Modern Times

Prologue The sun was merciless that day, sparing no one. The asphalt on the road looked as if it might melt and run down the sides. Maha walked with her head lowered, enduring the relentless heat. She walked down the otherwise crowded street - if not for the unbearable heat. Even the trees lining both sides of the road offered no relief. The usual bustle of traffic and honking vehicles only made the air feel heavier, the heat even more suffocating. Her well-set hair was now damp with sweat, beads of it rolling down her forehead, smudging the makeup she had carefully applied that morning. She looked at her watch, her face clouded with uncertainty. Digging into her handbag, she searched for any money left. Her fingers found a crumpled, torn ₹10 note. She held it in her sweaty palm, making it even worse. Carefully, she straightened it, staring at it for a moment before closing her eyes. A tear escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. One could not tell if her makeup had faded from crying o...

Chapter 1 It was 5 a.m., and the early signs of dawn whispered through the city—distant barking dogs, newspaper boys pedaling past, and the low rumble of garbage trucks making their rounds. These familiar sounds subtly announced the break of dawn. Pavithra lay motionless on her bed, as still as a statue. Sleep had eluded her the entire night, leaving her eyes bloodshot and her body stiff with exhaustion. The bedroom was lavish and spacious, large enough to accommodate at least ten people. The king-sized bed itself could fit five. The mattress was plush, the air cool and crisp, and every inch of the room reflected wealth and comfort. Yet, despite all this luxury, she felt hollow, staring at the ceiling like a ghost while a storm of thoughts raged inside her mind. Beside her, Karthik, her husband, slept peacefully—oblivious, untroubled. His steady breathing filled the silence, accompanied by his loud snores. To Pavithra, even the pounding headache she had was less unbearable than the sou...

The dawn was breaking, and the time was 6 AM. Preethi walked briskly—almost running—toward the parking lot. Her blouse like shirt and her pants accentuated her hourglass figure, her high heels hindered her pace. Her face was pale, her eyes red, and anyone could tell she hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Yet, even through her exhaustion, she looked radiant. She reached into her handbag, retrieved her car keys, and quickly got into the vehicle, driving away from the towering residential complex. As she passed through the main gate, Keerthi stood on the fifth-floor balcony, watching her car disappear into the distance. Her face was heavy with guilt, her own eyes weary from a sleepless night. Unlike Preethi, Keerthi wasn’t as attractive as she is — she had a good figure, dusky clear skin and wasn’t particularly tall. But her voice was like a nightingale’s. She had many friends who adored the way she sang, including Preethi. When Keerthi spoke, people listened; her words, her body langu...