Misty Morning by Muneera HashwaniThe City Before It Wakes
There is a specific silence that belongs only to the hour before the sun fully claims the pavement. It is a fragile, heavy thing, usually found near the water’s edge where the salt air meets the exhaust of a waking metropolis. In these moments,…
Fruit Roll by Natalia ZotovaThe Virtue of the Small
Seneca once remarked that it is not the man who has too little, but the man who craves more, who is poor. We live in an age of excess, where we are encouraged to consume the world in great, unthinking gulps, rarely pausing to examine the substance…
A Portrait of Endurance and Wrinkle by Asaad NateelThe Map of Our Years
I keep a linen handkerchief in my drawer, stained with the faint, yellowed ghost of a tea spill from thirty years ago. It is thin now, almost translucent, and the edges have begun to fray into a soft, white fringe. When I run my thumb over…