At night, when he woke and felt the shape of sleep and the shape of her beside him, he would whisper a name he’d given himself without others’ consent: Ahmed. It fit him now, whole as an old sweater. She would murmur her own, content to be known in increments.
At night, when he woke and felt the shape of sleep and the shape of her beside him, he would whisper a name he’d given himself without others’ consent: Ahmed. It fit him now, whole as an old sweater. She would murmur her own, content to be known in increments.