Eunoia. (2025)

07/09/2025

Anatomy of a skeleton

Skull - crushed under the weight of memories that refused to disappear. It wept quietly, remembering even what the mind had forgotten. A witness to the haunted past and a ruin of the body it once belonged to.

Jaw - cracked and destroyed in the effort to contain love. It held all the confessions on its edge until the constant pressure twisted it in a gruesome way.

Ribs - meant to protect the heart but it acts like an empty cage now. It is filled with all the unsaid apologies and regret, where each inhale is a reminder of what the body has been and what it will always be.

Hands - that never learned to carry love on their palms and always mistook betrayal from people for kindness and violence as love.

Feet - blistered from running the entire life, always toward the path of destruction. They knew nothing other than the touch of scorching fire beneath them.

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01/09/2025

The wait is over 🌟
With our newly inducted sophomores on board, the magazine team finally feels whole. Fresh ideas, new voices, and unstoppable creativity, our team is ready to bring the next chapters to life. Here’s to a year of stories worth remembering! 💫📖

05/08/2025

Long before he wore the crown of Khemet (modern day Egypt), Hierosa was a prince bold in battle, proud in speech, yet hopeless before a scroll. He hated the temple lessons.
“Why bend my head over dead lines? If the gods wish me to speak, let them send me dreams, not words.” He would say.

Yet his mockery hid a secret shame. For in the heart of the palace garden walked Glyphana - a princess from a noble house, with eyes dark as kohl and a mind quick as any scribe’s.
She sent Hierosa letters pressed with perfumed wax: words of teasing challenge and hidden hope. And Hierosa? He could not read a single line.

Night after night, he had to summon his most trusted servant, Kheti who would read the princess’s letters aloud, and help Hierosa shape a reply. Every phrase Kheti spoke aloud sounded softer than it should, like words dulled by distance. Glyphana’s letters grew bolder with time, yet Hierosa felt smaller with each reply. “What is my love worth,” he confessed to the night, “if it doesn’t come through my own voice”

Unable to sleep, he wandered through the silent Temple of Neheh, scouring through old scriptures and scrolls, When suddenly he stumbled upon a cracked black tablet, carved only with a single eye. “If letters fail me, then give me something, anything, that can show her what I feel.” Exhausted, he fell asleep at the tablet’s base.

In his dream, Hierosa walked through a city unlike any he had seen before: towers of shimmering glass, rivers of light running between them.
People passed each other without speaking, yet in their hands they held small glowing tablets; and on them danced tiny marks: 😂❤️🍃🌻🌺🐍🦅🐱🐶🐦🐟🔥💧🌊🍎🍞🎵🎶🎉.

Faces laughed, hearts beat, moons waxed and waned, suns burned bright. They tapped these signs back and forth, sharing joy, sorrow, hope, and love without a sound. Hierosa took a closer look, watching a woman press a single red heart onto her tablet and saw the man beside her smile, his own screen bright with stars. No words. No letters. Only feeling, shared like breath.

[Continued in comments...]

29/07/2025

The distinct voice i fear-
this night again,
I hear so many whispers in my ear.
Turn around- and they are gone
Because they cannot survive a faceoff.
They only grow stronger,
when the mind is clouded
And When the future looks bleak
I Am the Lie I Keep Correcting

The sound of stone on marble
The nausea catching a hold of my lungs
Trapping my breath each time I think

If thinking is a sin
then overthinking is a pleasure-
A luxury not all of us can afford
Not all of us want to.

The voice i try to erase
I try to run away from it
I try to hide and hope
like my shadows gone in the dark
The whispers cannot find me... here?

But they do

They are me,
a part of me
fuelled for far too long
They seem so sure about what they say,
I almost believe these whispers

But my heart breaks with a loud thud,
Cracking into porcelain peices of stones.
For that is the price, I had to pay to believe the whispers..

