The Pale Garden
The scalpel slipped, not because of Sadia’s trembling hand, but because the air in the greenhouse had turned dense, a physical weight pressing against her eardrums until the glass panes above groaned in a low, sustained hum. She was thirty years old, a botanist with a degree from Karachi University and a lease on a nail salon in the old quarters that was due in three days, yet here she stood,...
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