20.10.2025, 10:31
Autumn in Isfahan is a time when the light becomes as fragile as old porcelain, and the air grows thick with the scent of wilting plane trees and golden dust carried from the desert. Zahra loved this season. The equations in her head, usually as sharp and cold as the lines on an oscilloscope, took on color and warmth in October. The rain began suddenly, the way all catastrophes begin—with a barely perceptible change in the usual order of things
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