In your last letter, you asked me a great but difficult question. All I can share is my journey through this mysterious concept that we call ‘life’. Like you,

The heat was nothing short of unbearable as he stared at the bold yet intricate patterns painted on the CNG in front of him...

The curves of her C’s And the loops of her L’s. The swirls of her S’s

His smile itself is an enchantress, his eyes two deep pools of the darkest coffee you make in December, amidst deadlines and impending vacations. “Two more days,” you tell yourself in your head, “This all will be over and I’ll get to relax.”

Rehnuma, from her early teens, had absolutely loved cooking. After she got married, and the task became a duty, she loved it more.

I held my grandfather’s hands, like he had held mine during my childhood despite my discomfort. My mother would bug my father about it once in a while, in a very soft manner. Father would squint his eyes and think deep. Mother would get bored and walk away.

Cubicles, cubicles Perfect your cuticles Beautiful, immovable Work in pharmaceutical Usual, suitable Visions longitudinal Acoustical, musical Fire in the crucible Usable, renewable Born to be excusable Disputable, hot missile Physically magical Mythical yet practical A good life in the cubicle

On this crowded pavement full of pedestrians pushing past each other, we’re strangers in every definition of the word.

I’ve waited for a while now,

“Hey.” “Hi,” says Amreen, turning to look at me over her shoulder and then back to face the street again. In a plain white fotua and jeans, she cuts a stark figure against the stainless steel railings of the balcony on which she is leaning.

They say my new friend isn’t really my friend. I don’t believe them. My friend has been a better friend to me than anyone else has even managed.

On the night of my wedding I break the ice with my newly wedded husband by telling him about the first man I loved.

The chilly winds of early November

The world seemed to be moving at its own pace, hectic and chaotic, just like any other day. But it didn’t sound the same.

…And when the surface tension could bear no more, the fluid slowly broke off – drip...drip…drip. The recurring sound of liquid dripping in the distance was the first to register into my mind which, accompanied by the stench of iron that assailed my nostrils, sent my brain into overdrive – blood.

There’s a point in space where two lines meet, An angle, a corner, a bedazzling cosmic feat.

“Hi, Lubana?” I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Goodbye, old friend. It was great while you were here,

“When are we going to the farmhouse?” “I don’t know.”

The clouds crumbled and poured, turning KORT dark. Bags after bags rolled in, umbrellas after umbrellas strolled in.