The Wistful Atlas
Rabia Hussain sat on the shipyard plate, the lead in his fingers cold and heavy, watching the sun dip below the red iron of the Hunza valleys. It was the year 1914, and the two fine weeks of autumn had arrived, bringing a wind that tasted of dust and dried apricots. He held a set of dentures in his palm, teeth that did not fit, a false heirloom he had found in the canteen trash bin weeks ago....
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