Some books don’t begin on the first page; they begin in the pause before you open them — in that quiet suspicion that what you’re about to read might just drag you into a world where ambition smells like cologne, betrayal sounds like a sliding boardroom door, and success tastes a little metallic, like fear. The Acting MD 2 made me feel exactly that way. Before I even reached chapter one, I had this uncanny sense that I had stepped onto a tall glass elevator inside Indus City

It starts like a film with the sound turned low — a ceiling fan humming, rain smudging a window, someone breathing too carefully in the dark. That’s how Solitude opens — not with a scream, but with the kind of silence that makes your skin remember things you’ve tried to forget.   I didn’t pick this book to be scared. I picked it because the title felt eerily familiar. Solitude. That tender, terrifying word. The one that sometimes heals, sometimes destroys. And Shubham Jain, i