I.

Hushed voices were heard in a dimly lit kitchen in the heart of the city. Though the restaurant closed a few hours ago, the squeaking and scattering of nimble paws were still audible, if you listened closely. Under the glow of moonlight, a father whispers to his eager son, "Tonight we shall embark on a grand adventure!" With twinkling eyes and twitching whiskers, they scurry across countertops, dodging shadows and savoring the mighty scent of aged cheese.

Together, they navigate the labyrinth of pots and pans, their tiny paws tapping in harmony with the rhythm of the almost closed faucet. Amidst the clinking of cutlery and the soft hum of the refrigerator, they find their prized treasure—a golden wheel of gouda, gleaming in the moon's embrace. 

By Musarrat Ibtida Hoque

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'Long': Sehri Tales selections, Day 9

II. 

Hither Green is a backwater of South East London that takes me 1.5 hours to get to on a good day. Today isn't one. I turn up at Lisa and Rick's Victorian terrace bundled up like a walking duvet. 

Lisa and I were housemates at uni, then ended up moving to opposite ends of London and never really seeing each other barring the odd meet-up in central, but this year is different because Lisa has a baby, Ruby, and taking a baby into Central London on the tube is something only madmen or tourists would do.

Lisa screams when she sees me, her standard greeting, and I say, "I can't feel my face!"

Baby Ruby is serious, suspicious, and as soon as I see her I want to put her chubby hands inside my mouth. I say this aloud and Lisa says, "I know. I do it ALL THE TIME."

"You two are weird," says Rick tolerantly, before leaving the room.

Lisa whizzes up mugs of salted caramel hot chocolate in her Hotel Chocolat Velvetiser. She is obsessed with it. We munch toasted cheese sandwiches with Marmite and talk about uni people we never see anymore, and about uni, when we knew so little but thought we were so grown-up. I hold Ruby in my lap, covering her little head to make sure the crumbs don't fall on it. The winter sunshine makes patterns on the tiled floor, and the melted cheese burns the roof of my mouth.

by Mehrangez Rahman

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'Flick': Sehri Tales selections, Day 8

III. 

Hey, who cut the cheese?

We all sat in a circle looking at each other. The smell was warm and overwhelming. I tried to waft it away with the side of my frock, but to no avail. I thought it would be a quiet one (even though they are known to be deadly). But it wasn't quiet and it WAS deadly.

Ribhu bhaiya looked at us all with suspicion in his eyes. "Everyone has to promise they didn't cut the cheese, and if there is lying involved then all hail will break loose on that person" he said.

I asked timidly, "what happens when a person promises and tells a lie?" 

Ribhu bhaiya fell from the sky, "You don't know?! Why they go to hell." 

I began to sweat. I didn't want to go to hell, but I also didn't want to admit that it was I who had cut the cheese. So, I quietly accepted my fate and promised I didn't. Hell would have to wait, but this childish reputation can hardly be tarnished!

by Tasnim Naz Chowa