“Someone seems to be lost,” Rhea remarked, balancing her chai carefully as she joined Ananya by the window.
“Because,” Ananya said, holding her cup, “this is peak existence. Rain outside, chai inside, and zero guilt about doing absolutely nothing.”
Rhea raised an eyebrow. “You are doing something. You’ve been staring at those raindrops like they’re about to reveal the plot of a thriller.”
“Maybe they will,” Ananya replied. “Each drop is basically a cosmic ping from the universe saying: pause, breathe, and appreciate the suspense – just like the best Indian thriller novels.”
Rhea laughed, nearly spilling her tea. “Or maybe the universe just wants you to finally finish that book by one of the brilliant Indian thriller authors. It’s been lying there since morning.”
Ananya glanced at the untouched novel. “Books can wait. Thunder, however, does not take appointments.” The two fell into silence, the rain composing its orchestra outside, their chai cups steaming like supporting cast members.
Sometimes, they agreed, the best suspense wasn’t even in a book but in a rainy day where the only plot twist was deciding whether to nap now or after the next cup of chai – a quiet reminder of why stories by Indian thriller authors always keep you coming back.
#KahaniHaiNaAmazing
