I.

Never trust a man who likes scented candles and gets them for you as a gift. Their affections are just as fleeting as the candle. Just as synthetic as their scent. They will appear fancy like the candle they give you. Sweet like its smell. But then, with each passing moment you keep the flame alive, their façade will keep melting, burning away with the wick's dying strands. You will start noticing how they ration their compliments. Saving crumbs for when you relent to their requests of how you dress. Like the remnants of the wax that solidified at the bottom, they will keep you hoping, this time, things may be different. I can salvage these residues, melt them and mold them as I please. But you can't. You can't rid them of the stench of artifice.

by Tashfia Ahmed 

II.

"Do you wanna see something cool? Give me your hand!"

When Mira opened her palms, Riyan held the lit candle above it at an angle. Mira flinched for a second and almost closed her palms shut.

"No! Give it a second!" Riyan whispered. If their parents saw them playing with fire, they would never hear the end of it.

Hot wax soon hardened, and Mira relaxed. The warm feeling after momentary pain feels kind of nice.

"Wait here, and don't do anything with your hand. We can't let the wax break."

Riyan ran and brought a small bowl of water and peeled the wax drops gently from Mira's hand, and let them float on water and saw her face going from confusion to delight. She giggled softly.

He was five, but he knew he wanted to hear her giggles till the day he died.

***
"It's okay babe. I am here. It'll be over in a second."

But Riyan can't help feeling uneasy. This doesn't seem right. He sometimes blames himself for getting Mira into the melted wax. And now he has to see this day. The melted wax settled in his chest, and the next second Riyan felt excruciating pain. His eyes welled up.

Mira held him firmly as he sobbed. She let out a snort.

Riyan is never waxing again in his life. Never again.

by Mushsharat Azad Bisha

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‘Begin’: Sehri Tales selections, Day 1

III.

It takes us one stormy night to realise how much we are dependent on electronics. Devices that are supposed to make our lives easier and keep us "connected" to our social networks, only to disconnect us from our family members sitting across the dining room. Conversations turning into snaps that last for seconds, never to be recalled again.

And only when the battery dies out and the flashlight turns off do we realise we only have enough candles in the pantry to last for a few hours. Candles that would bring families together, huddled around the flame as it only illuminates  a radius of a couple of feet. Forcing us to converse, instead of slouching over electronic screens, reminding us how we "chat" the whole day but never really "talk".

by Redwan Islam Orittro