She started with her clothes and not her make-up. She didn’t
even untie her hair, which she had meticulously braided with a myriad pins.
This was unprecedented.
Her sari went first, in a blaze of golden and black. Her
blouse, which divulged more than it concealed, followed. Skinny and
bare-chested, she inspected the traces that the night had left behind.
There were bruises on her nipples, where he had bitten the
hardest. At other places, red and violet scratches, which would have
stood out on her sister’s fair skin. Hoping they wouldn’t leave a footprint, she
smiled, careful to not reveal her broken, mottled teeth. At the same time, her large,
red eyes watered. She shed the rest of her clothes as she ran for the shower.
Even before he came out, cleansed and transformed, Mohammad had vowed to never become Mira again.
these are so good, why did you stop?
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