Sanchita Chatterjee
Bio
Hey, I am an English language teacher having a deep passion for freelancing. Besides this, I am passionate to write blogs, articles and contents on various fields. The selection of my topics are always provide values to the readers.
Stories (58)
Filter by community
The Inkwell of Forgotten Whispers: A Confession Etched in Time’s Shadow:
The box arrived on a Tuesday, smelling of cedar and regret. Clara hadn’t spoken to her grandfather in seven years, not since he’d called her life’s work—“dusting books and daydreaming”—a waste of her Yale degree. Now he was gone, and his final letter, sealed with crimson wax, simply read: “For the Keeper of Stories.”
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Confessions
The Great Coffee Caper: How a Caffeine-Starved Intern Toppled Office Tyranny:
It all started with a stapler. Not just any stapler—the stapler. The crimson-red Swingline model that perched on the desk of Gerald Fitzpatrick, Director of Efficiency and self-proclaimed “Lord of the Spreadsheets.” Gerald ruled the third floor of Brantley & Brantley Accounting with the iron fist of a man who alphabetized his paperclips and timed his bathroom breaks. His latest decree? No coffee before 10:15 AM.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Humor
The Clockmaker’s Final Secret: When Time Stood Still in Willowbrook:
The pocket watch arrived in a velvet-lined box, its bronze surface tarnished but ticking stubbornly. Elara traced the engraving—For the Keeper of Lost Time—before winding it absently. Her grandfather’s final gift felt heavier than it should, as though it held more than gears.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Fiction
Arcane Hearts: When Ancient Magic Sparks Modern Love.
In the shadow of skyscrapers and subway lines, where neon signs flicker beside ivy-clad brick alleys, New Covington hides its secrets well. Here, between lattes and LinkedIn profiles, magic thrums beneath the surface—and for 23-year-old barista Luna Vale, it’s a heritage she’d rather forget.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Fiction
Grandpa Bert's Accidental Tech Rebellion: How a Wi-Fi Mishap United (and Divided) a Small Town.
It all started with a blinking red light. Seventy-five-year-old Bertram "Bert" Higgins had never considered himself a tech wizard. His relationship with the internet was transactional: emails to his grandkids, weekly video calls with his old Army buddy in Florida, and the occasional Google search to settle debates about whether tomatoes are fruits (they are, much to his dismay). But when his router began flashing an ominous crimson one Tuesday morning, Bert did what any reasonable person would do: he unplugged it, counted to ten, and plugged it back in.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Humor
The Great Key Kerfuffle: How a Tiny Misplacement Unlocked Townwide Chaos:
In the quaint hamlet of Picklewick (population: 723 and a very opinionated goat), Mayor Thaddeus P. Whifflebottom III was known for three things: his impeccably waxed mustache, his obsession with ceremonial rituals, and his uncanny ability to turn molehills into mountains. The town’s motto, “Order Above All, Except Maybe Pie,” was etched into every park bench, mailbox, and the goat’s collar.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Humor
The Day My Dog Ran for Mayor.
In the town of Muffinville, where the annual highlight was the Great Jam Jar Toss and the mayor’s podium doubled as a squirrel-watching perch, life was anything but ordinary. The townsfolk wore mismatched socks on Tuesdays, argued passionately about the merits of crunchy vs. smooth peanut butter, and once elected a rubber duck as honorary town treasurer. So, when my golden retriever, Waffles, ended up on the mayoral ballot, no one batted an eye. At first.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Humor
The Final Frequency: When the Radio Calls Your Name:
In the quiet town of Hollow’s End, where the only excitement after sundown is the flicker of neon signs and the occasional raccoon raid, Nightfall Radio reigns supreme. Hosted by the velvet-voiced DJ Silas Crowe, the show is a nightly ritual—a mix of melancholic jazz, conspiracy theories, and call-in stories from listeners. But lately, the airwaves have turned sinister. A strange pattern emerges: a name whispered between tracks, a burst of ear-splitting static, and then… silence. Not just on the radio, but in the world. Because whoever hears their name vanishes.
By Sanchita Chatterjee10 months ago in Fiction
