Currently reading: "The Shadow Collector" by Shveta Thakrar
The opening lines of this are just magical.
In the garden where girls grew from flowers, their days washed in the distant trills of the queen's wooden flute, a gardener toiled. His name was Rajesh, and in his spare time, he collected shadows. Shadows of nectar-loving hummingbirds, shadows of laughing fathers, shadows of hawks who preyed on squirrels.
You know what the best part of short fiction is? That you can devour it whenever you have a spare moment. Even at work ;).