Arjun Varma, once a believer in the company’s ideals, finds himself slowly silenced by engineered politeness and algorithmic compliance. As his voice erodes into metrics, he discovers others like him—colleagues who have begun gathering quietly, offline, to preserve the raw, unscored truth of their words.
Chakravyuh is a sharp, speculative allegory about corporate systems that reward illusions over honesty, and the quiet rebellions that trace exits from carefully built traps. It asks: in a world where even kindness is quantified, can truth survive unscored?
“This was never a passion. It was a quiet becoming.”
Writing, for me, wasn’t love at first sight. It was a stranger I met in silence. A presence that lingered when no one else stayed. Over time, it became a mirror to my feelings, a translator for thoughts I couldn’t say out loud.
What I write isn’t fiction—it’s memory threaded through metaphor. It’s the heart doing what the voice never could. Each story in this book is a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Each line, a part of me I once left behind.
I don’t write because I must. I write because somehow—writing remembers me.