The Wistful Letter
The air in Calcutta tasted of ozone and wet chalk. It was the smell of the dome’s filtration cycles turning over, a mechanical exhale that never quite cleared the taste of the sea that had drowned the old city three generations ago. Deepak D'Souza, forty-five years old and chief of airlock maintenance, stood in the customs shed of confiscated cloth, his hands trembling not from cold but from...
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