رسائل يقرؤها أي أحد

Iqra, this year I went to the bangle stalls on Chand Raat alone. The old man remembered you. He gave me the second dozen at your price, the ridiculous one you used to get by pretending to walk away. I did my own henna and it came out crooked, a vine that forgot where it was going. I wore it anyway. It is strange how a night can be so full of people and still have one empty space exactly your shape. Eid Mubarak, wherever you are celebrating now. I hope someone is holding your wrist steady while it dries.