This is what the stars to which we shall return would see us as—two separate biological arrangements linked together by the pain one inflicted upon the other without even knowing it.
— Shoaib Rashdi, Our Inauspicious Stars
“All other lights in my room are switched off and just a little bit of light is coming from the street through the window from where mama is looking out of it in stillness.”

“The light coming through the window is dispersed as though being reflected through a prism dancing in the light of its own.”
