The Faded Portrait
"You can’t restore a face that the state has already buried," the Director said, his voice dry as the dust in the archive. I looked at the ledger. The ink was brown, dried tight. My brother’s name, Khaled Rahal, was gone. Not crossed out. Not redacted. Simply absent, as if the paper had never known the shape of his letters. I had spent twenty years filing the memories of a city that no longer...
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