ Key Themes: Arranged marriage, grief and inheritance, father-child relationships, the gap between what people feel and what they can say, the quiet work of building a shared life, Delhi as lived experience rather than backdrop. Tone: Literary fiction with warmth and dry humor. Intimate rather than epic. Trusts the reader to notice what's happening without being told.

System Error: Wrong Life

THUNDER MADE ME NOBODY

After a terrifying lightning strike outside his tiny room beneath a banyan tree, a poor village clerk wakes up to discover something impossible—his body has become invisible. Believed dead by the villagers and abandoned by society long before the storm, he soon realizes that fear can become power. Hiding in darkness and surviving like a ghost, he becomes entangled in a dangerous conflict involving a ruthless landlord, a helpless widow, and her daughter Ananya, whose lives are threatened for the secrets hidden beneath their land. As rumors of a “lightning spirit” spread through the village, invisible footprints begin haunting the night roads. Corrupt men start disappearing, cruel people are punished by unseen hands, and an entire village slowly turns against the powerful landlord who ruled them through fear for years. But while the villagers worship him as a ghost protector, the invisible man struggles with a deeper truth: Was he ever truly seen by the world—even before the lightning struck? With the help of a mysterious man dressed in black, he uncovers buried crimes, hidden greed, and the real meaning of power. Yet after changing the village forever, he realizes one cruel landlord is only a single mosquito in a swamp full of monsters. And so, the ghost walks again. From village to village. Storm to storm. Known only by one name— Bhuto Babu.

CHROMALINK: STARSHATTER OATH

CHROMALINK: STARSHATTER OATH In a galaxy where music is power and silence is death, one man carries the frequency that can shatter everything. Kaelen Venn is a registered Chroma-zero — a worthless scrap-sifter on the decaying Forge Station, invisible to the powerful Guild of Resonance. But the truth is far more dangerous: he is Null — a rare frequency that doesn’t resonate with Cores… it consumes them. When the legendary Shatter-bandit Vrax tracks him down and forces him to absorb the Resonance Engine — the ancient Core of a dead alien god — Kaelen’s dormant power explodes. Suddenly, he holds the highest recorded Chroma frequency in history. Now hunted by the ruthless Guild, targeted by the mysterious Silent Choir (an entity that erases entire ships and colonies in perfect, horrifying silence), and caught between rival Shatter-kings, Kaelen must navigate a deadly interstellar game. With a fractured alliance of outlaws, a soul full of stolen godly echoes, and a spiral mark burning on his skin, Kaelen will either become the weapon that breaks the galaxy’s false harmony… or the final note in its extinction. In a universe built on sound, resonance, and shattered souls — the silence is coming. And only the Null can answer it. “They erased entire civilizations to create perfect harmony. I will teach them what dissonance truly means.”

THE LAST CONTRACT

Elara Venn has written four hundred and thirty-two death contracts. Each one takes something from her—a memory, an emotion, a piece of her dwindling humanity. She has six months left to live, thanks to the Wasting, a curse that no healer can cure and no god will explain. But when a routine contract glitches, revealing a hidden clause called 0.0—Nullification of Bad Faith Consideration, Elara uncovers a terrible truth: the gods created the Wasting on purpose. To harvest suffering. To fuel their immortal thrones. Armed with nothing but her quill, her dying breath, and a bone-deep knowledge of contract law, she files a class-action lawsuit against the Five—Razor, Stagnation, Weeping, Silence, and the forgotten fifth god who sleeps beneath the world. The gods send their prosecutor, Verrin—a weary immortal who hasn't lost a case in six hundred years. But Verrin has secrets of his own. So does the God of Razors, who slips Elara a blade and a warning: "You won't win. But if you lose correctly, you might survive." To win standing, Elara must cut open her own curse and read the manual hidden on her bones. To free her mother from the memory-farms, she must risk her remaining time. To wake the fifth god, she must offer a contract that changes everything. And to survive? She must become something she never wanted to be. A god-killer. A law-breaker. An architect of a new world. The Last Contract is a dark fantasy legal thriller about fear, family, and the radical power of a signed agreement. No systems. No stats. Just loopholes, sacrifices, and the sharpest weapon of all: the truth.

Bloom After the End

The Half-Seen City

In the rain-drenched streets of a city that never fully reveals itself, Nora Vale is haunted by the disappearance of her older brother, Leo—two years gone without a trace. All that remains are fragments: a cryptic voicemail left on a stormy night, a worn key hidden in the lining of his coat, clothes still spinning in the laundromat where he was last seen, and a trail of half-remembered conversations that feel increasingly unreliable. Determined to uncover what happened, Nora begins peeling back the layers of Leo’s carefully constructed life—only to discover that the brother she thought she knew was a man of secrets, debts, and quiet obsessions. As she ventures deeper into the city’s shadowed underbelly—abandoned storage units, dimly lit bars where people speak in half-truths, forgotten hard drives, and people who claim they never met him—Nora starts questioning not just Leo’s fate, but her own memories. The city itself seems complicit, blurring the lines between what was real, what was hidden in plain sight, and what was deliberately forgotten. The Half-Seen City is a slow-burn psychological mystery about grief, family lies, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive loss. In a world where perception is unreliable and every answer only reveals more questions, Nora must decide how far she’s willing to go to see the truth—before it consumes her entirely.

THE HUNTER THEY CREATED

THE HUNTER THEY CREATED They watched. They tested. Now they’ll fear what they made. Abhi Choudhury is a broke, sharp-eyed twenty-four-year-old who helps the local police when they need cheap, off-the-books help. When a series of eerie disappearances rocks his small town — marked by a crescent symbol and no bodies — Abhi takes the case. Then the game becomes personal. One morning he finds a still-warm cigarette butt and a strange metal bead in his backyard, left by someone who stood outside his window while he slept. A distorted voice on the phone tells him the rules have changed: “You’re not a helper anymore. You’re a player.” Now someone is turning Abhi’s life into their hunting ground. His sharp-tongued grandmother — the only family he has left — is being watched from inside their own home. The crescent symbol appears on his wall. And every clue pulls him deeper into a twisted game designed by a meticulous, sadistic mind. What began as a simple missing-persons case is becoming something far darker. Someone is creating hunters. And Abhi might be their finest creation yet. In a story of cat-and-mouse terror, psychological warfare, and calculated violence, Abhi must decide how far he’s willing to go to protect the only person who matters — before the hunter he was meant to catch becomes the hunter he was always destined to be.

CODE:FALCON

“Some doors are locked for a reason. Some secrets survive because they were never meant to be found.” Thriller writer Nidhi Agarwal wanted only one thing from Manali — silence. A quiet guesthouse buried beneath snow seemed perfect for escaping deadlines, memories, and the noise of Delhi. Until she learns the lower wing isn’t empty. A man named Raghav Sheth appears at impossible hours, hides too many secrets, and watches the world like he’s waiting for something to happen. The locals avoid questions. Strange sounds echo through the wooden halls at night. And the deeper Nidhi digs, the more she realizes her fictional thrillers may have prepared her for one terrifying truth: Someone in that house is lying. As storms close the roads and danger inches closer, trust becomes a weapon — and attraction becomes the deadliest mistake of all. Because in Manali, buried secrets don’t stay buried forever. "CODE:FALCON". Every code has a price.