The slow motion of the shuttle train along with the breeze feels nice on her skin. At the end of the carriage, some students start singing one of those songs that everybody knows, in their loud and untuned voices, using whatever they have as instruments.

A dull thud and a cry from behind her roused Maia from her thoughts. She turned to find a figure clad in black sprawled facedown on the floor of the balcony. The dark-skinned boy was younger than her — in his early twenties.

He doesn’t smile as much as he used to. Even if he does, it doesn’t reach his eyes as much as it did before.

To be completely honest, the kitchen always spooked me after dark, especially if I had to open any of the cabinets under the sink. Who knew what I would witness one of these days in there?

Some stories just write themselves.

The light that drenched the man on the rooftop had no warmth to it. The light shifted and morphed with the changing visuals on the billboard,

And so it finally rains, it finally rains when I write.

What was it like, meeting you?

What is it about fireflies?

Lipi runs and runs, determined to get as far away from where she started as possible. She could feel all her pain infuse into her tears and stream violently down her face, subsiding that sunken feeling in her chest.

The fading away seemed palpable to me. It was a tangible rope on a continuous journey of gliding away. A force pushing me back while I tried to hold on until at one point I slipped way back into the background.

The pandemic does not discriminate, whether you live in Dhaka or New York City.

Black. Glossy in the moonlight. Its white whiskers asserting an implicit, involuntary dominance. Its supple body effortlessly sliding up and down the teak trees that are abundant here. A shadow – a dark emissary of the night – drifting among the plant kingdom like a fugitive.

"You know," I said, opening my backpack. "Maybe I will work from here today, listen to your story and write something on it."

What if we met not in this decade but in one where love would be a mechanical process? Would it be different then? Or is it what it is? What if we met at an age when engineers created love like they create machines now?

I’ll walk past the sea shore,

You're so annoying sometimes. Sorry, we do not use negativity towards ourselves. I'm sorry, I did not mean that. You're a wonderful person. Please grab a rag. We need to meditate.

Spilled tea over expensive emerald tablecloths,

Someone told me the music went on even after the fall of the very last curtain, the end of the very last act. The young violinist played away, hidden behind the ancient curtains and the many Corinthian columns.

You’re a work of fine art.