I found a gold pendant which I decided to keep. I wore it around my neck and looked in the mirror. Did my mother ever wear this pendant?

I frolic and burrow myself inside the vastness of the fields And the prairies that stand tall Of spaces heavily concentrated, and then stretched out to infinity

If you are looking for something different from your next read—especially if you’re interested in reading a story that offers a window into another Asian culture—then Bad Kids by Zijin Chen might be a good choice. This book was an instant bestseller when it was published in China, and has since been adapted for the small screen.

This century had started 14 years ago—and unlike the previous one—the world was not drafting 19-year-olds to a great war so that they could die in the trenches.

Suddenly, a giant shadow covered up the ground beneath their feet. When she looked up, she couldn’t see the face of the figure until it came closer and sat on the edge of the branch they were sitting on.

Sentiments are best preserved for people who can pay for extra baggage.

Clouds in heaven bow and billow around your feet, and you- glide through, oblivious to their ethereal presence.

The theocracy is crumbling in its seat

I am asked where I am headed. The expression in the lady’s eyes suggests this is not the first time I was asked the question. I stand there, wondering if the pits around her eyes—white as the sun—are caused by the likes of me, and I tell her where I’m headed.

Nothing is meaningless if speech and silence  fill void, flowing in the same force, and no one blocks the road to dreaming.

I tried to be renamed in the middle  But my van and I have never been apart!

I see you, with whatever half awake, sleep drifting irises, I see you. Dusted in the shelves of unread books, I see you and I know you, They will never know you but I do, in ways you are afraid.

You were chosen because of your heart. Because of the incredible love you carry, despite the cruelty of this hungry city. Because of the strength you have, forged by the trials and tribulations of Dhaka.

Shiraj’s only consolation was that he was almost at the end of the line. Just the couple in front of him, and then he would finally be free. Otherwise, he was fuming. Someone had picked his pocket.

“Listen, I have a plan but you have to say yes,” said Naya as her eyes traced Noorie’s computer screen, checking to see if she finished typing the rest of the sentence. With a last click on the full stop, Noorie bent backward to see Naya’s face gleaming.

How writers and their consciousness evolve in a country is largely dependent on that society’s intellectual development, their freedom of expression, and if their intellectual development is encouraged or discouraged.

The girl stared back at her and asked a question that made Mrittika’s heart beat faster. “Don’t you recognise me?” 

Through its 300 pages, Kuang exposes the performative nature of anti-racism in publishing: showcasing the boxes that people of colour get put in and how difficult it is for them to be heard.

How do you pack 25 years of your life in two suitcases?

Czech-French writer Milan Kundera, author of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being", has died aged 94, the Milan Kundera Library said today