Her eyes were closed, her face tilted towards the midday sun; the three beauty spots on her neck had already grown sharp from its rays. I must have been drunk because I wanted to tell her I loved her. I stopped myself for fear of sounding disingenuous; I always recoiled when people said it after a drink. Instead I leant back in my chair and tried to feel everything in that exact moment: the way the light felt, the way the dark swam underneath everything, and the way our history sat between us on that table.

– Roseena Hussain, Novel in progress

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