The room was supposed to be hers, but she’d left the window open, like an invitation. The wind had already made itself comfortable, curtains...

Her hands still carried the colour. Not the bright yellow from earlier, but the faded warmth it leaves behind, like a memory pressed into sk...

She loved the smell of mehndi. Said it reminded her of long summer evenings in her nani’s courtyard, where time moved slower, and everything...

It was late September, and the fan creaked above us like it had grown tired of spinning. The mattress on the floor still smelled faintly of ...

The rain came down in sheets, a relentless roar against the warped shingles of the old house. I sat by the window, forehead pressed to the c...