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30.10.2025, 8:08
On that May day, Shiraz seemed to hold its breath. The air, thick with the scent of blossoming bitter orange trees, vibrated with unspoken anticipation. It wasn’t just a Friday, the sacred day of rest and prayer. It was the day of choice, and that very word, almost forgotten, was being spoken in kitchens and teahouses, sometimes in whispers, sometimes with a feverish glint in the eyes. Zahra walked between her parents, her hand lost in the large, warm palm of her father
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