her hands were silk. her skin ivory. my mom noticed her first and asked morad if she was iranian. she was. she came over and said hello. her eyes housed fire. her speech perfectly elegant and smooth. no one would guess that she had left iran in 1944 in her twenties. tehran, mashad, pakistan and then india. on a battle ship, she came to america. she had a red shirt on and a red purse. her gold pendant read: allah. her smile genuine and warm. she kissed me. she kissed my mom. i wanted to hold her hand in mine and smell her. she sank into me. carved a permanent memory. i held my breath and watched her patent leather shoes and lace socks as she walked out the door. 'please don't let it end, please don't let it end.'

tonight i came to know noura. this is how i will know 'noura's world' in a month when it's published. days can be amazing in this way.

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