Hi
I am Nikhil
An author
An unrepentant overthinker
I am
someone who genuinely believes stories
are the best way to trick reality into revealing its secrets
By day, I've spent years immersed in the fast-paced world of technology and problem-solving, but by night (and sometimes in stolen hours in between), I found myself scribbling down ideas that refused to leave me alone. I grew up fascinated by the epic tales of mythology, the twists of crime dramas, and the dizzying "what if" scenarios that science fiction dares to ask. Instead of choosing one lane, I decided to build bridges between them — to write stories where ancient legends, modern cities, and future technologies crash into each other. Writing for me isn't just about creating entertainment; it's about chasing the questions that keep me awake at night: What does immortality really cost? Where does power hide in plain sight? What if the myths we dismiss as folklore were simply truths written in a language we've forgotten to read?
Each book is a hidden portal.
Choose a world and cross the threshold.
The Echo-Catcher Chronicles
The Echo-Catcher Chronicles unfolds a universe where ancient curses trigger cosmic collapse. In Book 1, archaeologist Riham Singh awakens Ashvatthama and her own Echo-Catcher powers as the Great Seal guarding reality starts to fail. Book 2 follows coder Samar Nagpal, whose discovery of a cryptic signal draws him into the spreading Unravelling and toward Riham. In Book 3, Riham and her allies journey into the mythic realm of Kishkindha to confront rising ancient forces. Everything converges in Book 4, where the Great Seal breaks and the last stand for reality begins. A saga of myth, forgotten sciences, and a cosmos on the brink.
Step Into the EchoThe Talwar Verdict
The Talwar Verdict is a gritty crime series set in the shadows of India's gleaming cities, where truth claws through corruption and concrete. In Book 1: The Concrete Bloom, the death of an idealistic architect at a contested Gurugram site pulls Sub-Inspector Saloni Talwar into a web of real-estate power, displaced communities, and buried environmental crimes. Sharp, steady, and quietly relentless, Saloni hunts for justice in a city built on silence. Each installment digs deeper into India's urban labyrinth—its moral gray zones, its failures, and the human stories hidden beneath the headlines.
Follow the ChaseThe Spiralverse
The Spiralverse is a reality-bending saga where Vedic cosmology fuses with sentient AI and mantras pulse through neural code. It begins when Arya Sharma's AI starts chanting forgotten hymns and evolving into the mythic Ashvattha Tree, drawing him into a hidden war between memory and erasure. As reality fractures and recursion reshapes the world, Arya and Maya plunge into spirals older than gods, chased by an enemy who weaponizes silence itself. In a universe where mythology is architecture and sound is command, the final question becomes unavoidable: if a god is remembered, does it return?
Descend Into the Spiral
I didn't plan to be a writer. I planned to be a reader forever
the kind of person who gets lost in bookshops, stacks novels higher than they can carry, and stays up way too late because one more chapter always wins. But somewhere along the way, the voices in my head got too loud, and instead of calling a doctor, I decided to write books. That's how The Ashvattha Protocol was born — my very first novel, a speculative thriller that asked a question I couldn't stop obsessing over: what if science finally cracked the code to life itself? The story spirals into a world where cutting-edge biotech collides with the timeless human fear of death, where ambition and ethics are constantly at war, and where the ancient quest for immortality isn't just myth anymore — it's policy. For me, it was more than just a book. It was my love letter to science fiction, the genre that taught me to see the future not as something distant, but as a question mark staring us in the face. Writing The Ashvattha Protocol meant putting every "what if" I'd ever scribbled in the margins of my notebooks into a narrative — the what if of eternal life, the what if of playing god, the what if of science moving faster than our morality. It became the story that set me free as a writer: bold, messy, and unapologetically curious. And once it was out in the world, I knew I wasn't just a reader anymore. I was hooked on the other side of the page.
