The walls were cracked, the ceiling collapsing. Ruins underfoot. My manuscript spread haphazardly across the areas untouched by rubble. Pages lifting and settling on top of one another in the early morning or evening I could not tell. I only knew that everything looked familiar. And, somehow, that I was in my room in Tehran.
I pulled my long, white, tulle veil tight around me as a gust of wind rippled across a collapsed door. I edged my way over the wood and found the sitting room. I could hear a faint buzzing. I looked towards the sky, but it was empty. When I turned back, you were standing there in your black veil. It took me a moment to recognize you—a stranger I had known all my life. Then, I remembered, and walked towards you.
On the other side of the house, a crowd began clapping and cheering.
“Who are these people?”
I looked towards them and back at you.
