There is a specific silence that follows the retreating tide, a hollow sound where the water used to be. It is the sound of a promise being pulled back into the deep. I remember the way my father’s hands looked when he worked the soil, the…
My first instinct was to look away. There is a particular kind of sentimentality that clings to images of children, a manufactured sweetness that feels designed to bypass the intellect and go straight for the throat. I have spent enough time…
The memory of cold water is never just a temperature; it is a sudden, sharp constriction in the chest, a tightening of the skin that makes you feel entirely, violently alive. I remember diving into a hidden cove when I was young, the salt stinging…
Stronger Short with Texture by Karthick Saravanan
A Tale of Happiness and Sadness by Karthick Saravanan
Flying Through the Water by Leanne Lindsay