nose, the hollows of his cheeks, the moisture in his eyes. He wasn't the monster her sister had described. He was a man broken by his own humanity, trying to piece himself back together with his loved ones.
"You should have told me," she said.
"I was afraid that if you knew I was a doctor, you would ask me to fix the one thing I can't," he stammered. "I can't give you your sight, Zainab. I can only give you my life."
The tension in the room broke. Zainab pulled him close, burying her face in the crook of his neck. The cabin was small, the walls thin, and the outside world cruel, but in the center of the storm, they were no longer ghosts.
Years passed.