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14/07/2025

"Small things that made me smile this week"

I sat by the window, holding a cup of chai:
My eyes chasing the running clouds,
Something in me misses the city crowds.
I am content in the melody of slow and steady sounds,
But it looks so fun those city's
Magic merry-go-rounds.
Something in the city lights attracts me
For the chaos and louds.
In my view, there’s an old tree standing proud,
Never to leave the lush green land
Even in it's bad drought time, the tree has vowed.
I admired the land as farmers plowed,
While I heard something in the kitchen meowed,
A town life never leaves me bored,
Still, there is a great greed for life abroad.
I dream of fast life while peace is still adored,
My curious self wants both explored.
The limited time is easily ignored,
It’s easy if I can freely get on board,
But it can cost a bit to Me
Since the idea’s like a half built sword.
Life’s not a golden thread,
But a silver cord.
For it is to live and risk then to keep my gate safely closed .
The fact is :
" One's Life's not a balancing board ".

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12/07/2025

He flew on wings made of old letters,
Each word a feather, heavy with time,
Yet light enough to lift him into memory's sky.

The ink, though faded, but still whispered her name,Soft echoes caught in the folds of paper dreams.

These weren't just letters they were scars and shelter, Written with shaky hands and the hush of distant feeling.

Some letters holds hope forever and unforgettable moments. Others burned like truths spoken too late and Tears bluring lines meant to hold something true.

Love had not ended, it had changed its shape,
A war waged in silence, in growing apart,
Yet each word still reached for what once was.

And still he flew, wounded but rising,
Carried by words written when he still believed,Each one a memory grasping the hope.

And every line he read again became armor,
Not to protect but to understand who he had become,And to remember that even in goodbye, he had once loved deeply.

But he was still tucked between words of her,
that nothing could last Forever unless it was him.

And somewhere between the fading lines of letters,his quiet question remained!
if she would be his nothing?
in a world where nothing lasts Forever.

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09/07/2025

She found a tree, a sapling shy
Beneath the blue endless sky
She gave water, it gave shade
In silence their friendship stayed

She watched it grow, she watched it climb
Through summers, monsoons and through time
The tree grew tall, so did she
Two lives bound by a destiny

She told it secrets none would hear
Their bond remained strong, far or near
It heard her laughter, held her pain
Receiving both sun and rain

But as leaves fall, so did she
And her youth became a distant memory
They looked around for wood to burn
And found the tree where her memories turn

They cut it down, her precious tree
Burned so high to set her free
The trunk she hugged with glee
Turned into ash so silently

What she grew with love and grace
Held her ashes in its embrace
No farewell no goodbye
Just smoke that flew into the sky

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27/06/2025

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Writeup:._.11
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26/06/2025

[Oct 31st, Thursday]
Today Brian called me around noon. His voice was trembling with excitement, a rare thing for him. He said he was selected into something called the "Special Integration Cadre." I asked what it meant, but he laughed and said even he didn't know exactly. The higher-ups just called it an honor. He left that evening, not even a kiss. Just a wave. It felt cold when he shut the door.

[Nov 4th, Monday]

I got a call. Brian had been in an "incident." That's all they said. The woman on the line kept repeating that word like it would erase the dread sinking into my chest. I took the first bus I could take and reached the hospital that night. He was in a room, strapped to the bed, pale and shaking. He looked right at me and cried, babbling some nonsense, like an escapee from an asylum.

[Nov 5th, Tuesday]

The doctors said he was shell shocked. Post-traumatic stress resulting in disassociation and language confusion. I stayed with him for hours, watching his hands twitch and curl like he was learning how to use them. I asked them what happened, what the mission was, but everything was classified.

[Dec 5th, Thursday]

Brian was discharged. I expected a broken man, but he walked into the house tall and silent, almost perfect. Too perfect. No twitching. No nightmares. He kissed me like he knew he had to, not because he wanted to. I told myself it was trauma, that war rewired him. But he watched me sleep. Not lovingly. Just observed.

[Dec 9th, Monday]

He never blinked during conversations. He didn’t eat unless I reminded him. And when he walked, it was too smooth. Like he was gliding. That night I touched his chest while he slept his heartbeat was regular, too regular. Like a machine ticking at a fixed interval. His chest barely rose when he breathed.

[Continued in comments...]

22/06/2025

The year was 1942.

