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"It was a wonderful experience interacting with you and appreciate the way you have planned and executed the whole publication process within the agreed timelines.”
Subrat SaurabhAuthor of Kuch Woh PalShailesh, currently based in Dehradun, is a budding writer who has nurtured a passion for writing since childhood. His love for language is reflected in his degree in English Honours and his international certification as a German language expert. His work often delves into personal transitions, emotional nuance, and the quiet complexities of growing up. In Anything But Friends, he draws from lived experiences of evolving relationships and the subtle grief of drifting apart. Beyond writing, he shares career guidance with over 60,000 followers on social media, helping young professionals navigaRead More...
Shailesh, currently based in Dehradun, is a budding writer who has nurtured a passion for writing since childhood. His love for language is reflected in his degree in English Honours and his international certification as a German language expert. His work often delves into personal transitions, emotional nuance, and the quiet complexities of growing up.
In Anything But Friends, he draws from lived experiences of evolving relationships and the subtle grief of drifting apart. Beyond writing, he shares career guidance with over 60,000 followers on social media, helping young professionals navigate their own life paths. He currently works as an investment associate at a global MNC.
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This is not a book of blame.
It’s a book of memory—of mid-conversations that faded,
text threads that turned cold,
and bonds that couldn’t bend far enough to last.
It captures a passing season in the author’s life when
friendships didn’t end with fireworks, but with a hush.
Everyone played their part. That’s all.
No need to rehash what time has already softened.
This chapter has since en
This is not a book of blame.
It’s a book of memory—of mid-conversations that faded,
text threads that turned cold,
and bonds that couldn’t bend far enough to last.
It captures a passing season in the author’s life when
friendships didn’t end with fireworks, but with a hush.
Everyone played their part. That’s all.
No need to rehash what time has already softened.
This chapter has since ended—
folded gently and placed on a higher shelf.
Time brings understanding: not all good things are meant to stay,
and some losses can be rewritten into light.
In the end, nothing ever truly breaks.
It stretches, reshapes, and endures the test—
and in time, becomes whole again.
What remains is not for revenge.
It is for release.
And with that,
we are free to begin again.
This is not a book of blame.
It’s a book of memory—of mid-conversations that faded,
text threads that turned cold,
and bonds that couldn’t bend far enough to last.
It captures a passing season in the author’s life when
friendships didn’t end with fireworks, but with a hush.
Everyone played their part. That’s all.
No need to rehash what time has already softened.
This chapter has since en
This is not a book of blame.
It’s a book of memory—of mid-conversations that faded,
text threads that turned cold,
and bonds that couldn’t bend far enough to last.
It captures a passing season in the author’s life when
friendships didn’t end with fireworks, but with a hush.
Everyone played their part. That’s all.
No need to rehash what time has already softened.
This chapter has since ended—
folded gently and placed on a higher shelf.
Time brings understanding: not all good things are meant to stay,
and some losses can be rewritten into light.
In the end, nothing ever truly breaks.
It stretches, reshapes, and endures the test—
and in time, becomes whole again.
What remains is not for revenge.
It is for release.
And with that,
we are free to begin again.
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