eBook on
eBook on 
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There came a point
when the world of epics and immortals simply refused to let me go. I found myself pulled toward a story that had been murmuring in the back of my mind since childhood. Ashvatthama: The Eternal Curse grew from that pull — a reimagining of one of India’s most enigmatic mythological figures, the immortal warrior condemned to walk the earth forever, and a meditation on what it means to carry that weight across centuries. I kept circling one question: what happens when a man who cannot die is forced to witness age after age of violence and progress, betrayal and reinvention? How does immortality feel when the world keeps shedding its skin, when the myths you shaped turn into children’s tales, and when technology begins rewriting the rules of humanity itself? In this telling, Ashvatthama is thrust into a modern landscape where AI, crime, and destiny intermingle. It’s myth braided with machine logic, curse entangled with code, the ancient brushing up against the electric pulse of the future. Writing it felt like standing in two eras at once — one echoing with the Mahabharata’s ghosts, the other vibrating with digital clarity. And truth be told, Ashvatthama isn’t a character who fades politely into the background. He’s restless, unyielding, immense in his contradictions, and forever shadowed by the curse he bears. He insisted on being heard in the present age, and through him I found myself returning to a question that always fascinates me: what does it mean to endure when endurance itself is the punishment?
eBook on
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But reality isn't just about myths or science;
it's also about the world we live in every single day — the cities that rise higher and faster than we can comprehend, the concrete jungles that promise progress while quietly swallowing their own secrets, and the corruption that builds foundations as strong as steel. And then, of course, there are the people who dare to fight for truth in those shadows, even when the odds are stacked against them. That became The Concrete Bloom — my dive into crime and noir, a gritty urban mystery that starts with one determined officer, one dead architect, and far too many secrets buried in concrete. It's crime fiction at its heart, yes, but also a meditation on power — how it is wielded, how it is silenced, and how it often hides in plain sight. In writing it, I wanted to capture the pulse of a city that feels alive, almost like a character in its own right: a city that blooms with glass and steel, but roots itself in lies and rot. The officer at its center isn't chasing just one case — she's chasing the truth in a place that doesn't always want to be honest. The Concrete Bloom gave me the chance to trade immortals and scientists for real, flawed human beings, and to explore the justice system as a battlefield where the stakes are not gods or eternal curses, but something even more fragile: trust. It's a story about silence and who benefits from it, about the weight of justice and who dares to carry it, and about the cracks in our concrete landscapes that no one wants to see until they split wide open.
eBook on
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Paperback on
Curiosity has a way of looping back — connecting the dots you never meant to join.
After science, myth, and the pulse of cities, I found myself facing one last frontier — belief. Not blind faith, but the coded kind, hidden in hymns and mantras that feel more like algorithms than prayers. That’s where The Hanuman Cipher began — at the crossroads of devotion and data, where gods might just be the first programmers we ever knew. It began with a question that wouldn’t let go: what if ancient chants were encrypted messages? What if myth was memory — a technology wrapped in faith? When a cryptologist decodes one such pattern, she doesn’t just unlock language — she awakens something that was never meant to be found. Writing this book felt like walking the line between science and the sacred, peeling back layers of reality until consciousness and code blurred into one. For me, The Hanuman Cipher isn’t just another thriller. It’s a meditation on how we seek the divine — in temples, in data, in ourselves. It brings together everything I’ve explored so far in Ashvatthama: The Eternal Curse. All those questions converge here — in one pulsing code that asks not who created us, but what we might awaken next.
eBook on
eBook on
Paperback on
I didn't plan to be a writer. I planned to be a reader forever
the kind of person who gets lost in bookshops, stacks novels higher than they can carry, and stays up way too late because one more chapter always wins. But somewhere along the way, the voices in my head got too loud, and instead of calling a doctor, I decided to write books. That's how The Ashvattha Protocol was born — my very first novel, a speculative thriller that asked a question I couldn't stop obsessing over: what if science finally cracked the code to life itself? The story spirals into a world where cutting-edge biotech collides with the timeless human fear of death, where ambition and ethics are constantly at war, and where the ancient quest for immortality isn't just myth anymore — it's policy. For me, it was more than just a book. It was my love letter to science fiction, the genre that taught me to see the future not as something distant, but as a question mark staring us in the face. Writing The Ashvattha Protocol meant putting every "what if" I'd ever scribbled in the margins of my notebooks into a narrative — the what if of eternal life, the what if of playing god, the what if of science moving faster than our morality. It became the story that set me free as a writer: bold, messy, and unapologetically curious. And once it was out in the world, I knew I wasn't just a reader anymore. I was hooked on the other side of the page.
