In the nights though, I couldn't help but weave the golden cloth of my dreams. Each stitch from heart to thought, and thought to heart, was painful to bear, even if it was joyous at times. Because each thread was fraught with the fears of being broken midway, lost and never found again.
Faiqa Mansab, THIS House of Clay and Water
contemporary-fiction, diverse-reads, south-asian-literature, tragedy