The city still wants to breathe.
Something you may... You may never find again.
My love always arrived wrapped in silence, wrapped in dust. But that was childhood.
We will make meaning out of the holes in the sun
At a gathering in the unfinished community hall, Saleha raises a question: "They gave us walls. But what do we want to grow inside them?"
In Lakshmi’s Secret Diary, Ari Gautier crafts a dazzling, multi-layered narrative that is as whimsical as it is profound.
I know my engine is dying. I know that, by the time the next Eid rolls around, the busy little humans will have taken me apart to create something new.
When he was handing over the money to Naimuddin, their father, Kalam silently cried, holding Dholi’s neck in the yard.
The Asia regional winner of the 2025 Commonwealth Short Story Prize, Faria Basher, in an interview with The Daily Star, opens up about her journey from lifelong reader to emerging writer.
Geronimo rushed inside the hole coughing, somehow managing to shut the door behind him. His mother Telapatra grabbed her son, hugging her tight for an instant before smacking him across the back. “How many times did I tell you not to go out at this hour?” cried Telapatra.
There are no lamplights in this end of the neighbourhood. Only tall trees standing upright on either side of the road, their leaves drooping down in lament for a long-forgotten motion.
'The Hippo Girl and Other Stories' holds up a mirror to a society that judges and ridicules those that do not adhere to its shortsighted vision of a homogenised culture.
Callahan’s novel came to her during the pandemic when she found herself waking up with a large ringing noise in her head.
“An exceptional novel that makes gender disappear to build unconventional love and friendship”
He was, like most children, easily amused. Unlike most other children however, he never hesitated to express it. He was full of life and energy.
From every direction strong torrents meet Collide, counter, and begrudgingly recede.
You must have heard the story of your birth a thousand times by now, sweetheart. Your mother and I—home alone.
It’s hard not to recall our many conversations about literature as I try to summarise Shah Tazrian Ashrafi’s debut collection of short stories. They were always short discussions, opening and closing off in spurts, as happens over text. Exclamations over a new essay collection by Zadie Smith, or a new novel by Isabel Allende.
If you travel on a bus, always take the window seat.
