The Chinese Mansion

One night, a boy glimpses a dragon slipping into his bedroom – or thinks he does. The image lingers, strange and unshaken, like a riddle with no beginning and no end. Nearly two decades later, he is a lawyer in a quiet town in West Bengal, where days unfold in a hush of heat, dust and muffled lives. And across his street stands the crumbling and half-asleep Chinese Mansion, watching him as he watches it, as if the secrets it holds might one day explain his own.

By day, he navigates the ambiguous corridors of law. He defends a man accused of violating a child. He represents Aisha, a recently widowed woman fighting her family to claim her inheritance, drifting into a tentative companionship with her – never quite defined and always unfinished. He does not seek company, yet a few remain close: a retired sub-inspector who speaks to cats and his housekeeper with a murderer's past, both drawn into his orbit without ceremony or demand. The world, for him, doesn't fall apart, it simply dims and slips out of his reach every day.

Siddique Alam's The Chinese Mansion is a meditation on the human soul caught in the crosshairs of grief and imagination.