The scramble was almost instantaneous and without mercy. Men in freshly tailored panjabis—stitched for the next morning's prayers—threw elbows for the simple right to go back home.

A few days ago on a dreary, grey Sunday, as I was busy with my weekend chores and preparing for the week ahead, I received a call from my sister.

I sit on a chair. Sometimes I wish I were sitting on my old chair of humble plastic, but right now my chair is a plush armchair, with armrests no less, swaying and swooning on its cabriole legs of sturdy s-curve perfection.

Few genres are as unapologetically optimistic as romance. At its core lies the Happily Ever After (HEA), a convention so fundamental that it often stands in for the genre itself.

As evening sets in and the stars begin to appear in the dark sky above the village, a sharp series of pops and bangs pierces through Xiaohui’s peace.

Even after the organisers and Bangla Academy offered a 55 percent subsidy on stall costs, a significant number of publishers maintained their decision to not participate.

Sometimes it sneaks up in ways you do not expect, like in the quiet chaos of a city street where rain drips off umbrellas, and the smell of frying snacks mingles with wet asphalt.

To love is to hold the knife To love is to do the math To love is to carry a box full of fruits To love is to buy flowers, Either way you carry the burden of it, of love.

If you have ever carried a tote bag to a coffee shop solely to place it on the table next to a freshly prepared matcha latte, you already know the assignment. Reading, in the modern era, isn’t really about “reading” or enjoying a story—it is about signaling. It is about letting the person seated at the next table know that while you could be doomscrolling TikTok, you choose to instead engage with a higher form of brain simulation.

Some books explain immigrant life through nostalgia. Others through big dramatic events. Sharbari Ahmed does neither in <I>The Strangest of Fruit</I>. Her stories focus on the quieter things like small humiliations, awkward encounters, the private wounds people carry, and the memories they don’t

Here is a list of 5 books to nurse your brain back to health.

For teenagers growing up far from Bangladesh, the country can often feel like a patchwork of family anecdotes, festival memories, and half-understood news headlines. Books, however, have the power to fill in the gaps–to offer voices and histories that make the abstract appear real. The following

As 'Demon Slayer' grips the world with its engaging story and out-of-the-world visuals, one can’t help but wonder about the anime’s tragedy hidden behind its scenic moments and painful farewells

These are books that invite you to pause over a line, to linger in a paragraph, to lose yourself not in spectacle but in rhythm

This is not a book review. At least not in the traditional sense where the reviewer recaps the gist of a book, quoting and analyzing parts, drawing or pointing to conclusions.

By the year 2035, Dhaka forgets the scent of the Gulshan-Banani lake.

In the year 1025, a fleet of warships set sail from the Coromandel Coast of southern India on a mission of conquest.

Some poets arrive like rain on parched soil—needing no defense, only recognition. Al Mahmud (1936–2019) was one of them. And yet, in the usual crookedness of history, we have found ourselves having to defend what should already have been canonised. There was a time—not long ago—when his name uns

Elif Shafak has adroitly balanced the story between Peri’s suffering as a woman and religion’s role in mending our relationships and lives.

Children pulled from rubble in Gaza, dust-white faces against red bricks—