Padma had always been a novel-hopper. She’d flit from a steamy romance to a grim detective thriller, from magical realism to post-apocalyptic diaries, all within the cozy glow of her phone. Her favorite hunting ground was Scribd. For a monthly fee, she had an entire universe of stories at her fingertips.

The results were the usual fare. But near the bottom of the fifth page, a single line appeared:

But the book remained in her library. She read it again. Then a third time. Each rereading revealed a new chapter she didn’t remember. In the second read, Maya met a blind astrologer who whispered, “You are not reading me. I am reading you.” In the third read, the final chapter changed entirely. Now Maya was standing in a library with no shelves, holding a phone. And on the phone was Scribd, open to a search bar.

The next day, she searched for more Grahadurai novels.

She laughed nervously. Then she opened a blank document and began typing:

Padma’s hands trembled. She typed into the app: Who is Grahadurai?