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Fiction

Mr. Rothlan

By June 17, 2025
“It had been during one of those quiet and ambling days that I fell back in touch with an old favourite teacher of mine who had disappeared from our school in the winter of my final year under mysterious and unexplained circumstances.”

The Hindu House

By June 17, 2025
“But before the shriek, before the body and the stain, and the flicking on of the bare bulb, before Poonam Aunty fainted and collapsed in a bundle next to her husband's dead body, before she recovered her senses and started shrieking again, there was a celebration at Saith’s house, the only Hindu house in the whole country – and I was invited.”

Between Sadness and Happiness

By May 19, 2025
He used to say, “What’s mine is yours and what’s yours is mine.” I realize now how these phrases have no meaning once you’re pitted against each other, once you need to go your separate ways.

Cut Blooms

By May 19, 2025
"I remembered little of the day my mother died, and of the funeral even less. All I retained were a child's impressions: a cup of water in my hand, its surface slowly warming. Black patent shoes on a green lawn, a pair of dangling, stockinged feet. The smell of my father mingled with the stench of his cologne."

Chicken

By Yasmin Adele Majeed April 15, 2025
“A little girl is by the communal sinks, humming to herself as she washes her hands. Risham recognizes her as the referee from the game of chicken.”

The Glow

By Maria Kuznetsova April 15, 2025
“It doesn’t help that I have no address to guide us, only a pin of a nearby park and a picture of me and Baba standing outside the front door of her place when I was an awkward teenager, squinting into the sun.”
Photographer: Francis Mateo, Copyright 2004

Bagging Weight

By JP Infante, guest-edited by Jacqueline Woodson February 19, 2025
"The billboards, giant screens, marquees are off like a giant plug was ripped out its socket. No cash on me, only a bundle of heroin and a useless Metrocard."
My Doctor: Checkmate. Gouache and ink on coldpress by Basita Shah.

Stained White Curtain

By Samia Mehraj, guest-edited by Mirza Waheed February 19, 2025
"Sometimes, when you live through hard times with loved ones—people you think you know best—old layers of their personalities begin to peel away and from underneath, shines through a new skin."
Fresh-cut broccoli on a gray tea towel

Sleeper Hit

By February 5, 2024
He sounded ready to cry. If I could see his face better in the dark, it might have scared me even more. Who was this person who felt so deeply?
Sunset from the window of a plane

Come Stay

By January 16, 2024
My family is mouths spread wide like wounds, telling everything but the story that must be told.

I Am the Ghost Here

By January 16, 2023
I don’t believe that I will ever like Michelle, even though I love who she is when she is my brother. I want to accept the arrangement, but I am still having trouble processing the fact that the person I rely on is not him.

Diary of My Leg Hair

By December 8, 2022
I speak to my leg hair as I would speak to myself. Which is to say: with suspicion. Which is to say: with one ear trained to the sounds of a door opening and closing.

Happy Fortunate People

By July 28, 2022
Hamish was overwhelmed by the intensity...as if everything had been assembled just so, just right, in that moment for the two of them, coming around the corner.

The Black Sea

By July 21, 2022
He wasn’t sure when she began mentioning the curse. Later, when he looked back, he realized she’d said the word with alarming frequency since his arrival, spoken with the naturalness of words like bread and bicycle.

La Otra Historia

By June 30, 2022
I had every right to inhabit a space. If I were in Madrid to simply drink and eat and wander the city, I should be able to do so without being accused of mediocrity by the locals.

Snow

By February 17, 2022
Everyone joked about how the two brothers’ names had become their destinies. Sihai, four oceans. A man forever moving. Weijia, settle down. A man who makes a home.

Dance with Me

By September 17, 2021
Once she spied Ellen in front of her computer, dancing. It was the most beautiful thing, the way her arms snaked as if they were channeling some old poetry.

Bear

By September 10, 2021
A middle-aged woman at the front desk yelled: Welcome to the new dimension! Her uniform was tight but also disheveled. Her eyelids were lacquered in turquoise shadow.

Alobam

By March 19, 2021
Obum stretched his hand with the same carefreeness that he reached for Ralu’s balls and turned up the volume.

High Rise

By August 6, 2021
"We wear masks anytime we leave the apartment. We order groceries and pay the motoboys big tips. We both suspended our private practices. Botox is not an essential service, though my patients would disagree."
Guernica
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