A needle drops. A thread pulls tight. In a softly lit workshop, steady hands guide the fabric, tracing a fine red line along the collar. Then the laurel crest comes alive, thread by thread, in red and blue. Steam rises, the folds settle, and...
There's a room somewhere in Lyari where the light still falls the same way it did decades ago.
Through a carved wooden window, it lands in soft, broken patterns on the wall, on her hands, on the pages of a book she's been meaning to finish for weeks. She doesn't rush it. Some...