India was burning with the spirit of freedom. Across India, the voice of “QUIT INDIA” was echoing through the streets and villages.A final call of the Indian Freedom Struggle with a rallying-cry of “DO OR DIE” was commenced
The tyranny of the British government had broken the final barrier.

In midst of these, stood a small town of Amritpur, full of plucky and Valorant youths, protesting against the Firangi Raj. In a tiny mud house lived Arjun, a 12 year old boy having heart of a lion in the body of a child.....His father was a freedom fighter, often away with the revolutionaries..... His mother, kind and loving, taught Arjun about the dream of an independent India.

One stormy night , things went at odd for Arjun…….British soldiers raided their house and dragged his father away…..His mother wept and her health deteriorated……A few weeks later, she passed away leaving Arjun all alone, shattering his world….
The boy who once dreamt of kites and mangoes, now wandered the streets with a shattered heart and an empty stomach……
“Papa , please come back…”was the only thought that kept him alive…..Arjun, on one hand wanted to see his motherland independent….whereas on the other blames it for deprieving him of the basic necessities….
“Why must we be treated like this in our own country?” Arjun wondered…

One day while sitting under an old banyan tree, he read a thrown pamphlet stating “India belongs to us … We must fight with courage and not fear”…
Arjun’s soul caught fire with courage…. Though small, weak and bereft , he joined the freedom struggle with a tattered tricolour that her mother had sewn……As he stepped forward, with a tricolor in his hand, his fears fell silent – he was emboldened, heart roaring louder than any war cry…..He became a secret messenger……..Stood at the front, ablaze with courage, his voice louder than fear itself…Many times he was chased and beaten up but his father’s word of “NEVER BOW TO INJUSTICE” kept resonating…..The days were hard, Arjun often went hungry but the thought of seeing India free filled him with hope.
[Continued in comments ....]

22/06/2025

The year was 1942.

India was burning with the spirit of freedom. Across India, the voice of “QUIT INDIA” was echoing through the streets and villages.A final call of the Indian Freedom Struggle with a rallying-cry of “DO OR DIE” was commenced
The tyranny of the British government had broken the final barrier.

In midst of these, stood a small town of Amritpur, full of plucky and Valorant youths, protesting against the Firangi Raj. In a tiny mud house lived Arjun, a 12 year old boy having heart of a lion in the body of a child.....His father was a freedom fighter, often away with the revolutionaries..... His mother, kind and loving, taught Arjun about the dream of an independent India.

One stormy night , things went at odd for Arjun…….British soldiers raided their house and dragged his father away…..His mother wept and her health deteriorated……A few weeks later, she passed away leaving Arjun all alone, shattering his world….
The boy who once dreamt of kites and mangoes, now wandered the streets with a shattered heart and an empty stomach……
“Papa , please come back…”was the only thought that kept him alive…..Arjun, on one hand wanted to see his motherland independent….whereas on the other blames it for deprieving him of the basic necessities….
“Why must we be treated like this in our own country?” Arjun wondered…

One day while sitting under an old banyan tree, he read a thrown pamphlet stating “India belongs to us … We must fight with courage and not fear”…
Arjun’s soul caught fire with courage…. Though small, weak and bereft , he joined the freedom struggle with a tattered tricolour that her mother had sewn……As he stepped forward, with a tricolor in his hand, his fears fell silent – he was emboldened, heart roaring louder than any war cry…..He became a secret messenger……..Stood at the front, ablaze with courage, his voice louder than fear itself…Many times he was chased and beaten up but his father’s word of “NEVER BOW TO INJUSTICE” kept resonating…..The days were hard, Arjun often went hungry but the thought of seeing India free filled him with hope

[Continued in comments...]

11/06/2025

New chapter, new energy - and now, new roles!
Say hello to the team taking Eunoia into its next era:

🖋 Editors:
📣 Marketing Head:

You’ve already been such a big part of the journey, and we couldn’t be more excited to see you take the lead. Big things ahead - and we know you’ll absolutely crush it! ✨

Eunoia.

07/09/2025

01/09/2025

05/08/2025

29/07/2025

14/07/2025

12/07/2025

09/07/2025

27/06/2025

26/06/2025

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11/06/2025

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