I.

"Choose drink."

M-i-l-k t-e-a, I type in.

"Choose sensation."

Touch-smell-hear-see

I pick 'em all.

- - -

I close my eyes and feel fingers tracing constellations on my scalp while vigorously parting my hair into sections and rubbing in warm oil. Strong whiffs of coconut and nostalgia cloud my senses but the fierce pulls keep me grounded.

"You had such thick hair as a kid. You've damaged it all by shampooing everyday. Can't you oil it yourself sometimes? At this rate, you'll go bald before I do!"

I turn around and meet her eyes. Clearly unhappy for being interrupted, my mother is staring confusedly. 

'Ammu, I need to hug you.'

"What?"

We don't do hugs in the family but here I was, pouring all my courage and wrapping her in an awkward tight hug.

Ammu hugs me back. I take in her scent and struggle to find words while she strokes my back.

"Have the tea, it's getting cold."

'I..I uh…'

"Tea."

I nod as I watch her sipping away to the end. I take deep breaths and say what I couldn't while she was alive.

'Ammu, I love you.'

I see her smiling.

"I know," she mouths.

I smile, cry, and stare as she fades away.

- - - 

"Thank you for choosing 'Drinks with a ghost' VR experience, customized just for you. We hope you had a good time with your ghost of choice. Now that the drink is over, we request you to leave."

 by Fahin Rahman Aungkita 

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La Marionette

II.

At 6 AM, with sleep still weighing on my eyelids, I twist open the jar and take a sniff.

Coffee, just the aroma of it, is enough to wake some people up. I make myself a cup with two spoonfuls and two pods of—

"Cardamom??"

At this point, the mixture of disbelief and despair on your face is as regular as my coffee and cardamom.

"Trust me. This is not the way to have coffee."

I roll my eyes and stir harder.

"I'm telling you, it's going to taste awful."

The first sip. Ah. It gives me the energy to snap back.

"It tastes just perfect." And it does. I serve you my coffee in a teaspoon and through your vigorously twitching facial muscles, you manage to utter, "Worse than cough syrup."

I end it with a dramatic sigh of acceptance. You will never understand the virtue of coffee and cardamom. Like a lot of the other things you didn't understand. So, you left. But every morning, your ghost shows up at coffee for a little argument.

by Noushin Nuri 

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Ghosts in Bangla literature and culture

III.

One Bloody Mary for the floating youth 

Fleeting, on this rickety stool 

Her breath is calculated, loud as thunder 

Open your eyes, you too will see 

Memories are just as volatile 

A vortex of our conjoined lives 

The bloody linen swallowed 

Tequila shots follow, nothing to grieve here 

You only wanted the lime anyway 

The new bartender swirls the glass, ever so gentle

Like tiptoeing through a sleepy abode, 

Afraid to awaken the rotten grave 

Sister, the Bloody Mary remains 

Untouched 

So you can rise and swallow us whole

by Ramisha Rahman