Mahika Mukherjee

“The figure is in a wash of blue because it is dark. His hands are on the edge of the table, fiddling with nothing at all, a nervous tick from when he was alive. He finally looks at me under the thatch of his hair, eyebrows raised in a somewhat worried expression. “Hi,” he says, close to a whisper.
It stays silent because I can’t move my damn mouth.
He tilts his head ever so slightly. “Nita?”
“I think,” I manage, “I need a drink.”
― Mahika Mukherjee, Another Word for Goodbye

“I look down at my lone, solitary hand in my lap, palm facing upwards and fingers curled. “Could you hold my hand?”
He immediately moves his hand over, but hesitates at the last second. “You won’t feel it.”
“Maybe I will.” I’m still gazing at my lap, Akaash’s hand hovering above mine. When he first places it in mine, I don’t register a thing. Sensation comes like an afterthought.”
― Mahika Mukherjee, Another Word for Goodbye

“Oh god,” I mutter, “how much caffeine do you think we will need?”
They both move along as if they can’t hear me, Didi taking my bag off my shoulders and stuffing it with the rest of the stuff.
“Is that all you brought?” she asks.
“That, and a spiritual burden.”
“Take things seriously for once,” she says not ungently.”
― Mahika Mukherjee, Another Word for Goodbye

“Summer is the scent of sunscreen. And while it is nowhere close to the season, we’ve managed to sneak parts of it here. Sand has made its home in all crevices. I found some in my pocket recently, giving my keys company.”
― Mahika Mukherjee, Another Word for Goodbye