Chaya Bhuvaneswar talked to Hasanthika Sirisena about “Escape to Buzzkill Falls” over email.

Aatif Rashid and Devi S. Laskar talked about Devi’s excerpt “Second Midnight” from her debut novel The Atlas of Reds and Blues over WhatsApp.

Devi S. Laskar and Tara Isabel Zambrano talked about “Alligators” over WhatsApp.

Sarah Thankam Mathews and Palvashay Sethi talked about “Barri Ammi” over WhatsApp.

Nur Nasreen Ibrahim and Abeer Hoque spoke about Abeer’s story “Fuck All Gall” over the phone.

Aditya Desai and Sarah Thankam Mathews spoke about “The Storms” over WhatsApp.

Kalpana had been struck by that Indian butler character, since that late night when the movie was on television, and she’d already seen the Star Trek re-run on the other channel.

Waiting for his assignment, Wally was pulled to the newsfeed. A teenager in Jackson Heights went to a roof, jumped to her death.

She has pockmarks blooming across her surface. Blotches of grey, brown and black interrupt the creamy white. She has melted at an astonishing rate.

She can see only as far as her headlights, not that there’s much to see. At some point, the road becomes unmarked and lane-less, liable to end without warning. Zayna rolls slowly. Not out of care, just no longer mindful of her speed or time. The radio—on since she left Jeffeh—strains for a signal. It seems lost in static for good, but so it had countless times—always returning to a late-night call-in show that went on and on.

Masood stood under the monument to Christopher Columbus in the sweltering heat of a Barcelona summer evening, staring down La Rambla and waiting for Lauren, the tall column rising above him into the darkening sky, the conqueror pointing out across the glittering water, when he remembered why he never liked visiting cities twice.

For several days, he steers his battered lorry through the Ganga’s plains. Without delivering the load of 300 apple crates he ferried over the shoulders of the Himalayas to Hindustan, he decides to return home.

Sheila was startled when Walter slipped his hand down the front of her Levi’s. It was not what she was expecting in broad daylight, at a church picnic.

Santosh, one of the hostel staff, said the slow Wi-Fi was caused by last night’s monsoon rain. I didn’t believe him. This is the same Santosh who freely talked about his anti-consumerist sentiment only to later take me to a silk shop where he and the hawker made me feel bad about refusing to buy a 1200 rupee silk scarf for my mother. I was not traveling to gather.

TRANSMITTED VIA FACSIMILE

RE: Los Angeles County case #24789. Letter was balled up and tied to a padlock, found thrown through the southern-most window at Love-Hewitt estate. Status: Unsolved

You are in luck! It is easy to spend many long hours at the DMV, where you can be close to your love.

I’m tired of crashing balls in borrowed gowns. I’m tired of prohibitive return policies.

At the Co-op I pinched an Ancho chili with my fingers. There weren’t any tongs--only metal tablespoons caked in spelt flour and paprika.

Lying in Brett’s King-sized waterbed, I wondered if this was going to be one of those life moments you always remember because you want to hold onto it forever or because as much as you try you can never forget it.