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01752740808
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kishoreganj - Dhaka - Bangladesh
Where every letter tells a story
Where every letter tells a story
The Strength You Didn’t Know Was Showing There was this one afternoon—I’d just come back from a painfully awkward conversation with someone I used to admire (past tense now, thanks), and I sat in my car in the Target parking…
So there I was, crying over an expired oat milk in the middle of my kitchen. Not because I was sad about the oat milk (okay, maybe a little), but because I was one mild inconvenience away from emotionally combusting.…
Dear rock bottom: thanks for the wake-up slap. It started with a Target parking lot. I was sitting in my car, staring at the red shopping cart someone left crookedly in the space next to mine. I wasn’t mad at…
A few weeks ago, I found myself crying over tea. Not because anything tragic had happened, but because I had steeped it too long and it tasted like bitter regret. It was 11:43 PM. I was sitting on my kitchen…
I Swear I Almost Hugged the Delivery Guy It was one of those days. You know the kind—when the silence in your apartment feels louder than traffic, and you start having full conversations with your plants. “Looking fresh today, Fern.”…
It started with me eating dry cereal on the floor of my closet. No milk. No bowl. Just straight-up handfuls of Honey Bunches of Oats while sitting cross-legged between a winter coat and a pile of unmatched socks. That was…
There was a night I cried over a broken kitchen cabinet. Not because I loved that cabinet, but because it wouldn’t close and neither could I. You know those moments where something tiny cracks and suddenly, you’re full-on sobbing like…
A few months ago, I cried on my kitchen floor because my soup boiled over. Like—boiled. That’s it. That was the crime. A harmless bubble too excited to stay in its pot, and there I was, clinging to the stove…
I almost quit everything over a soggy sandwich. I wish I was joking. But there I was — standing in my kitchen at 11:42 p.m., holding what was supposed to be dinner-slash-late-night-coping-fuel, only to find the bread soaked, the cheese…
I was halfway through crying into a lukewarm iced coffee when I realized something kind of terrifying. It wasn’t the coffee (though, let’s be real, watery caffeine is a personal betrayal). It was the fact that I had no idea…