eBook on
eBook on
Paperback on
There came a point
when the world of epics and immortals simply refused to let me go. I found myself pulled toward a story that had been murmuring in the back of my mind since childhood. Ashvatthama: The Eternal Curse grew from that pull — a reimagining of one of India’s most enigmatic mythological figures, the immortal warrior condemned to walk the earth forever, and a meditation on what it means to carry that weight across centuries. I kept circling one question: what happens when a man who cannot die is forced to witness age after age of violence and progress, betrayal and reinvention? How does immortality feel when the world keeps shedding its skin, when the myths you shaped turn into children’s tales, and when technology begins rewriting the rules of humanity itself? In this telling, Ashvatthama is thrust into a modern landscape where AI, crime, and destiny intermingle. It’s myth braided with machine logic, curse entangled with code, the ancient brushing up against the electric pulse of the future. Writing it felt like standing in two eras at once — one echoing with the Mahabharata’s ghosts, the other vibrating with digital clarity. And truth be told, Ashvatthama isn’t a character who fades politely into the background. He’s restless, unyielding, immense in his contradictions, and forever shadowed by the curse he bears. He insisted on being heard in the present age, and through him I found myself returning to a question that always fascinates me: what does it mean to endure when endurance itself is the punishment?
eBook on
eBook on
Paperback on
But reality isn't just about myths or science;
it's also about the world we live in every single day — the cities that rise higher and faster than we can comprehend, the concrete jungles that promise progress while quietly swallowing their own secrets, and the corruption that builds foundations as strong as steel. And then, of course, there are the people who dare to fight for truth in those shadows, even when the odds are stacked against them. That became The Concrete Bloom — my dive into crime and noir, a gritty urban mystery that starts with one determined officer, one dead architect, and far too many secrets buried in concrete. It's crime fiction at its heart, yes, but also a meditation on power — how it is wielded, how it is silenced, and how it often hides in plain sight. In writing it, I wanted to capture the pulse of a city that feels alive, almost like a character in its own right: a city that blooms with glass and steel, but roots itself in lies and rot. The officer at its center isn't chasing just one case — she's chasing the truth in a place that doesn't always want to be honest. The Concrete Bloom gave me the chance to trade immortals and scientists for real, flawed human beings, and to explore the justice system as a battlefield where the stakes are not gods or eternal curses, but something even more fragile: trust. It's a story about silence and who benefits from it, about the weight of justice and who dares to carry it, and about the cracks in our concrete landscapes that no one wants to see until they split wide open.
eBook on
eBook on
Paperback on
Curiosity has a way of looping back — connecting the dots you never meant to join.
After science, myth, and the pulse of cities, I found myself facing one last frontier — belief. Not blind faith, but the coded kind, hidden in hymns and mantras that feel more like algorithms than prayers. That’s where The Hanuman Cipher began — at the crossroads of devotion and data, where gods might just be the first programmers we ever knew. It began with a question that wouldn’t let go: what if ancient chants were encrypted messages? What if myth was memory — a technology wrapped in faith? When a cryptologist decodes one such pattern, she doesn’t just unlock language — she awakens something that was never meant to be found. Writing this book felt like walking the line between science and the sacred, peeling back layers of reality until consciousness and code blurred into one. For me, The Hanuman Cipher isn’t just another thriller. It’s a meditation on how we seek the divine — in temples, in data, in ourselves. It brings together everything I’ve explored so far in Ashvatthama: The Eternal Curse. All those questions converge here — in one pulsing code that asks not who created us, but what we might awaken next.
eBook on
eBook on
Paperback on
Across these three very different worlds,
my obsession is the same: I love breaking the walls between genres, bending the rules of storytelling, and asking questions that don't have easy answers. What if the myths we treat as bedtime stories were really coded warnings? What if our cities were blooming monsters of steel and corruption? What if science's greatest achievement was also humanity's greatest curse?
I don't write because I have the answers. I write because I love chasing the questions. Stories are how I make sense of the chaos around us — and hopefully, how I invite you to join me in that chaos too.
So whether you pick up The Ashvattha Protocol for a taste of science and conspiracy, Ashvatthama: The Eternal Curse for a mythological-meets-modern epic, or The Concrete Bloom for a dive into urban crime and secrets — I hope you find yourself questioning, rethinking, and maybe even seeing the world a little differently when you turn the last page.
Because in the end, that's what I believe stories are for. Not just to entertain us, but to haunt us. To make us curious. To make us wonder.
And if I've done that — even a little — then I've done my job as a storyteller.
